（外文电子版资料）Frederick Pohl - Farmer on the Dole.pdf

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Frederick%20Pohl%20-%20Farmer%20on%20the%20Dole.txt Version 1.0 dtd 040700 FARMER ON THE DOLE by Frederik Pohl Stretching east to the horizon, a thousand acres, was all soybeans; across the road to the west, another thousand acres, all corn. Zeb kicked the irrigation valve moodily and watched the meter register the change in flow. Damn weather! Why didnt it rain? He sniffed the air deeply and shook his head, frowning. Eighty-five percent relative humidity. No, closer to eighty-seven. And not a cloud in the sky. From across the road his neighbor called, Afternoon Zeb. Zeb nodded curtly. He was soy and Wally was corn, and they didnt have much to talk about, but you had to show some manners. He pulled his bandanna out of his hip pocket and wiped his brow. Had to rise up the flow, he offered for politeness sake. Me, too. Only good thing, COZs up. So wes gettin good carbon metabolizin. Zeb grunted and bent down to pick up a clod of earth, crumbling it in his fingers to test for humus, breaking off a piece, and tasting it. Cobalts a tad low again, he said meditatively, but Wally wasnt interested in soil chemistry. Zeb? You aint heard anything? Bout what? Bout anything. You know. Zeb turned to face him. You mean aint I heard no crazy talk bout closin down the farms, when everybody knows they cant never do that, no. I aint heard nothin like that, an if I did, I wouldnt give it heed. Yeah, Zeb, but theys sayin- They can say whatever they likes, Wally. I aint listenin, and I got to get back to the lines fore Becky and the kids start worryin. Evenin. Nice talkin to you. And he turned and marched back toward the cabins. Uncle Tin, Wally called sneeringly, but Zeb wouldnt give him the satisfaction of noticing. All the same, he pulled out his bandanna and mopped his brow again. It wasnt sweat. Zeb never sweated. His arms, his back, his armpits were permanently dry, in any weather, no matter how hard or how