English Original
It was a day like the day before and the day after. The wind wrapped itself around the sod cabin in gusting moans as the pioneer family within carried out their tasks pretending not to hear. They heard the wind, however. It had been their constant companion on the open plains since their journey from Philadelphia two years before in the spring of 1865.
Now Rachel sat on the bed hand-stitching a quilt while her mother hunched over a sewing machine across the room. The thumping counterpointed the wind outside. Laughter and giggling erupted from Rachel's younger brother and sister playing jacks on the floor. Rachel felt that her parents worked too hard. They rarely had fun or relaxation like they had enjoyed in Philadelphia. Her mother prepared meals on a wood-stoked stove, did the laundry on a washboard, baked flatbread and sewed clothes to trade for goods in town. Rachel remembered her mother singing and telling stories at one time, but that was before she had begun complaining about the wind and the dirt and the mud. Eventually she had stopped complaining, but she had stopped singing, too.
The door swung open and it was Rachel's father. Entering in a puff of dust, he coughed and wiped his forehead. "Mighty hot day out there."
"Well, I've got ale for you and flatbread too," replied his wife.
"I know. I could smell it from outside. Smelled so good I came in early. What else have you all been up to?"
"Rachel's done with her quilt."
Rachel's father turned to look as his older daughter proudly showed off her masterpiece. It was a cheerful blooming of color with stitches outlining the squares.
"That's a mighty fine piece of work," he nodded. "How 'bout us going into town this Saturday. You can show off your quilt, your mother can take her flatbread, and I've got a bushel of onions ready."
The young children whooped excitedly. The 20-mile trip to town in the buckboard was a once-a-month affair to which everyone in the family looked forward.
The town of Wausa, Nebraska was a mix of old and new buildings with wood plank sidewalks. In one of the newer buildings was the general store. Guarding the door was a wooden Indian and next to it hung a bird cage. The family stopped for a moment to look at the yellow bird inside.
When they stepped into the store it was a universe all its own. There was the scent of wood and soap and spice. While her brother and sister explored the store and her parents spoke with the grocer, Rachel wandered back outside to look at the bird.
So bright a yellow it was a miniature piece of the sun in that dusty place. It hopped from perch to perch. Suddenly a shadow passed over the girl and startled, she looked up to see a Sioux Indian brave. Her heart beat faster. But this Indian was as fascinated by the bird as Rachel. He stared intently and then said something she couldn't understand. Seeing her puzzled face he repeated in English, "It listens to the wind."
Before Rachel could think about what he had said, the Indian turned and walked away.
At that moment the little bird lifted its head, swelled its chest, and sang out a joyous trill. Rachel saw her mother's face light up with delight.
Rachel traded her quilt for the canary and never regretted it. Sir Gallant, they called him because he did battle with the wind. The louder the wind the more loudly he sang. Sir Gallant lifted their spirits.
Rachel thought about what the Indian had said. She'd heard the wind but unlike the canary she'd never listened to it. Now when she tried she could hear music in the moaning. She began humming the sounds she heard. "That's a pretty tune," her mother commented one day. Soon she, too, began humming.
One afternoon the younger daughter Mary noticed the canary sitting motionless on his perch. "Is Sir Gallant sick?" she asked in alarm.
"No. It's just a dark day outside," her mother reassured her.
The younger children accepted this explanation but not Rachel. She knew that while Sir Gallant stopped singing from time to time, he had always hopped about his cage. She went to the door and looked outside. It was deathly quiet. She saw the outline of her father with the two oxen in the north field and at the same time she saw black thunderclouds stacked high into the sky.
The Indian's words echoed in her mind. "It listens to the wind."
Rachel thought about Sir Gallant's odd behavior and the angry thunderclouds. Straining to hear, she caught a faint rumbling.
Suddenly Rachel knew. She absolutely knew they were in danger. "Mom," she shouted. "It's a tornado!"
Immediately Mary and Michael began screaming as their mother gathered them up and, along with Sir Gallant, rushed outside to the root cellar. The mother yelled to Rachel to warn her father.
Rachel took off running across the field shouting and waving her arms. "What's wrong?" he yelled.
"Tornado."
"I don't see anything," he said, searching the horizon.
"No! There's no time. Listen!" Rachel was close to hysterical. Finally able to hear the rumbling he jumped to action. Releasing the oxen, he grabbed Rachel's arm and they began to run.
By the time they reached the sod cabin, the tornado was visible, rain drenched their bodies and a thunderous roaring pounded the air.
The tornado lasted only minutes. When the family emerged from their shelter they were relieved to find their sod cabin intact. The loss of crops would make things more difficult, but they felt blessed to be alive. They also felt divine intervention had come in the form of a little yellow bird.
Epilogue
The woman stood in the door of the attic and sighed. Attracted to an old sewing machine with a foot treadle, she opened the top drawer. Amidst the buttons and needles was a tiny bundle of lace neatly tied with ribbon. Curious, she picked it up and unwrapped it. To her surprise she found she was unfolding the burial cloth of a canary, its body long ago dried up but carefully preserved. Holding it in her right hand she stared, perplexed, and quite unconsciously put her left hand over her heart.
中文翻译
这一天和前一天、后一天没什么不同。狂风裹挟着阵阵呜咽，包围着草皮小屋，屋里的拓荒家庭假装听不见，继续干着活。然而，他们其实听见了。自1865年春天从费城出发的旅程以来，这风一直是他们在开阔平原上不变的伴侣。
此刻，雷切尔坐在床上手工缝制一床被子，而她的母亲在房间另一头弓着身子伏在缝纫机上。缝纫机的砰砰声与屋外的风声形成对比。雷切尔的弟弟妹妹在地板上玩抛接子游戏，爆发出阵阵笑声。雷切尔觉得父母工作太辛苦了。他们很少像在费城时那样享受乐趣或放松。母亲在烧木柴的炉子上做饭，在搓衣板上洗衣服，烤扁面包，缝制衣服以换取镇上的货物。雷切尔记得母亲曾经唱歌、讲故事，但那是在她开始抱怨风、灰尘和泥泞之前。最终，她停止了抱怨，但也停止了歌唱。
门开了，是雷切尔的父亲。他带着一团灰尘进来，咳嗽着擦了擦额头。“外面可真热啊。”
“嗯，我给你准备了麦芽酒和扁面包，”他的妻子回答。
“我知道。我在外面就闻到了。闻起来太香了，所以我提前回来了。你们都在忙什么？”
“雷切尔把她的被子做好了。”
雷切尔的父亲转过身，看着大女儿骄傲地展示她的杰作。那是一件色彩欢快、针脚勾勒出方块的被子。
“这活儿干得真漂亮，”他点点头。“这周六我们去镇上怎么样？你可以展示你的被子，你妈妈可以带上她的扁面包，我有一蒲式耳的洋葱准备好了。”
年幼的孩子们兴奋地欢呼起来。乘坐平板马车去20英里外的镇上是每月一次的大事，全家人都盼望着。
内布拉斯加州沃萨镇混合着新旧建筑，人行道是木板铺的。在一栋较新的建筑里有一家杂货店。守门的是一个木雕印第安人，旁边挂着一个鸟笼。一家人停下来看了看里面的黄鸟。
当他们走进商店时，仿佛进入了另一个世界。那里有木头、肥皂和香料的气味。当弟弟妹妹探索商店，父母与杂货商交谈时，雷切尔溜回外面去看那只鸟。
在那尘土飞扬的地方，它是如此鲜亮的黄色，仿佛一小片太阳。它在栖木间跳来跳去。突然，一个影子掠过女孩，她吓了一跳，抬头看见一个苏族印第安勇士。她的心跳加快了。但这个印第安人和雷切尔一样被这只鸟迷住了。他专注地盯着看，然后说了些她听不懂的话。看到她困惑的表情，他用英语重复道：“它在听风。”
雷切尔还没来得及思考他的话，印第安人就转身走开了。
就在这时，小鸟抬起头，挺起胸膛，发出一声欢快的颤音。雷切尔看到母亲脸上露出了喜悦的光芒。
雷切尔用她的被子换来了这只金丝雀，从未后悔。他们叫它“加拉哈德爵士”，因为它与风战斗。风越大，它唱得越响。加拉哈德爵士提振了他们的精神。
雷切尔思考着印第安人的话。她听过风，但不像金丝雀，她从未倾听过它。现在当她尝试时，她能在呜咽声中听到音乐。她开始哼唱她听到的声音。“这调子真美，”有一天她母亲评论道。很快，母亲也开始哼唱起来。
一天下午，小女儿玛丽注意到金丝雀一动不动地站在栖木上。“加拉哈德爵士病了吗？”她惊慌地问。
“没有。只是外面天阴了，”母亲安慰她。
年幼的孩子们接受了这个解释，但雷切尔没有。她知道虽然加拉哈德爵士时不时停止歌唱，但它总是在笼子里跳来跳去。她走到门口向外看。死一般的寂静。她看到父亲和两头牛在北边田里的轮廓，同时看到黑色的雷雨云高高地堆积在天空中。
印第安人的话在她脑海中回响。“它在听风。”
雷切尔想着加拉哈德爵士的古怪行为和愤怒的雷雨云。她努力去听，捕捉到一阵微弱的隆隆声。
突然，雷切尔明白了。她绝对知道他们有危险了。“妈妈，”她喊道。“是龙卷风！”
玛丽和迈克尔立刻尖叫起来，母亲把他们聚拢起来，连同加拉哈德爵士，冲向外面的地窖。母亲朝雷切尔大喊，让她去警告父亲。
雷切尔跑过田野，边喊边挥舞手臂。“怎么了？”他喊道。
“龙卷风。”
“我什么也没看见，”他边说边搜寻着地平线。
“不！没时间了。听！”雷切尔近乎歇斯底里。他终于听到了隆隆声，立刻行动起来。松开牛轭，他抓住雷切尔的胳膊开始奔跑。
当他们跑回草皮小屋时，龙卷风已经可见，雨水浸透了他们的身体，雷鸣般的咆哮冲击着空气。
龙卷风只持续了几分钟。当一家人从避难所出来时，他们欣慰地发现草皮小屋完好无损。庄稼的损失会让日子更艰难，但他们庆幸自己还活着。他们也觉得，神圣的干预以一只小黄鸟的形式降临了。
尾声
女人站在阁楼门口叹了口气。她被一台带脚踏板的旧缝纫机吸引，打开了顶层的抽屉。在纽扣和针线中，有一个用丝带整齐系好的小花边包裹。出于好奇，她拿起来打开。令她惊讶的是，她发现自己在展开一只金丝雀的裹尸布，它的身体早已干枯，但被精心保存着。她用右手拿着它，困惑地凝视着，不自觉地用左手捂住了心口。