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крепостные стены, к чему призывали одни, самые смелые, или таранить дышлами воловьих упряжек парадный вход, как предлагали другие, ибо стоило лишь дотронуться, как сами собо..
Габриель Гарсия Маркес (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
«Осень патриарха»
Одни из них расположены в верхнем, другие в среднем, а третьи в нижнем уровне ящика...
Милорад Павич (Milorad Pavic)
«Ящик для письменных принадлежностей»
Два здания стояли, выделяясь среди других, окрашенных в коричневато-желтый и белый цвета и покрытых порыжевшей черепицей, - это были церковь с куполом ..
Ивлин Артур Сент Джон Во (Evelyn Waugh)
«Офицеры и джентльмены»
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Вы читаете «The Adventures of Tom Sawyer», страница 1 (прочитано 0%)
«Tom Sawyer Abroad», закладка на странице 1 (прочитано 0%)
«Старые времена на Миссисипи», закладка на странице 1 (прочитано 0%)
The author.
Hartford, 1876.
Chapter I
Tom!
No answer.
Tom!
No answer.
What's gone with that boy, I wonder You Tom!
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the
room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never
looked THROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state
pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for style, not service-she
could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked
perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough
for the furniture to hear
Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll-
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching
under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the
punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
I never did see the beat of that boy!
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the
Tomato vines and jimpson weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So
she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted
Y-o-u-u Tom!
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to
seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.
There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in
there
Nothing.
Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS that
truck
I don't know, aunt.
Well, I know. It's jam-that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you
didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch.
The switch hovered in the air-the peril was desperate-
My! Look behind you, aunt!
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The
lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and
disappeared over it.
His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle
laugh.
Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything Ain't he played me tricks
enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time But old
fools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as
the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and
how is a body to know what's coming He 'pears to know just how long he
can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out
to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and I
can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the
Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the
Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know.
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Тем временем:
..., etc. --
But instead I've bounced drunk into his City Lights bookshop at the height
of Saturday night business, everyone recognized me (even tho" I was wearing
my disguise-like fisherman's hat and fishermen coat and pants waterproof)
and "t'all ends up a roaring drunk in all the famous bars the bloody "King
of the Beatniks" is back in town buying drinks for everyone -- Two days of
that, including Sunday the day Lorenzo is supposed to pick me up at my
"secret" skid row hotel (the Mars on 4th and Howard) but when he calls for
me there's no answer, he has the clerk open the door and what does he see
but me out on the floor among bottles, Ben Fagan stretched out partly
beneath the bed, and Robert Browning the beatnik painter out on the bed,
snoring... So says to himself "I'll pick him up next weekend, I guess he
wants to drink for a week in the city (like he always does, I guess)" so off
he drives to his Big Sur cabin without me thinking he's doing the right
thing but my God when I wake up, and Ben and Browning are gone, they've
somehow dumped me on the bed, and I hear "I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen"
being bellroped so sad in the fog winds out there that blow across the
rooftops of eerie old hangover Frisco, wow, I've hit the end of the trail
and cant even drag my body any more even to a refuge in the woods let alone
stay upright in the city a minute -- It's the first trip I've taken away
from home (my mother's house) since the publication of "Road" the book that
"made me famous" and in fact so much so I've been driven mad for three years
by endless telegrams, phonecalls, requests, mail, visitors, reporters,
snoopers (a big voice saying in my basemerit window as I prepare to write a
story: ARE YOU BUSY?..
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