Рассказ на адаптированном английском.
Роальд Даль — английский писатель норвежского происхождения, автор романов, сказок и новелл. Мастер парадоксального рассказа. Один из самых известных авторов Великобритании.
It was almost six o’clock. I decided to buy myself a beer and go out and sit in a deckchair by the swimming pool and have a little evening sun.
I went to the bar and got the beer and carried it outside. Then I walked slowly down the garden towards the pool.
It was a fine garden with green grass and flowers and tall coconut palms. The wind was blowing strongly through the tops of the palm trees.
There were a lot of deckchairs standing around the pool. There were white tables and big umbrellas in bright colours. There were sunburned men and women sitting around in bathing suits. In the pool itself there were three or four girls and several boys all making a lot of noise and throwing a large ball to one another.
I stood and watched them. The girls were English girls from the hotel. I didn’t know about the boys, but they sounded American. They were probably naval cadets from the U.S. Navy training ship which had arrived that morning.
I went over and sat down under a yellow umbrella where there were four empty seats. I settled back with my beer and a cigarette.
It was a pleasure to sit there in the sunshine and watch the young people splashing about in the green water.
Just then I noticed a small, oldish man walking round the pool. He was dressed in a white suit and had white shoes on. He came quickly along the side of the pool, looking at the people in the chairs.
He stopped beside me and smiled. I smiled back. ‘Excuse pleess, but may I sit here?’
‘Certainly,’ I said. ‘Do sit down.’
‘A fine evening,’ he said. ‘They are all fine evenings here in Jamaica.’ He sounded Spanish. I was sure that he was some sort of a South American. And old, too, when you saw him close. Probably around sixty-eight or seventy.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It is wonderful here, isn’t it.’
‘And who, might I ask, are all these? They are not hotel people.’ He was pointing at the pool.
‘I think they are American sailors, ’ I told him. “They are Americans who are learning to be sailors.’
‘Of course they are Americans. Who else in the world makes as much noise as that? You are not American, no?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I am not!’
Suddenly one of the cadets was standing in front of us all wet from the pool. He was about nineteen or twenty. He had red hair and was not very sunburned. One of the English girls was standing there with him.
‘Are these chairs taken?’ he said.
‘No,’ I answered.
‘Do you mind if we sit down?’
‘Please do.’
‘Thanks.’ he said. He had a towel rolled up in his hand. When he sat down he opened it and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He offered the cigarettes to the girl and she refused; then he offered them to me and I took one. The little man said, ‘Thank you, no, but I think I have a cigar.’ He pulled out a silver case and took out a cigar. Then he produced a small knife and cut off the end of his cigar.
‘Here, let me give you a light.’ The American boy held up his lighter.
‘That will not work in this wind.’
‘Sure it’ll work. It always works.’
The little man took the cigar away from his mouth, leaned forward and looked at the boy.
‘A l l-ways?’ he asked slowly.
‘Sure, it never fails. Not with me anyway.’
The little man was still watching the boy. ‘Well, well. So you say this famous lighter never fails. Is that what you say?’
‘Sure,’ the boy said. ‘That’s right.’ He was holding the lighter in his right hand, ready to light it. ‘It never fails,’ he said, smiling now because he was on purpose exaggerating a little. ‘I promise you it never fails.’
‘One moment, pleess.’ The hand that held the cigar came up high. ‘Now just a moment.’ He had a strangely soft voice and he kept looking at the boy all the time.
‘Shall we not perhaps make a little bet on that?’ He smiled at the boy. ‘Shall we not make a littie bet on whether your lighter lights?’
‘Sure, I’ll bet,’ the boy said. ‘Why not?’
‘You Iike to bet?’
‘Sure, I’ll always bet.’
The man looked at his cigar. I didn’t much like the way he was acting. It seemed he was already trying to make something out of this, and to make the boy feel bad. At the same time I had the feeling that he was having a game of his own.
He looked up again at the boy and said slowly, ‘I like to bet, too. Why don’t we have a good bet on this thing? A good big bet.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ the boy said. ‘I can’t do that. But I’ll bet you a quarter. I’ll even bet you a dollar.’
The little man waved his hand again. ‘Listen to me. Now we have some fun. We make a bet. Then we go up to my room here in the hotel where there is no wind. I bet you, you cannot light this famous lighter of yours ten times, one after another, without missing once.’
‘I’ll bet I can,’ the boy said.
‘All right. Good. We make a bet, yes?’
‘Sure. I’ll bet you a dollar.’
‘No, no. I’ll make you a very good bet. I am a rich man and I am a sporting man also. Listen to me. Outside the hotel is my car. It’s a very fine car. American car from your country. Cadillac — ‘
‘Hey, now. Wait a minute.’ The boy leaned back in his deckchair and laughed. ‘I can’t put up that sort of property. This is crazy.’
‘Not crazy at all. You strike this lighter ten times and it lights ten times and the Cadillac is yours. You would like to have this Cadillac, yes?’
‘Sure I’d like to have a Cadillac.’ The boy was still smiling.
‘All right. Fine. We make a bet and I put up my Cadillac.’
‘And what do I put up?’
The little man looked at his cigar which was still not lighted. ‘I never ask you, my friend, to bet something you cannot afford. Do you understand?’
‘Then what do I bet?’
‘I make it very easy for you, yes?’
‘Okay. You make it easy.’
‘Some small thing you can afford to give away, and if you did happen to lose it, you would not feel too bad. Right?’
‘Such as what?’
‘Such as, perhaps, the little finger of your left hand.’
‘My what?’ The boy stopped smiling.
‘Yes. Why not? You win, you take the car. You lose, I take the finger.’
‘I don’t get it. What do you mean, you “take the finger”?’
‘I chop it off.’
‘Good God! That’s a crazy bet. I think I’ll just make it a dollar.’
The little man leaned back, spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘I do not understand. You say it lights but you will not bet. Then we forget it, yes?’
The boy sat quite still, staring at the people in the pool. Then he remembered suddenly he hadn’t lighted his cigarette He put it between his lips, put both hands around the lighter and lit it. The wick burned with a small yellow flame. The way he held his hands the wind didn’t get to it at all.
‘Could I have a light, too?’ I said.
‘Gee, I’m sorry. I forgot you didn’t have one’ -I held out my hand for the lighter, but he stood up and came over to do it for me.
‘Thank you,’ I said, and he returned to his. seat.
‘Are you having a good time?’ I asked.
‘Fine,’ he answered. ‘It’s pretty nice here.’
There was a silence then. I could see that the little man had managed to trouble the boy with his absurd bet. The boy was sitting there very still. Then he started to move about in his seat and to tap both hands on his knees. Soon he was tapping with one of his feet as well.
‘Now just let me check up on this bet of yours,’ he said at last. ‘You say we go up to your room and if I make this lighter light ten times in a row, I win a Cadillac. If it misses just once then I lose the little finger of my left hand. Is that right?’
‘Certainly. That is the bet. But I think you are afraid.’
‘What do we do if I lose? Do I have to hold my finger out while you chop it off?’
‘Oh, no! That would be no good. You might refuse to hold it out. This is what I will do: I will tie your hand to the table before we start and I will stand there with a knife ready to go chop the moment your lighter misses.’
‘What year is your Cadillac?’
‘Excuse me. I do not understand.’
‘What year — how old is the Cadillac?’
‘Ah! How old. Yes. It is last year. Quite new car. But I see you are not a betting man. Americans never are.’
The boy was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at the English girl, then at me. ‘Yes,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll bet you.’
‘Good!’ The little man clapped his hands together quietly, once. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We do it now. And you, sir,’ he turned to me, ‘would you be good enough to come along and be our referee?’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I think it’s a crazy bet. I don’t think I like it very much.’
‘Nor do I,’ said the English girl. It was the first time she had spoken. ‘I think it’s a very silly bet.’
‘Are you serious about cutting off this boy’s finger if he loses?’
‘Certainly I am. Also about giving him the Cadillac if he wins. Come now. We go to my room.’
He stood up. ‘Would you like to put on some clothes first?’ he said.
‘No,’ the boy answered. ‘I’ll come like this.’ Then he turned to me. ‘Please do me a favour and come along as a referee.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll come along, but I don’t like the bet.’
‘You come too,’ he said to the girl. ‘You come and watch.’
The little man led the way back through the garden to the hotel. He was almost jumping as he walked along.
‘Would you like to see the car first? It’s just here,’ he said.
He took us to where we could see the front driveway of the hotel. Then he stopped and pointed to a beautiful green Cadillac parked close by.
‘Say, that’s a nice car,’ the boy said.
‘All right. Now we go up and see if you can win it.’
We followed him up to die first floor of the building. He opened his door and we all entered a large double bedroom. There was a woman’s dress lying across one of the beds.
‘First,’ he said, ‘we have a little martini.’
The drinks were on a small table in the corner, and there was ice and several glasses. The littie man rang the bell and began to make the martinis. Then there was a knock on the door and a coloured maid came in.
‘Ah!’ he said, and set down the botde. ‘Will you do something for me, pleess?’ He gave the maid a pound note. ‘You keep that,’ he said. ‘And now we are going to play a little game in here. I want you to go off and find three things for me. I want some nails; I want a hammer, and I want a chopping knife which you can find in the kitchen.’
‘A chopping knife!’ The maid opened her eyes wide and clapped her hands in front of her. ‘You mean a real chopping knife?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Come on now, pleess. Surely you can find those things for me.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll try to get them.’ And off she went.
The little man handed round the martinis. We stood there and drank them slowly, the boy and the English girl in their bathing suits. She was watching him over the top of her glass all the time; the little man in his white suit was drinking his martini and looking at the girl.
I didn’t know what to make of it all. The man seemed serious about the bet and he seemed serious about cutting off the finger. What if the boy lost? Then we would have to rush him to the hospital in the Cadillac that he hadn’t won. That would be a fine thing. Now wouldn’t that be a really fine thing. It would be a crazy and unnecessary thing so far as I could see.
‘Don’t you think this is rather a silly bet?’ I said ‘I think it’s a fine bet,’ the boy answered. He had already had one large martini.
‘I think it is a very silly bet,’ the girl said. ‘What will happen if you lose?’
‘It won’t matter. Now that I think of it, I can’t remember that I have ever had any use for the little finger on my left hand. Here he is.’ The boy took hold of the finger. ‘Here he is and he hasn’t done a thing for me yet. So why shouldn’t I bet him? I think it’s a fine bet.’
The little man smiled and filled our glasses again. ‘Before we begin,’ he said, ‘I will present to the referee the key of the car.’ He produced a key from his pocket and gave it to me. ‘The papers,’ he said, ‘the owning papers are in the pocket of the car.’
Then the coloured maid came in again. In one hand she carried the knife and in the other a hammer and a bag of nails.
‘Good! You got it all. Thank you, thank you. Now you can go.’ He waited till the maid had closed the door, then he said. ‘Now we prepare ourselves, yes?’ And to the boy, ‘Help me, pleess, with this table. We carry it out a little.’
It was the usual kind of hotel writing table. They carried it out into the room away from the wall and took away the writing things.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘a chair.’ He picked up a chair and placed it beside the table. He was working quickly, like a person preparing games at a children’s party. ‘And now the nails. I must put in the nails.’ He fetched the nails and began to hammer them into the top of the table.
We stood there, the boy, the girl, and I, with the martinis in our hands, and watched the little man at work. We watched him hammer two nails into the table. He allowed a small part of each one to stick up.
Anyone would think the son of a bitch had done this before, I told myself. Table, nails, hammer, chopping knife. He knows just what he needs and how to arrange it.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘all we need is some string’ He found some string. ‘All right, at last we are ready. Will you pleess sit here at the table?’ he said to the boy.
The boy put his glass away and sat down.
‘Now place the left hand between these two nails. The nails are only so I can tie your hand in place. All right, good. Now I tie your hand to the table — so.’
He made a good job of it. When he had finished, it was impossible for the boy to draw his hand away. But he could move his fingers.
»Now pleess, close your hand except your little finger. You must leave the little finger sticking out, lying on the table.’
‘Very good! Very good! Now we are ready. You hold the lighter with your right hand. But one moment, pleess.’
He went over to the bed and picked up the chopping knife. He came back and stood beside the table with the knife in his hand.
‘We are all ready?’ he said. ‘Mister referee, you must say when we shall begin.’
The English girl was standing there in her blue bathing suit right behind the boy’s chair. She was just standing there, not saying anything. The boy was sitting quite still, holding the lighter in his right hand, looking at the chopping knife. The little man was looking at me.
‘Are you ready?’ I asked the boy.
‘I’m ready.’
‘And you?’ to the little man.
‘Quite ready,’ he said and lifted the chopping knife up in the air and held it there about two feet above the boy‘s finger, ready to chop.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘You may begin.’
The boy said, ‘Will you please count aloud the number of times I light it.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that.’
With his thumb he raised the top of the lighter, and again with the thumb he flicked die wheel. The wick caught fire and burned with a small yellow flame.
‘One!’ I called.
He flicked the wheel very strongly and once more there was a small flame burning on the wick.
‘Two!’
No one else said anything. The boy kept his eyes on the lighter. The litde man held the chopping knife in the air. He too was watching the lighter.
‘Three!’
‘Four!’
‘Five!’
‘Six!’
‘Seven!’ It seemed to be one of those lighters that worked. I watched the thumb pressing the top down on the flame. Then the thumb raising the top once more. This was an all-thumb operation. The thumb did everything. The thumb flicked the wheel. The little flame appeared.
‘Eight!’ I said, and as I said it the door opened. We all turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. A small, blackhaired woman, rather old, who stood there for about two seconds.
Then she rushed forward, shouting, ‘Carlos! Carlos!’ She took the chopping knife out of his hand and threw it on the bed. Then she took hold of the little man and began to shake him vigorously. She was talking to him fast and loud all the time in some Spanish-sounding language.
She shook him so fast you couldn’t see him any more. Then she shook him more slowly and the little man came into view again. She pulled him across the room and pushed him on to one of the beds.
‘I am sorry,’ the woman said. ‘I’m terribly sorry that this should happen.’ She spoke good English.
‘It’s too bad,’ she went on. ‘For ten minutes I leave him alone to go and have my hair washed and I come back and he is at it again.’ She looked sorry and deeply concerned.
The boy was untying his hand from the table. The English girl and I stood there and said nothing.
‘He is dangerous,’ the woman said. ‘Down where we live at home he has taken forty-seven fingers from different people. And he has lost eleven cars. In the end they wanted to have him put away somewhere. That’s why I brought him up here.’
‘We were only having a little bet,’ mumbled the little man from the bed.
‘I suppose he bet you a car,’ the woman said.
‘Yes,’ the boy answered. ‘A Cadillac.’
‘He has no car. It’s mine. And what makes it worse,’ she said, ‘is that he should bet you when he has nothing to bet with. I am very sorry about it all.’ She seemed a very nice woman.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘then here is the key of your car.’ I put it on the table.
‘We were only having a little bet,’ mumbled the little man.
‘He hasn’t anything left to bet with,’ the woman said. ‘He hasn’t a thing in the world. Not a thing. As a matter of fact, I myself won it all from him a long while ago. It took time, and it was hard work, but I won it all in the end.’
She looked at the boy and smiled, a slow sad smile. Then she came over and put out a hand to take the key from the table.
I can see it now, that hand of hers; it had only one finger on it, and a thumb.
