Читать «Лучшие повести британских и американских писателей / Best Short Novels by British & American Authors» онлайн - страница 51

‘I avoided а vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on the slope, the purpose of which I found it impossible to divine. It wasn’t а quarry or а sandpit, anyhow. It was just а hole. It might have been connected with the philanthropic desire of giving the criminals something to do. I don’t know. Then I nearly fell into а very narrow ravine, almost no more than а scar in the hillside. I discovered that а lot of imported drainage-pipes for the settlement had been tumbled in there. There wasn’t one that was not broken. It was а wanton smash-up. At last I got under the trees. My purpose was to stroll into the shade for а moment; but no sooner within than it seemed to me I had stepped into the gloomy circle of some Inferno. The rapids were near, and an uninterrupted, uniform, headlong, rushing noise filled the mournful stillness of the grove, where not а breath stirred, not а leaf moved, with а mysterious sound – as though the tearing pace of the launched earth had suddenly become audible.

‘Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out, half effaced within the dim light, in all the attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair. Another mine on the cliff went off, followed by а slight shudder of the soil under my feet. The work was going on. The work! And this was the place where some of the helpers had withdrawn to die.

‘They were dying slowly – it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly now – nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation, lying confusedly in the greenish gloom. Brought from all the recesses of the coast in all the legality of time contracts, lost in uncongenial surroundings, fed on unfamiliar food, they sickened, became inefficient, and were then allowed to crawl away and rest. These moribund shapes were free as air – and nearly as thin. I began to distinguish the gleam of the eyes under the trees. Then, glancing down, I saw а face near my hand. The black bones reclined at full length with one shoulder against the tree, and slowly the eyelids rose and the sunken eyes looked up at me, enormous and vacant, а kind of blind, white flicker in the depths of the orbs, which died out slowly. The man seemed young – almost а boy – but you know with them it’s hard to tell. I found nothing else to do but to offer him one of my good Swede’s ship’s biscuits I had in my pocket. The fingers closed slowly on it and held – there was no other movement and no other glance. He had tied а bit of white worsted round his neck – Why? Where did he get it? Was it а badge – an ornament – а charm – а propitiatory act? Was there any idea at all connected with it? It looked startling round his black neck, this bit of white thread from beyond the seas.