liudmila511: переводы

→‘Aye. Aye, we struck just then. An’ over we went in a’eap, clingin’ for dear life as if we was all goin’ over the side. Then the mizzen topm’st cracked right over our ’eads, an’ she come up again, drainin’ all the sea off of her deck like Niagara Falls. I was next to Perry Veal and the old lady was the other side of ’im. ’E was brimmin’ over wi’ drink, I could see that. I don’t know ’ ow you was fixed, but where we was, tilted the way we was, we was sheltered from the worst of the wind. And we looks up and tries to see what the coast looks like before the next wave smacks over the top and washes the guts out of us. An’ then, mark you, I ’ears Perry Veal say to Mrs V., Where’s the Somethin’-or-other?’

→‘… Once the line was took fast, you mean? I couldn’t say that fur certain; we wasn’t looking at no clocks. A ’our, p’raps. Thur was no time to waaste, mark you, not a minute to waaste. We was all sweatin’ bad when ’twas over, though the wind was as cold as charity. That’s what I said at the time. “ Thur’s no time to waaste, lads,” I said. “We must get the line acrost now,” I said, “or else …” ’

→‘Mind you,’ he said reasonably, ‘ ’twas Abe Jarvis’s idea to pull the old gun round upon that point. I think ’twould have come to one or another of us soon enough, but he thought on it first. “Try ’er over to Sawle Point,” he said. “ Run her down right b’low Hoskin’s field.” And sure’nough, though ’twas plaguey work gettin’ ’er thur, once she was thur, first rocket fell plumb acrost the barque. Handsome bit o’ shooting, ’twas, though I say it myself. We’d the wind almost abeam, see? A nice judgment was all that was required.’

→Nightfall brought no abatement of the wind but only a slight shifting of direction.

→‘Och, I’ve no time to stand here arguing the toss. Ask your mother, or whatever she is. She’ll set you right.’

→O’Brien pushed away his detaining arm.

→‘I know the ship’s going to Portugal. But we’re calling at – at Bristol first to pick up more cargo. That’s – that’s where I’m getting off.’

→Anthony ran after him as he went to the door.

→O’Brien buttoned up his oiler. ‘Not this trip, young feller. Oporto we was making for. But where we shall make landfall if this breeze don’t drop, God only knows.’

→‘Well, we’re going to Bristol, aren’t we?’

→‘I wish we was nearer. But, Holy Mary, why Bristol? If I could see the colour of Mount’s Bay I should be satisfied.’

→O’Brien rose to his feet. His fat red face under the sou’wester gleamed with water. Salt had whitened the stubble of his beard.

→Captain Stevens tapped the water out of his sou’wester. ‘I don’t. And shouldn’t want to.’

→‘Think you could make the Sallies?’ Perry asked, pushing his hair back.

→As the brightness faded from the sky there crept over him, without any sort of prompting, the conviction that even now he was not leaving all the problems behind as he had supposed. Somehow, in some manner, they were now a part of him and had to be resolved. Most gladly he would have forgotten the horrible scene of last night. But it would not be forgotten. It was only over-laid for the moment by the happy and exciting news of today. Some time it would return. He had seen something which no manner of excuses from Aunt Madge and Uncle Perry would explain away. Something which was not a final event in itself but which had to be searched and sounded to the depths. He was young but he was not a fool. His judgment of events was often faulty but not always. Aunt Madge’s lame explanation did not convince him. The police were in it. That was what frightened him. The police were in it.

→He had at first seen many things through Pat’s eyes, but for the last two months he had found himself forced more and more back upon the bedrock of his own immature sense of values, and these were blown like a leaf in the wind turning one side and then the other up. To be released from all his contacts here, to wipe out all the past mistakes and begin anew, this was almost the greatest relief.

→Perry lifted his head from the side of the chair. His face was the colour of Aunt Madge’s pastry before it went in the oven. His skin was the same texture too, thick and soft and slightly pitted; his face was twitching persistently.

→‘Envy, malice, hatred, all uncharitableness,’ she said in a high-pitched voice as if it were being squeezed out of her. ‘My life … All my life. Pursued. Said, Saul, why persecutest thou me? All my life. People. Evil tongues. My dear mother. My dear sister. Always the same.’ She put an uncertain handkerchief waveringly up to her small snub nose. ‘People, evil people, whispering. The way they insinuate. All the wickedness of this world. My mother, one of the noblest of women. Never loved any one more, unless it was my dear husband. Persecuted by evil tongues. Always the same. I have been. Bearing my cross of loneliness. And now. Desecration of the hallowed dead. Wicked evil tongues. They know I’m all alone. Poor widow. They think they can do anything. But they can’t. I’ll see them prosecuted. I’ll see them … utmost letter of the law. My poor husband. Insinuation …’

→He realised she was not interested in this part of his story. Her eye-glasses were not quite still; there was a tremor moving through them, as a newspaper will quiver when there is machinery beating somewhere below. Her small eyes seemed to have disappeared behind them, as if they were hiding themselves in the folds of her puffy face. Anthony went on to tell what he had seen. While he was doing so Uncle Perry belched and a thin trickle of saliva joined the driblet of whisky on his chin.

→‘Yes, yes.’