Из книги эссе, переводы с Английского

That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;

And turned on him with such a daunting look,

He said twice over before he knew himself:

"Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?"

"Not you! -- Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!

I must get out of here. I must get air. -

I don't know rightly whether any man can."

"Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.

Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs."

He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.

"There's something I should like to ask you, dear."

"You don't know how to ask it."

"Help me, then."

Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.

"My words are nearly always an offense.

I don't know how to speak of anything

So as to please you. But I might be taught,

I should suppose. I can't say I see how.

A man must partly give up being a man

With womenfolk. We could have some arrangment

By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off

Anything special you're a-mind to name.

Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love.

Two that don't love can't live together without them.

But two that do can't live together with them."

She moved the latch a little. "Don't -- don't go.

Don't carry it to someone else this time.

Tell me about it if it's something human.

Let me into your grief. I'm not so much

Unlike other folks as your standing there

Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.

I do think, though, you overdo it a little.

What was it brought you up to think it the thing

To take your mother-loss of a first child

So inconsolably -- in the face of love.

You'd think his memory might be satisfied --"

"There you go sneering now!"

"I'm not, I'm not!

You make me angry. I'll come down to you.

God, what a woman! And it's come to this,

A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."

"You can't because you don't know how to speak.

If you had any feelings, you that dug

With your own hand -- how could you? -- his little grave;

I saw you from that very window there,

Making the gravel leap and leap in air,

Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly

And roll back down the mound beside the hole.

I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.

And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs

To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.

Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice

Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,

But I went near to see with my own eyes.

You could sit there with the stains on your shoes

Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave

And talk about your everyday concerns.

You had stood the spade up against the wall

Outside there in the entry, for I saw it."

"I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.

I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed."

"I can repeat the very words you were saying:

Three foggy mornings and one rainy day

Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.

Think of it, talk like that at such a time!

What had how long it takes a birch to rot

To do with what was in the darkened parlor?

You [couldn't] care! The nearest friends can go

With anyone to death, comes so far short

They might as well not try to go at all

No, from the time when one is sick to death,

One is alone, and he dies more alone.

Friends make pretense of following to the grave,

But before one is in it, their minds are turned

And making the best of their way back to life

And living people, and things they understand.

But the world's evil. I won't have grief so

If I can change it. Oh, I won't. I won't!"

"There, you have said it all and you feel better.

You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.

The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up?

Amy! There's someone coming down the road!"

"[You] -- oh, you think the talk is all. I must go -

Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you --"

"If -- you -- do!" She was opening the door wider.

"Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.

I'll follow and bring you back by force. I [will]! --"

Домашние похороны

Он снизу лестницы ее увидел -

Она из двери вышла наверху

И оглянулась, точно бы на призрак.

Спустилась на ступеньку вниз, вернулась

И оглянулась снова. Он спросил:

-- На что ты там все время смотришь, а?

Она его увидела, поникла,

И страх сменился на лице тоской.

Он двинулся наверх: -- На что ты смотришь? -

Она в комок сжималась перед ним.

-- Что там, родная? Дай я сам взгляну. -

Она его как будто не слыхала.

На шее жилка вздулась, и в молчанье

Она позволила ему взглянуть.

Уверенная, что слепой не может

Увидеть. Он смотрел и вдруг увидел

И выдохнул: -- А! -- И еще раз: -- А!

-- Что, что? -- она спросила. -

-- Да, увидел.

-- Нет, не увидел. Что там, говори!

-- И как я до сих пор не догадался!

Отсюда я ни разу не глядел.

Проходишь мимо, где-то там, в сторонке,

Родительское кладбище. Подумать -

Все уместилось целиком в окне.

Оно размером с нашу спальню, да?

Плечистые, приземистые камни,

Гранитных два и мраморный один,

На солнышке стоят под косогором...

Я знаю, знаю: дело не в камнях -

Там детская могилка...

-- Нет! Не смей! -

Рука его лежала на перилах -

Она под ней скользнула, вниз сбежала

И оглянулась с вызовом и злобой,

И он, себя не помня, закричал:

-- Мужчина что, не смеет говорить

О собственном умершем сыне -- так?