Текст книги "Приключения Тома Сойера / The Adventures of Tom Sawyer"

Chapter V

About half-past ten the bell of the small church began to ring, and people began to gather for the morning sermon. The Sunday-school children distributed themselves around the room and occupied pews with their parents. Aunt Polly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her—Tom was sitting next to the aisle, as far away as from the open window and the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better days; the mayor and his wife; the widow Douglass, fair, smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the town; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, and so on. Last of all came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if she were made of glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good.

When the congregation was fully assembled, the bell rang once more, and then a solemn hush fell upon the church which was only broken by the whispering of the choir in the gallery. The choir always whispered all through service.

The minister read out the hymn, with a relish, in a peculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word and then plunged down as if from a spring-board:

Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow’ry beds of ease,

Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro’ blood-y seas?

He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church “sociables” he was always called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and shake their heads, as much as to say, “Words cannot express it; it is too beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal earth.”

After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a bulletin-board, and read off “notices” of meetings and societies and things.

And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; and so on and so forth. Amen.

There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down.

Tom did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured it—if he even did that much. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured him by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with the body; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails. Tom’s hands itched to grab for it but he did not dare—he believed he would be instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the instant the “Amen” was out the fly was a prisoner of war. His aunt however saw it and made him let it go.

Tom was bored, so he took out a treasure he had on him at the moment. It was a large black beetle—a “pinchbug,” he called it. It was in a small box. The first thing the beetle did was to take him by the finger. A natural reaction followed, and the beetle went floundering into the aisle. A poodle dog came along. He spied the beetle; hesurveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked around it again; then lifted his lip and tried to bite it. Eventually, the dogs’ chin descended and touched the enemy, who bit into it it. There was a sharp cry, a shake of the poodle’s head, and the beetle fell a couple of yards away.

The spectators shook with a gentle joy, several faces went behind fans and hand-kerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy.

He went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was some satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety in it.

Chapter VI

On Monday morning Tom Sawyer felt miserable. Monday mornings were always like that because they began another week’s suffering in school.

Tom lay thinking. He wished he was sick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility. He thought about it, but didn’t find anything wrong. He investigated again. This time he thought he could detect colicky symptoms, but they soon grew feeble. He reflected further. Suddenly he discovered something. One of his upper front teeth was loose. This was lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a “starter,” as he called it, when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that argument, his aunt would pull it out, and that would hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further.

Nothing felt off. Then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to make him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet and looked at it. He did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it seemed well worth a try, so he started groaning.

Sid didn’t seem to wake up

Tom groaned louder, and imagined that he began to feel pain in the toe.

No result from Sid.

Tom was panting with his exertions by this time.

Sid snored on.

Finally, Tom started saying, “Sid, Sid!” and shook him. This worked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom.

Tom went on groaning. Sid said:

“Tom! Say, Tom!” – “Here, Tom! TOM! What is the matter, Tom?”

Tom moaned out:

“Oh, don’t, Sid.”

“Why, what’s the matter, Tom? I must call auntie.”

“No—never mind. It’ll be over by and by, maybe. Don’t call anybody.”

“But I must! Don’t groan so, Tom, it’s awful. How long you been this way?”

“Hours. Ouch! Oh, don’t stir so, Sid, you’ll kill me.”

“Tom, why didn’t you wake me sooner? Oh, Tom, don’t! What is the matter?”

“I forgive you everything, Sid. – Everything you’ve ever done to me. When I’m gone—”

“Oh, Tom, you ain’t dying, are you? Don’t, Tom—oh, don’t. Maybe—”

“I forgive everybody, Sid. – Tell ‘em so, Sid. And Sid, you give my window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that’s come to town, and tell her—”

But Sid was gone. Tom was suffering in reality, now, so well was his imagination working.

Sid flew downstairs and said:

“Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom’s dying!”

“Dying!”

“Yes’m. Don’t wait—come quick!”

“I don’t believe it!”

But she ran upstairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels. And her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the bedside she gasped out:

“You, Tom! Tom, what’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, auntie, I’m—”

“What’s the matter with you—what is the matter with you, child?”

“Oh, auntie, my sore toe’s mortified!”

The old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a little, then did both together. Then she said:

“Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and climb out of this.”

The groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy said:

“Aunt Polly, it seemed mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my tooth at all.”

“Your tooth, indeed! What’s the matter with your tooth?”

“It is loose[17]17
  It is loose – Он шатается


[Закрыть] and it’s very painful.”

“Now, Tom, don’t begin that groaning again. Open your mouth. Well—your tooth is loose, but you’re not going to die because of it. Mary, give me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire[18]18
  a chunk of fire – горящая головешка


[Закрыть] out of the kitchen.”

Tom said:

“Oh, please, auntie, don’t pull it out. It doesn’t hurt any more. Please don’t, auntie. I don’t want to stay home from school.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you? So all this story was because you thought you’d to stay home from school and go fishing?” Now the dental instruments[19]19
  dental instruments – стоматологические инструменты


[Закрыть] were ready. The old lady tied one end of the silk thread to Tom’s tooth and the other to the bed. Then she seized the chunk of fire and suddenly thrust it almost into the boy’s face[20]20
  thrust it almost into the boy’s face – ткнула ей почти в лицо мальчика


[Закрыть]. The tooth hung on the thread, now.

On his way to school Tom met Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless and vulgar and bad—and because all their children admired him so. He slept on doorsteps in fine weather and in empty barrels when it was raining. He did not have to go to school or to church, he could go fishing or swimming when and where he wanted. All mothers forbade their children to approach him. However Tom played with him every time he had a chance.

“Hello, Huckleberry!” Tom said.

“Hello yourself.”

“What’s that you’ve got?”

“A dead cat.”

“Let me see it, Huck. I say, Huck, what are dead cats good for, Huck?”

“Good for? Cure warts with.”

“But say—how do you cure them with dead cats?”

“You take your cat and go to the graveyard about midnight when somebody who was bad has just been buried. And when it’s midnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can’t see them, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear them talk; and when they’re taking that fellow away, you throw your cat at them and say, “Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I’m done with you!” And all your warts will disappear.”

“Sounds exciting! Hucky, when are you going to try the cat?”

“Tonight. I think, they’ll come after old Hoss Williams to-night.”

“But they buried him Saturday. Didn’t devils get him Saturday night?”

“How could they. Devils don’t work at weekends.”

“Let me go with you!”

“Of course—if you ain’t afraid.”

“Or no, I’m not afraid. Will you meow?”

“Yes—and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kept me meowing till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me. Thought I was a cat.”

“I won’t. I couldn’t meow that night, because auntie was watching me, but I’ll meow this time. Say—what’s that?”

“Nothing but a tick.”

“Where’d you get him?”

“Out in the woods.”

“What’ll you take for him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to sell him.”

“All right. It’s a small tick, anyway.”

“I’m satisfied with it. It’s a good enough tick for me.”

“There are plenty of ticks. I could have a thousand of ‘em if I wanted to.”

“Well, why don’t you? Because you can’t. This is a pretty early tick, I reckon. It’s the first one I’ve seen this year.”

“Say, Huck—I’ll give you my tooth for him.”

“Let me see it.”

Tom took out the tooth that fell out earlier. Huckleberry looked at it. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:

“Is it real?”

Tom lifted his lip and showed the spot where the tooth used to be.

“Well, all right,” said Huckleberry, “it’s a trade.”

Tom put the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the pinchbug’s prison, and the boys went their own ways, each feeling wealthier than before.

* * *

When Tom reached the little school house, the teacher said:

“Thomas Sawyer!”

Tom knew that when the teacher called him by his full name, it meant trouble.

“Thomas Sawyer, come up here. Why are you late again, as usual?”

Tom was going to lie, when he saw Becky. He instantly said:

“I stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn!”

The master said:

“You—you did what?”

“I stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn.”

“Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever listened to.”

He whipped Tom. “Now, sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to you.”

Sitting with the girls was considered a punishment. But the only vacant seat was next to Becky. So Tom was happy.

Once he sat down, Tom began to steal glances at the girl. She observed it, then turned away from him. When she cautiously turned around again, a peach lay before her. She thrust it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away again, hesitant this time. Tom patiently returned it to its place. She let it be. Tom scrawled on his slate, “Please take it—I got more.” The girl, but made no sign. Then the boy began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his left hand. For a time the girl refused to notice; but then she became curious. She tried to look. Tom pretended not to notice. At last she gave in and hesitatingly whispered:

“Let me see it.”

Tom partly uncovered the drawing: a house with a corkscrew of smoke coming from the chimney. She looked at it for a moment, then whispered:

“It’s nice—make a man.”

Tom drew a man in the front yard. He was so big he could have stepped over the house; but the girl liked it. She whispered:

“It’s a beautiful man—now make me coming along.”

Tom drew an hour-glass with straw limbs and a fan. The girl said:

“It’s so nice” said Becky. “I wish I could draw.”

“It’s easy,” whispered Tom, “I’ll teach you.”

“Oh, will you? When?”

“At noon. Do you go home to dinner?”

“I’ll stay if you will.” Becky was interested.

“Good. What’s your name?”

“Becky Thatcher. What’s yours? Oh, I know. It’s Thomas Sawyer.”

“They call me Thomas when they are angry with me. I’m Tom when I’m good. You call me Tom, will you?”

“Yes.”

Now Tom began to write something, hiding the words from the girl. She was curious and begged to see it. Tom said:

“Oh, it ain’t anything.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it ain’t. You don’t want to see.”

“Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me.”

“You’ll tell.”

“No I won’t.”

“You won’t tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?”

“No, I won’t ever tell anybody. Now let me.”

“Oh, you don’t want to see!”

“Now that you treat me so, I will see.” And she put her small hand upon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist in earnest but letting his hand slip till these words were revealed: “I love you.”

“Oh, you bad thing!” And she hit his hand, but reddened and looked pleased, nevertheless.

Just at that moment the teacher seized Tom by the ear, and returned him to his own seat, under a fire of giggles from the whole school.

Chapter VII

The harder Tom tried to concentrate on his book, the more his mind wandered. So at last, he gave it up. It seemed to him that the noon recess would never come.

Tom’s heart ached to be free, or else to have something of interest to do to pass the dreary time. His hand wandered into his pocket and his face lit up. The percussion-cap box came out. He released the tick and put him on the long flat desk.

Tom’s friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been. He was greatly interested in this entertainment in an instant. This friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were good friends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays.

Eventually, it seemed like they were interfering with each other, and neither was getting enough playtime with the tick. So Ton put Joe’s slate on the desk and drew a line down the middle of it from top to bottom.

“Now,” said he, “as long as he is on your side you can play and I’ll let him alone; but if you let him get away and get on my side, you’re to leave him alone as long as I can keep him from crossing over.”

“All right, go ahead.”

The tick escaped from Tom and crossed the equator. Joe harassed him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again. While one boy was playing with the tick, the other would look on with interest. At last luck seemed to settle with Joe. The tick stayed on his side of the slate. At last Tom could stand it no longer. The temptation was too strong. So he reached out tried to move the tick. Joe was angry in a moment. Said he:

“Tom, you let him alone.”

“I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe.”

“No, sir, it ain’t fair; you just let him alone.”

“Blame it, I ain’t going to stir him much.”

“Let him alone, I tell you.”

“I won’t!”

“You shall—he’s on my side of the line.”

“Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?”

“I don’t care whose tick he is—he’s on my side of the line, and you sha’n’t touch him.”

“Well, I’ll just bet I will, though. He’s my tick and I’ll do what I blame please with him, or die!”

A tremendous whack came down on Tom’s shoulders, and the same happened to Joe. For two minutes they continued to fight. The boys had been too absorbed to notice the master coming up to them.

When there was a break, Tom walked up to Becky Thatcher. They agreed to meet up in an empty class.

There they sat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil and held her hand in his, guiding it, teaching her how to draw a house. Then they talked.

“Do you love rats?”

“No! I hate them!”

“Well, I do, too—live ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your head with a string.”

“No. What I like is chewing-gum.”

“Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now.”

“Do you? I’ve got some. I’ll let you chew it awhile, but you must give it back to me.”

That was agreeable, so they chewed it in turns.

“Have you ever been to a circus?” said Tom.

“Yes, and my father’s going to take me again some time, if I’m good.”

“I been to the circus three or four times—lots of times. I’m going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up.”

“Oh, are you! That will be nice. They’re so lovely, all spotted up.”

“Yes, that’s so. And make a lot of money—a dollar a day, Ben Rogers says.”

During the lunch interval Tom asked:

“I say, Becky, was you ever engaged?”

“What’s that?”

“Why, engaged to be married.”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

“I think so. I don’t know. What is it like?”

“You only just tell a boy you will never love anybody but him, and then you kiss and that’s all. Anybody can do it.”

“Kiss? What do you kiss for?”

“Well, they always do that.”

“Everybody?”

“Yes, everybody who is in love with each other. Do you remember what I wrote at the lesson?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“I shan’t tell you.”

“Shall I tell you?”

“Ye—yes—but some other time.”

“No, now.”

“No, not now—to-morrow.”

“Oh, no, now. Please, Becky—I’ll whisper it, I’ll whisper it ever so easy.”

Tom passed his arm about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth сlose to her ear. And then he added:

“Now you whisper it to me—just the same.”

She bent timidly around till her breath stirred his curls and whispered, “I—love—you!”

Tom turned to her and kissed her lips and said:

“Now it’s all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain’t ever to love anybody but me, and you ain’t ever to marry anybody but me, ever never and forever. Will you?”

“No, I’ll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I’ll never marry anybody but you—and you ain’t to ever marry anybody but me, either. It’s so nice. I never heard of it before.”

“Oh, yes! Why, me and Amy Lawrence—”

Becky’s eyes grew larger and Tom realized he said something wrong.

“Oh, Tom! Then I ain’t the first you’ve ever been engaged to!”

Becky burst out crying and refused to talk to Tom.

He had to go away, and Becky had to return to classes and hide her sorrow.

Chapter VIII

Tom entered a dense wood, went as far as to the center of it, and sat down under a tree. It seemed to him that all his life was but a trouble. Now, this girl. He had meant the best in the world, done nothing to her and been treated like a dog. She would be sorry some day!

What if he disappeared mysteriously now? What if he went away and never came back any more! How would she feel then!

He would be a pirate! His name would fill the world, and make people tremble! “It’s Tom Sawyer the Pirate!—the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main!” everybody would say.

Yes, his career was determined[21]21
  career was determined – карьера была определена


[Закрыть]. He would run away from home and become a pirate. He would start the very next morning.

* * *

At half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake and waited, restless. When it seemed to him that it must be nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! And then there came a most melancholy caterwauling[22]22
  there came a most melancholy caterwauling – послышалось весьма жалобное мяуканье


[Закрыть].

Tom woke and dressed up, “meowed” once or twice, then jumped to the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there, with his dead cat. The boys moved off and at the end of half an hour they were in the graveyard.

It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a hill, about a mile and a half from the village. The boys found the new grave they were looking for and hid under a tree within a few feet of the grave.

They waited in silence for what seemed a long time.

“Hucky, do you believe the dead people like us to be here?” Tom asked.

Huckleberry whispered: “I wish I knew. It’s awful solemn like, ain’t it?”

Tom seized his friend’s arm and said:

“Sh!”

“What is it, Tom?”

“Sh! There it is again! Didn’t you hear it?”

“Lord, Tom, they’re coming! They’re coming, sure. What’ll we do?”

“I don’t know. Do you think they’ll see us?”

“Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wish I hadn’t come.”

The boys bent their heads together and nearly stopped breathing. A sound of voices could be heard in the far end of the graveyard. Then they saw some lights—and three figures.

“Look! See there!” whispered Tom. “What is it?”

“It’s the devils sure enough. Three of them! Oh, Tom, we’re goners[23]23
  we’re goners – мы – покойники


[Закрыть]. Wait!—They’re humans! One of them is. I recognize Muff Potter’s voice”

“I say, Huck, I know another voice; it’s Injun Joe[24]24
  Injun Joe – индеец Джо


[Закрыть].”

“What can they be up to?”

The three men had reached the grave and stood within a few feet of the boys’ hiding-place.

“Here it is,” said the third voice; and the boys saw young Doctor Robinson.

Potter and Injun Joe were carrying shovels with them. They began to open the grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat down with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the boys could have touched him.

“Hurry, men!” he said, in a low voice; “the moon might come out at any moment.”

They growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was no noise but the sound of the spades discharging their freight of mould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck upon the coffin, and within another minute or two the men had hoisted it out on the ground. They opened it with their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid face.

Potter took out a large spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then said:

“Now, Doc, give us another five, and he’s yours” said Muff Potter.

“That’s the talk!” said Injun Joe.

“Look here, what does this mean?” said the doctor. “I paid you in advance[25]25
  I paid you in advance – я вам заплатил вперед


[Закрыть], didn’t I?”

“Remember, five years ago you drove me away from your father’s kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something to eat,” said Injun Joe, approaching the doctor, who was now standing. “And your father had me jailed for a vagrant[26]26
  had me jailed for a vagrant – упрятал меня в тюрьму за бродяжничество


[Закрыть]. Did you think I’d forget? I swore I’d revenge, and now I’ve got you, and you got to settle, you know!”

He was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this time.

The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian, who dropped his knife, on the ground.

Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:

“Here, now, don’t you hit my pardner!” and the next moment he and the doctor started fighting, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Injun Joe sprang to his feet, picked up Potter’s knife. The doctor seized the heavy headboard of Williams’ grave and hit Potter to the earth with it—and in the same instant Joe saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man’s breast. He fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went running away in the dark.

When the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over the two forms. The doctor murmured something, gave a long gasp or two and was still. Joe muttered:

“That score is settled—damn you.”

Then he robbed the body, put the knife in Potter’s open right hand, and sat down on the coffin. After about five minutes Potter began to move and his hand closed upon the knife.

“Lord, how is this, Joe?” he said.

“What did you do it for?”

“I! I didn’t do it!’

“Tell me, Joe—HONEST, now, old fellow—did I do it? Joe, I never meant to do it, I never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it’s terrible!”

“Why, you two were fighting, he hit you, you fell, then you jumped on your feet and killed him.”

“Oh, I didn’t know what I was doing! Say you won’t tell anyone, Joe. I always liked you, Joe. Do you remember? You WON’T tell, WILL you, Joe?” And Potter dropped on his knees before the Injun.

“No, you’ve always been fair and square with me[27]27
  fair and square with me – справедлив по отношению ко мне


[Закрыть], Muff Potter, and I won’t fail you.”

“Oh, Joe, you’re an angel.” And Potter began to cry.

After two or three minutes only the moon was looking at the murdered man, the corpse in a blanket, the open coffin, and the open grave.