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“Say,” he said. “What the hell?” He was trying to swagger it off.
“They were going to kill Ole Andreson,” George said. “They were going to shoot him when he came in to eat.”
“Ole Andreson?”
“Sure.”
The cook felt the corners of his mouth with his thumbs.
“They all gone?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said George. “They’re gone now.”
“I don’t like it,” said the cook. “I don’t like any of it at all.”
“Listen,” George said to Nick. “You better go see Ole Andreson.”
“All right.”
“You better not have anything to do with it at all,” Sam, the cook, said. “You better stay way out of it.”
“Don’t go if you don’t want to,” George said.
“Mixing up in this ain’t going to get you anywhere,” the cook said. “You stay out of it.”
“I’ll go see him,” Nick said to George. “Where does he live?”
The cook turned away.
“Little boys always know what they want to do,” he said.
“He lives up at Hirsch’s rooming-house,” George said to Nick.
“I’ll go up there.”
thumb [θLm]
Outside the arc-light shone through the bare branches of a tree (íà óëèöå äóãîâîé ôîíàðü ñâåòèë ñêâîçü ãîëûå âåòêè äåðåâà). Nick walked up the street beside the car-tracks (âîçëå òðàìâàéíûõ ïóòåé) and turned at the next arc-light down a side-street (è ñâåðíóë ó ñëåäóþùåãî ôîíàðÿ â áîêîâóþ óëèöó, â ïåðåóëîê). Three houses up the street (÷åðåç òðè äîìà) was Hirsch’s rooming-house. Nick walked up the two steps (ïîäíÿëñÿ íà äâå ñòóïåíüêè) and pushed the bell (è íàäàâèë êíîïêó çâîíêà). A woman came to the door.
“Is Ole Andreson here?”
“Do you want to see him?”
“Yes, if he’s in (åñëè îí äîìà).”
Nick followed the woman up a flight of stairs (ïîñëåäîâàë çà æåíùèíîé ââåðõ ïî ïðîëåòó ëåñòíèöû) and back to the end of a corridor. She knocked on the door (îíà ïîñòó÷àëà â äâåðü).
“Who is it (êòî òàì: «êòî ýòî»)?”
“It’s somebody to see you (òóò âàñ ñïðàøèâàþò: «êòî-òî ê âàì»), Mr. Andreson,” the woman said.
“It’s Nick Adams.”
“Come in.”
Nick opened the door and went into the room. Ole Andreson was lying on the bed (ëåæàë íà êðîâàòè) with all his clothes on (îäåòûé: «ñ îäåæäîé íà íåì»). He had been a heavyweight prize-fighter (áîêñåðîì-òÿæåëîâåñîì; heavy – òÿæåëûé; weight – âåñ; prize – íàãðàäà, ïðåìèÿ; to fight – äðàòüñÿ, áèòüñÿ) and he was too long for the bed (ñëèøêîì äëèííûé äëÿ êðîâàòè). He lay with his head on two pillows (ñ ãîëîâîé íà äâóõ ïîäóøêàõ). He did not look at Nick.
Outside the arc-light shone through the bare branches of a tree. Nick walked up the street beside the car-tracks and turned at the next arc-light down a side-street. Three houses up the street was Hirsch’s rooming-house. Nick walked up the two steps and pushed the bell. A woman came to the door.
“Is Ole Andreson here?”
“Do you want to see him?”
“Yes, if he’s in.”
Äàòà äîáàâëåíèÿ: 2015-09-10; ïðîñìîòðîâ: 27 | Ïîìîæåì íàïèñàòü âàøó ðàáîòó | Íàðóøåíèå àâòîðñêèõ ïðàâ |