Уильям Голдинг: Повелитель мух / Lord of the Flies

Ralph sat on a fallen trunk, his left side to the sun. On his right were most of the choir; on his left the larger boys who had not known each other before the evacuation; before him small children squatted in the grass.

Silence now. Ralph lifted the cream and pink shell to his knees and a sudden breeze scattered light over the platform. He was uncertain whether to stand up or remain sitting. He looked sideways to his left, toward the bathing pool. Piggy was sitting near but giving no help.

Ralph cleared his throat.

“Well then.”

All at once he found he could talk fluently and explain what he had to say. He passed a hand through his fair hair and spoke.

“We’re on an island. We’ve been on the mountain top and seen water all round. We saw no houses, no smoke, no footprints, no boats, no people. We’re on an uninhabited island with no other people on it.”

Jack broke in.

“All the same you need an army—for hunting. Hunting pigs—”

“Yes. There are pigs on the island.”

All three of them tried to convey the sense of the pink live thing struggling in the creepers.

“We saw—”

“Squealing—”

“It broke away—”

“Before I could kill it—but—next time!”

Jack slammed his knife into a trunk and looked round challengingly. The meeting settled down again.

“So you see,” said Ralph, “We need hunters to get us meat. And another thing[8] And another thing – И еще кое-что .”

He lifted the shell on his knees and looked round the sun-slashed faces.

“There aren’t any grownups. We shall have to look after ourselves.”

The meeting hummed and was silent.

“And another thing. We can’t have everybody talking at once. We’ll have to have ‘Hands up’ like at school.”

He held the conch before his face and glanced round the mouth.

“Then I’ll give him the conch.”

“Conch?”

“That’s what this shell’s called. I’ll give the conch to the next person to speak. He can hold it when he’s speaking.”

“But—”

“Look—”

“And he won’t be interrupted: Except by me.”

Jack was on his feet.

“We’ll have rules!” he cried excitedly. “Lots of rules! Then when anyone breaks ’em—”

“Whee—oh!”

“Wacco!”

“Bong!”

“Doink!”

Ralph felt the conch lifted from his lap. Then Piggy was standing cradling the great cream shell and the shouting died down. Jack, left on his feet, looked uncertainly at Ralph who smiled and patted the log. Jack sat down. Piggy took off his glasses and blinked at the assembly while he wiped them on his shirt.

“You’re hindering Ralph. You’re not letting him get to the most important thing.”

He paused effectively.

“Who knows we’re here? Eh?”

“They knew at the airport.”

“The man with a trumpet-thing—”

“My dad.”

Piggy put on his glasses.

“Nobody knows where we are,” said Piggy. He was paler than before and breathless. “Perhaps they knew where we was going to; and perhaps not. But they don’t know where we are ’cos we never got there.” He gaped at them for a moment, then swayed and sat down.

Ralph took the conch from his hands.

“That’s what I was going to say,” he went on, “when you all, all. …” He gazed at their intent faces. “The plane was shot down in flames. Nobody knows where we are. We may be here a long time.”

The silence was so complete that they could hear the unevenness of Piggy’s breathing. The sun slanted in and lay golden over half the platform. The breezes that on the lagoon had chased their tails like kittens were finding their way across the platform and into the forest.

Ralph pushed back the tangle of fair hair that hung on his forehead.

“So we may be here a long time.”

Nobody said anything. He grinned suddenly.

“But this is a good island. We—Jack, Simon and me—we climbed the mountain. It’s wizard. There’s food and drink, and—”

“Rocks—”

“Blue flowers—”

Piggy, partly recovered, pointed to the conch in Ralph’s hands, and Jack and Simon fell silent. Ralph went on.

“While we’re waiting we can have a good time on this island.”

He gesticulated widely.

“It’s like in a book.”

At once there was a clamor.

“Treasure Island—”

“Swallows and Amazons—”

“Coral Island—”

Ralph waved the conch.

“This is our island. It’s a good island. Until the grownups come to fetch us we’ll have fun.”

Jack held out his hand for the conch.

“There’s pigs,” he said. “There’s food; and bathing water in that little stream along there—and everything. Didn’t anyone find anything else?”

He handed the conch back to Ralph and sat down. Apparently no one had found anything.

The older boys first noticed the child when he resisted. There was a group of little boys urging him forward and he did not want to go. He was a shrimp of a boy, about six years old, and one side of his face was blotted out by a mulberry-colored birthmark. He stood now, warped out of the perpendicular by the fierce light of publicity, and he bored into the coarse grass with one toe. He was muttering and about to cry.

The other little boys, whispering but serious, pushed him toward Ralph.

“All right,” said Ralph, “come on then.”

The small boy looked round in panic.

“Speak up!”

The small boy held out his hands for the conch and the assembly shouted with laughter; at once he snatched back his hands and started to cry.

“Let him have the conch!” shouted Piggy. “Let him have it!”

At last Ralph induced him to hold the shell but by then the blow of laughter had taken away the child’s voice. Piggy knelt by him, one hand on the great shell, listening and interpreting to the assembly.

“He wants to know what you’re going to do about the snake-thing.”

Ralph laughed, and the other boys laughed with him. The small boy twisted further into himself[9] twisted further into himself – сжался еще сильнее .

“Tell us about the snake-thing.”

“Now he says it was a beastie.”

“Beastie?”

“A snake-thing. Ever so big. He saw it.”

“Where?”

“In the woods.”

Either the wandering breezes or perhaps the decline of the sun allowed a little coolness to lie under the trees. The boys felt it and stirred restlessly.

“You couldn’t have a beastie, a snake-thing, on an island this size,” Ralph explained kindly. “You only get them in big countries, like Africa, or India.”

Murmur; and the grave nodding of heads.

“He says the beastie came in the dark.”

“Then he couldn’t see it!”

Laughter and cheers.

“Did you hear that? Says he saw the thing in the dark—”

“He still says he saw the beastie. It came and went away again an’ came back and wanted to eat him—”

“He was dreaming.”

Laughing, Ralph looked for confirmation round the ring of faces. The older boys agreed; but here and there among the little ones was the doubt that required more than rational assurance.

“He must have had a nightmare. Stumbling about among all those creepers.”

More grave nodding; they knew about nightmares. “He says he saw the beastie, the snake-thing, and will it come back tonight?”

“But there isn’t a beastie!”

“He says in the morning it turned into them things like ropes in the trees and hung in the branches. He says will it come back tonight?”

“But there isn’t a beastie!”

There was no laughter at all now and more grave watching. Ralph pushed both hands through his hair and looked at the little boy in mixed amusement and exasperation.