Джек Лондон - Маленькая хозяйка большого дома / The Little Lady Of The Big House

It was the same thing, after dinner, in the big living room. Her laugh fascinated Graham. There was a fibrous thrill in it, most sweet to the ear, that differentiated it from any laugh he had ever heard.

“And now, Red Cloud [33] Red Cloud – Багряное Облако , sing Mr. Graham your Acorn Song [34] Acorn Song – «Песня про жёлудь» ,” Paula commanded Dick.

Forrest shook his head somberly.

“The Acorn Song!” Ernestine called from the piano.

“Oh, do, Dick,” Paula pleaded. “Mr. Graham is the only one who hasn’t heard it.”

Dick shook his head.

“Then sing him your Goldfish Song [35] Goldfish Song – «Песня о золотой рыбке» .”

“I’ll sing him Mountain Lad’s song [36] Mountain Lad’s song – «Песня горца» ,” Dick said, a whimsical sparkle in his eyes. He stamped his feet, pranced, tossed an imaginary mane, and cried:

“Hear me! I am Eros [37] Eros – Эрос ! I stamp upon the hills! [38] I stamp upon the hills! – Я попираю холмы! “

“The Acorn Song,” Paula interrupted quickly and quietly, with steel in her voice.

Dick obediently ceased his chant of Mountain Lad, but shook his head like a stubborn colt.

“I have a new song,” he said solemnly. “It is about you and me, Paula.”

Dick danced half a dozen steps, as Indians dance, slapped his thighs with his palms, and began a new chant.

“Me, I am Ai-kut [39] Ai-kut – Ай-Кут , the first man, Ai-kut is the short for Adam, and my father and my mother were the coyote and the moon. And this is Yo-to-to-wi [40] Yo-to-to-wi – Йо-то-то-ви , my wife. She is the first woman. Her father and her mother were the grasshopper and the ring-tailed cat. They were the best father and mother left after my father and mother. The coyote is very wise, the moon is very old. The mother of all women was a cat, a little, wise, sad-faced, shrewd ring-tailed cat.”

The song of the first man and woman was interrupted by protests from the women and acclamations from the men.

“This is Yo-to-to-wi, which is the short for Eve,” Dick chanted on. “Yo-to-to-wi is very small. But it is not her fault. The fault is with the grasshopper and the ring-tailed cat. Me, I am Ai-kut, the first man. I was the first man, and this, Adam chose Eve. Yo-to-to-wi was the one woman in all the world for me, so I chose Yo-to-to-wi.”

And Evan Graham, listening, thought, “Dick Forrest is lucky—too lucky.”

“Me, I am Ai-kut,” Dick chanted on. “This is my dew of woman. She is my honey-dew [41] honey-dew – медвяная роса of woman. I have lied to you. Her father and her mother were neither hopper nor cat. They were the dawn and the summer east wind of the mountains. Yo-to-to-wi is my honey-dew woman. Hear me! I am Ai-kut. Yo-to-to-wi is my quail woman, my deer-woman, my lush-woman of all soft rain and fat soil. She was born of the thin starlight and the brittle dawn-light before the sun …”

The guests asked Paula to play.

“I’m asking you to play ‘ Reflections on the Water [42] Reflections on the Water – «Размышления на воде» ’,” Terrence said to her.

“Oh, Debussy [43] Debussy – Клод Дебюсси, французский композитор !” Paula laughed.

No sooner was she seated than the three sages slipped away to their listening places. The young poet stretched himself prone on a deep bearskin. Terrence and Aaron took window seats. The girls were sitting on wide couches or in the wood chairs.

All jollity and banter had ceased. Ernestine leaned across from a chair to whisper to Graham:

“She can do anything she wants to do. And she doesn’t work … much. She doesn’t play like a woman. Listen to that!”

Paula played with the calm and power. Her touch was definite, authoritative. Graham watched the lofty room grow loftier in the increasing shadows.

He was slow in getting ready for bed that night. He was stirred both by the Big House and by the Little Lady who was its mistress. As he sat on the edge of the bed, half-undressed, and smoked out a pipe, he was seeing her in memory, as he had seen her in the flesh the past twelve hours, in her varied moods and guises—the woman who had talked music with him, and who had expounded music to him to his delight

Graham knocked out his pipe. Again he heard Paula Forrest laugh; again he sensed her in silver and steel and strength; again, against the dark, he saw her gown. The bright vision of it was almost an irk to him, so impossible was it for him to shake it from his eyes.

He saw the stallion and the beneath the water, the flurry of foam and floundering of hoofs, and the woman’s face that laughed while she drowned her hair in the drowning mane of the horse.

Finally Graham fell asleep.

The next morning Graham learned the Big House. Over the billiard table, Graham learned that Dick Forrest never appeared for breakfast, that he worked in bed, had coffee at six, and only on unusual occasions appeared to his guests before the twelve-thirty lunch. As for Paula Forrest, she was a poor sleeper, a late riser, lived behind a door without a knob in a spacious wing, and only on infrequent occasion she appeared before twelve-thirty, and not very often.

Graham came to lunch with an eagerness to see Paula; and he knew definite disappointment when his hostess did not appear.

“A white night,” Dick Forrest said. “Do you know, we were married years before I ever saw her sleep. I knew she slept, but I never saw her. I’ve seen her for three days and nights without closing an eye.”

A new guest had arrived that morning, a Donald Ware [44] Donald Ware – Доналд Уэйр , whom Graham met at lunch. Despite his youth, he was a well-known violinist.

“He loves Paula very much,” Ernestine told Graham as they passed out from the dining room.

Graham raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, but she doesn’t mind,” Ernestine laughed. “Every man that comes along does the same thing. She’s used to it. [45] She’s used to it. – Она к этому привыкла. She enjoys these people, and gets the best out of them. It’s lots of fun to Dick. You’ll be doing the same before you’re here a week. If you don’t, we’ll all be surprised mightily. And if you don’t, most likely you’ll hurt Dick’s feelings.”

“Oh, well, if so, I suppose I must,” Graham sighed. “If it’s the custom—well, it’s the custom, that’s all. But there are so many other nice girls around.”

Ernestine dropped her own eyes away, and flushed.

“Little Leo—the poet you remember last night,” she said. “He’s madly in love with Paula, too. And Terrence—the Irishman, you know—he’s mildly in love with her. They can’t help it [46] they can’t help it – они ничего не могут с этим поделать , you see; and can you blame them?”

“She surely deserves it all,” Graham murmured, although hurt in that the epicurean anarchist who adores to be a loafer and a pensioner could even be in love with the Little Lady. “She is most deserving of all men’s admiration,” he continued smoothly. “From the little I’ve seen of her she’s quite remarkable and most charming.”