Джон Стейнбек - Cup of Gold [Золотая чаша]

"See, Captain; he whipped me with a thong of hard leather he had only for that purpose. His face had something of a beast's snarl hiding very near the surface. But he was free-a bold, free, thief. He killed before he stole-always he killed. And we lived in entryways, and on the floors of churches, and under the land arch of a bridge, and we were free-free from thoughts and free from fears and worries. But once he went away from me, and I found him hanging by the neck on a gallows-oh, a great gallows festooned with men hanging by their necks.

"Can you understand that, Captain? Do you see that as I saw it? And does it mean anything at all to you?" Her eyes were on fire.

"I walked back to Cordova, and my feet were torn. I did penance until my body was torn, but I could not drive out all the devil. I was exorcised, but the devil was deep in me. Can you understand that, Captain?" She looked into Henry's face and saw that he had not been listening. She stood beside him and moved her fingers in his graying hair.

"You are changed," she said. "Some light is gone out of you. What fear has fallen on you?"

He stirred from his reverie.

"I do not know."

"I was told that you killed your friend. Is it that which burdens you?"

"I killed him."

"And do you mourn for him?"

"Perhaps. I do not know. I think I mourn for some other thing which is dead. He might have been a vital half of me, which, dying, leaves me half a man. Today I have been like a bound slave on a white slab of marble with the gathered vivisectors about me. I was supposed to be a healthy slave, but the scalpels found me sick with a disease called mediocrity."

"I am sorry," she said.

"You are sorry? Why are you sorry?"

"I think I am sorry because of your lost light, because the brave, brutal child in you is dead-the boastful child who mocked and thought his mockery shook the throne of God; the confident child who graciously permitted the world to accompany him through space. This child is dead, and I am sorry. I would go with you, now, if I thought it possible to warm the child to life again."

Henry said, "It is strange. Two days ago I planned to tear a continent out of the set order and crown it with a capital of gold for you. In my mind, I built up an empire for you, and planned the diadem you should wear. And now I dimly remember the person who thought these things. He is an enigmatic stranger on a staggering globe.

"And you-I feel only a slight uneasiness with you. I am not afraid of you any more. I do not want you any more. I am filled with a nostalgia for my own black mountains and for the speech of my own people.

I am drawn to sit in a deep veranda and to hear the talk of an old man I used to know. I find I am tired of all this bloodshed and struggle for things that will not lie still, for articles that will not retain their value in my hands. it is horrible," he cried. "I do not want anything any more. I have no lusts, and my desires are dry and rattling. I have only a vague wish for peace and the time to ponder imponderable matters."

"You will take no more cups of gold," she said. "You will turn no more vain dreams into unsatisfactory conquests.

I am sorry for you, Captain Morgan. And you were not right about the slave. Ill he was, indeed, but not with the illness you have mentioned. But I suppose your sins are great. All men who break the bars of mediocrity commit frightful sins. I shall pray for you to the Holy Virgin, and She will intercede for you at the throne of Heaven. But what am I to do?"

"You will go back to your husband, I suppose."

"Yes, I will go back. You have made me old, Seсor. You have pricked the dream on which my heavy spirit floated. And I wonder whether, in the years to come, you will blame me for the death of your friend."

Henry flushed quickly.

"I am trying to do something of that sort now," he said. "It does not seem worth the while to lie any more, and that is only one more proof of dead youth. But now, good-by, Ysobel. I wish I loved you now as I thought I did yesterday.

Go back to your husband's scented hands."

She smiled and raised her eyes to the holy picture on the wall. "Peace go with you, dear fool," she murmured. "Ah, I too have lost my youth. I am old-old-for I cannot console myself with the thought of what you have missed."

Henry Morgan stood in the doorway of the Hall of Audience and watched a little troupe of Spaniards ride through the streets toward the Palace. The troupe was surrounded on all sides by a mob of buccaneers. First in the line came the messenger, but a changed messenger. Now he was dressed in scarlet silk. The plume of his hat and his sword's scabbard were white in token of peace. Behind him rode six soldiers in silver breast-plates and the Spanish helmets which looked like half mustard seeds.

The last soldier led a riderless white mare with crimson trappings and a line of golden bells on its brow band. The white saddle cloth nearly touched the ground. Following the mare were six mules bearing heavy leathern bags, and the group was rear-guarded by six more soldiers.

The cavalcade drew up before the Palace. The messenger leaped from his horse and bowed to Henry Morgan.

"I have here the ransom," he said. He looked worried and tired. The weight of his mission was riding heavily on his spirit. At his command the soldiers carried the leather bags into the Hall of Audience, and only when they were all deposited with the rest of the treasure did the anxiety leave his face.

"Ah," he said, "it is good. It is the treasure. Twenty thousand pieces of eight-not one lost by the wayside. I invite you to count them, Seсor." He whipped a little dust from his foot. "If my men could have refreshments, Seсor; wine-" he suggested.

"Yes. Yes." Henry motioned to one of his followers. "See that these men have food and drink. Be courteous, as you love life."

Then he went to the bags to count the ransom. He made little towers of shining coins and moved the towers about on the floor. Money was bright, he thought. It could have been cut in no more charming shape, either. A square would not answer, nor an ellipse. And money was really worth more than money.

He tumbled a tower and built it up again. It was so extremely certain-money. One knew beforehand what it would do if set in motion; at least, he knew up to a certain point. Beyond that point it did not matter what it accomplished. One might buy wine with money. One had the wine. And if the merchant's clerk should kill his master for the same coins, it was unfortunate; it was, perhaps, Fate or something like that, but one had his wine just the same.

And all this pile of golden vessels, these crosses and candlesticks and pearl vestments, would be money like this. These bars of gold and silver would be cut into round flakes and each flake stamped with a picture. The picture would be more than a picture. Like the kiss of a saint, it would endow the flake with power; the picture would give it a character and a curious, compelling soul. He flung the coins into a heap and patiently set about to rebuild them. Enough towers for Jerusalem!

Now Ysobel came from the patio and stood beside him.

"What an amount of money," she said. "Is that my ransom?"

"Yes; it is the gold which purchases you."

"But what a very great deal! Am I worth that much, do you think?"

"To your husband you are. He paid it for you." He moved ten towers into a line.

"And to you-how much? How many of these golden chips?"

"You must have been worth that much to me. I stated the price."

"Wouldn't they skip well on the water!" she said. "How they would skip! Do you know, I can throw like a boy, with my arm bent."

"It was said you were capable," he announced.

"But am I really worth that much?"

"The money is here, and you are to go. It has bought you. A thing must be worth what is paid for it, or there could be no trade."