Джек Лондон - Hearts of Three [С англо-русским словарем]

And as Torres passed out of the shop, not in any way attempting to hide the scorn and contempt he felt for the fool he had made of the jeweler, he knew elation in that Fernandez, the Spanish fox, must have cut his estimate of the gem’s value fully in half when he uttered it.

In the meanwhile, descending the Gualaca River by canoe, Leoncia, the Queen, and the two Morgans, had made better time than Torres to the coast. But ere their arrival and briefly pending it, a matter of moment that was not appreciated at the time, had occurred at the Solano hacienda. Climbing the winding pathway to the hacienda, accompanied by a decrepit old crone whose black shawl over head and shoulders could not quite hide the lean and withered face of blasted volcanic fire, came as strange a caller as the hacienda had ever received.

He was a Chinaman, middle-aged and fat, whose moon face beamed the beneficent good nature that seems usual with fat persons. By name, Yi Poon, meaning ‘the Cream of the Custard Apple,’ his manners were as softly and richly oily as his name. To the old crone, who tottered beside him and was half — supported by him, he was the quintessence of gentleness and consideration. When she faltered from sheer physical weakness and would have fallen, he paused and gave her chance to gain strength and breath. Thrice, at such times, on the climb to the hacienda, he fed her a spoonful of French brandy from a screw-cap pocket flask.

Seating the old woman in a selected, shady corner of the piazza, Yi Poon boldly knocked for admittance at the front door. To him, and in his business, back-stairs was the accustomed way; but his business and his wit had taught him the times when front entrances were imperative.

The Indian maid who answered his knock, took his message into the living room where sat the disconsolate Enrico Solano among his sons disconsolate at the report Ricardo had brought in of the loss of Leoncia in the Maya Mountain. The Indian maid returned to the door. The Señor Solano was indisposed and would see nobody, was her report, humbly delivered, even though the recipient was a Chinese.

‘Huh!’ observed Yi Poon, with braggart confidence for the purpose of awing the maid to carrying a second message. ‘I am no coolie. [46] Coolie — кули, батрак в азиатских колониях. I am smart Chinaman. I go to school plenty much. I speak Spanish. I speak English. I write Spanish. I write English. See I write now in Spanish for the Señor Solano. You cannot write, so you cannot read what I write. I write that I am Yi Poon. I belong Colon. I come this place to see Señor Solano. Big business. Much important. Very secret. I write all this here on paper which you cannot read.’

But he did not say that he had further written: ‘The Señorita Solano. I have great secret.’

It was Alesandro, the eldest of the tall sons of Solano, who evidently had received the note, for he came bounding to the door, far outstripping the returning maid.

‘Tell me your business!’ he almost shouted at the fat Chinese. ‘What is it? Quick!’

‘Very good business,’ was the reply, Yi Poon noting the other’s excitement with satisfaction. ‘I make much money. I buy what you call secrets. I sell secrets. Very nice business.’

‘What do you know about the Señorita Solano?’ Alesandro shouted, gripping him by the shoulder.

‘Everything. Very important information…’

But Alesandro could no longer control himself. He almost hurled the Chinaman into the house, and, not relaxing his grip, rushed him on into the living room and up to Enrico.

‘He has news of Leoncia!’ Alesandro shouted.

‘Where is she?’ Enrico and his sons shouted in chorus.

Hah! was Yi Poon’s thought. Such excitement, although it augured well for his business, was rather exciting for him as well.

Mistaking his busy thinking for fright, Enrico stilled his sons back with an upraised hand, and addressed the visitor quietly.

‘Where is she?’ Enrico asked.

Hah! thought Yi Poon. The señorita was lost. That was a new secret. It might be worth something some day, or any day. A nice girl, of high family and wealth such as the Solanos, lost in a Latin-American country, was information well worth possessing. Some day she might be married there was that gossip he had heard in Colon and some later day she might have trouble with her husband or her husband have trouble with her — at which time, she or her husband, it mattered not which, might be eager to pay high for the secret.

‘This Señorita Leoncia,’ he said, finally, with sleek suavity. ‘She is not your girl. She has other papa and mama.’

But Enrico’s present grief at her loss was too great to permit startlement at this explicit statement of an old secret. ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Though it is not known outside my family, I adopted her when she was a baby. It is strange that you should know this. But I am not interested in having you tell me what I have long since known. What I want to know now is: where is she now?’

Yi Poon gravely and sympathetically shook his head.

‘That is different secret,’ he explained. ‘Maybe I find that secret. Then I sell it to you. But I have old secret. You do not know the name of the Señorita Leoncia’s papa and mama. I know.’

And old Enrico Solano could not hide his interest at the temptation of such information.

‘Speak,’ he commanded. ‘Name the names, and prove them, and I shall reward.’

‘No,’ Yi Poon shook his head. ‘Very poor business. I no do business that way. You pay me I tell you. My secrets good secrets. I prove my secrets. You give me five hundred pesos and big expenses from Colon to San Antonio and back to Colon and I tell you name of papa and mama.’

Enrico Solano bowed acquiescence, and was just in the act of ordering Alesandro to go and fetch the money, when the quiet, spirit-subdued Indian maid created a diversion. Bunning into the room and up to Enrico as they had never seen her run before, she wrung her hands and wept so incoherently that they knew her paroxysm was of joy, not of sadness.

‘The Señorita!’ she was finally able to whisper hoarsely, as she indicated the side piazza with a nod of head and glance of eyes. ‘The Señorita!’

And Yi Poon and his secret were forgotten. Enrico and his sons streamed out to the side piazza to behold Leoncia and the Queen and the two Morgans, dropping dust-covered off the backs of riding mules recognizable as from the pastures of the mouth of the Gualaca River. At the same time two Indian man-servants, summoned by the maid, cleared the house and grounds of the fat Chinaman and his old crone of a companion.

‘Come some other time,’ they told him. ‘Just now the Señor Solano is very importantly busy.’

‘Sure, I come some other time,’ Yi Poon assured them pleasantly, without resentment and without betrayal of the disappointment that was his at his deal interrupted just ere the money was paid into his hand.

But he departed reluctantly. The place was good for his business. It was sprouting secrets. Never was there a riper harvest in Canaan [47] Canaan — Ханаан, земледельческий регион на Ближнем Востоке, упоминаемый в Библии. out of which, sickle in hand, a husbandman was driven! Had it not been for the zealous Indian attendants, Yi Poon would have darted around the corner of the hacienda to note the newcomers. As it was, half way down the hill, finding the weight of the crone too fatiguing, he put into her the life and ability to carry her own weight a little farther by feeding her a double teaspoonful of brandy from his screw-top flask.

Enrico swept Leoncia off her mule ere she could dismount, so passionately eager was he to fold her in his arms. For several minutes ensued naught but noisy Latin affection as her brothers all strove to greet and embrace her at once. When they recollected themselves, Francis had already helped the Lady Who Dreams from her mount, and beside her, her hand in his, was waiting recognition.