Francis Fitzgerald - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Selected Tales of the Jazz Age Сollection. Адаптированная книга для чтения на английском языке. Уровень B1

«Where in God's name did you come from? Who are you?» burst out Mr. Button in anger.

«I can't tell you exactly who I am», replied the man, «because I was born only a few hours ago – but my last name is certainly Button».

«You lie! You're an impostor!»

The old man turned to the nurse. «Nice way to welcome a new-born child», he complained in a weak voice. «Tell him he's wrong, why don't you?»

«You're wrong. Mr. Button», said the nurse. «This is your child, and you'll have to make the best of it [10] to make the best of it – (идиом.) зд. смириться . We're going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible».

«Home?» repeated Mr. Button refusing to believe.

«Yes, we can't have him here. We really can't, you know?»

«I'm glad of it», said the old man. «This is a fine place to keep babies who cry all the time. I couldn't sleep. I asked for something to eat», here his voice rose to a screaming note of protest, «and they brought me a bottle of milk!»

Mr. Button fell down upon a chair near his son and hid his face in his hands. «Good heavens!» [11] Good heavens! – (идиом.) О боже! he whispered in horror. «What will people say? What must I do?»

«You'll have to take him home», insisted the nurse, «immediately!»

A grotesque picture appeared before his eyes – a picture of himself walking through the crowded streets of the city with this strange terrible figure by his side. People would stop to speak to him, and what was he going to say? How would he introduce this aged man? «This is my son, born early this morning». And then they would walk slowly on, past the stores, the slave market – for a moment Mr. Button wished passionately that his son was black – and then past the rich houses, past the home for the aged…

«I can't. I can't», he whispered.

«Come on! Pull yourself together [12] Pull yourself together – (идиом.) Возьмите себя в руки », commanded the nurse.

«Look here», [13] Look here – (разг.) Послушайте the old man announced suddenly, «if you think I'm going to walk home in this blanket, you're mistaken».

«Babies always have blankets», said the nurse.

The old man showed a small white baby's shirt with indignation. «Look!» he said in a trembling voice. «This is what they gave me».

«Babies always wear those», insisted the nurse.

«Well», said the old man, «this baby is not going to wear it».

Mr. Button turned to the nurse. «What shall I do?»

«Go downtown and buy your son some clothes».

Mr. Button's son's voice followed him down into the hall: «And a cane, father. I want to have a cane».

«Good morning», Mr. Button said nervously to the clerk in the store. «I want to buy some clothes for my child».

«How old is your child, sir?»

«About six hours», answered Mr. Button, without thinking.

«Babies' department is there».

«Why, I don't think – I'm not sure that's what I want. It's – he's an unusually large-size child. Extremely large».

«They have the largest child's sizes».

«Where is the boys' department?» asked Mr. Button. He felt that the clerk could see his shame. He felt that the clerk must know his shameful secret.

«Right here».

«Well…» He hesitated. He couldn't stand the idea of dressing his son in men's clothes. If, say, he could only find a very large boy's suit, he might cut off that long and awful beard, dye the white hair brown, then he would manage to hide the worst, and to keep his own self-respect – not to mention [14] not to mention – (идиом.) не говоря уже о his position in Baltimore society.

But there were no suits of his new-born son's size in the boys' department. He blamed the store, of course – in such cases one could blame only the store.

«How old did you say that boy of yours was?» demanded the clerk curiously.

«He's – sixteen».

«Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said six hours. You'll find the youths' department in the next room».

Mr. Button turned sadly away. Then he stopped, as he saw a dressed model in the window display. «There!» he pointed his finger toward the window display. «I'll take that suit, out there on the model».

The clerk stared. «Why», he protested, «that's not a child's suit. It's a fancy dress [15] fancy dress – маскарадный костюм . You could wear it yourself!»

«Wrap it up», insisted his customer nervously. «That's what I want».

The astonished clerk obeyed.

When Mr. Button came back to the hospital, he almost threw the package at his son. «Here are your clothes», he said angrily.

The old man opened the package and examined the dress with a puzzled look.

«It looks funny to me», he complained, «It will make a monkey of me…»

«You've made a monkey of me!» interrupted him Mr. Button. «Don't think how funny you look. Put them on – or I'll – or I'll spank you». He felt uneasy when he said the word but somehow he understood that it was the proper thing to say.

«All right, father, you've lived longer; you know best. Just as you say».

This sounded to Mr. Button as a grotesque respect from a son and the word «father» made him tremble.

«And hurry».

«I'm hurrying, father».

When his son was dressed Mr. Button examined him with depression. The costume consisted of pink pants and a blouse with a wide white collar. The long gray beard fell almost to the waist. The effect was not good.

«Wait!»

Mr. Button took hospital scissors and cut a large section of the beard. But even with this improvement the impression was far from perfect. The remaining part of the beard, the pale eyes, and the ancient teeth seemed strange in combination with the bright colors of the costume. Mr. Button, however, refused to change his plan – he held out his hand and said firmly. «Come along!»

His son took the hand. «What are you going to call me, dad?» he asked in a trembling voice as they walked from the hospital – «just ‘baby' for a while? till you think of a better name?»

«I don't know», grumbled Mr. Button. «I think we'll call you Methuselah [16] Methuselah – (библ.) Мафусаил, согласно Библии один из праотцов человечества, проживший 969 лет, имя используется как синоним долгожителя, древнего старика ».

Even after a baby had his hair cut short and then dyed to an unnatural black, and had his face shaved, and then was dressed in small-boy clothes, it was impossible for Button to ignore the fact that his son was a shame for the Button family. Despite his aged stoop, Benjamin Button – for they called him this name instead of the proper but humiliating name Methuselah – was five feet eight inches [17] five feet eight inches – 5 футов 8 дюймов, 172 см tall. His clothes did not hide this, his dyed black eyebrows did not hide the fact that the eyes were pale and tired. In fact, the baby-sitter, who was employed by the family, left the house after one look at him, in a state of indignation.

But Mr. Button was firm in his decision. Benjamin was a baby, and he should remain a baby. At first he declared that if Benjamin didn't like warm milk he could do without [18] do without – (фраз. гл., разг.) обходиться без food at all, but he finally allowed his son to have bread and butter, and even oatmeal as a compromise. One day he brought home a rattle [19] rattle – детская погремушка and, giving it to Benjamin, insisted that he should «play with it», so the old man obeyed and took it with a dull expression. He shook the rattle from time to time [20] from time to time – (идиом.) время от времени; от случая к случаю during the day.