Читать книгу Трое в лодке, не считая собаки / Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) - Джером Клапка Джером, Джером Джером - Страница 11

Harris and I began to think that Bell Weir lock[87] had dissapeared the same manner. George had towed us up to Staines,[88] and we had taken the boat from there, and it seemed that we were dragging fifty tons after us, and were walking forty miles. It was half-past seven when we came to the place, and we all got in.

We did not feel that we yearned for the picturesque so much now as we had earlier in the day. We did not want scenery. We wanted to have our supper and go to bed. However, we dropped into a very pleasant nook under a great elm-tree, to the spreading roots of which we fastened the boat.

George said that we had better get the canvas up first, before it got quite dark, and while we could see what we were doing. Then, he said, all our work would be done, and we could sit down to eat with an easy mind.[89]

We took up the hoops, and began to drop them into the sockets placed for them. You would not imagine this to be dangerous work. They were not hoops, they were demons. First they would not fit into their sockets at all, and we had to jump on them, and kick them, and hammer at them with the boat-hook; and, when they were in, we saw that they were in the wrong sockets, and they had to come out again.

But they would not come out, they tried to throw us into the water and drown us. They had hinges in the middle, and, when we were not looking, they nipped us with these hinges in delicate parts of the body.

We got them fixed at last, and then we had to arrange the covering over them. George unrolled it, and fastened one end over the nose of the boat. Harris stood in the middle to take it from George and roll it on to me. George did his part all right,[90] but it was new work to Harris.

How he managed it I do not know, he could not explain himself; but by some mysterious process he succeeded, after ten minutes of superhuman effort, in getting himself completely rolled up in it. He was so firmly wrapped round, that he could not get out. He, of course, made frantic struggles for freedom – the birthright of every Englishman, – and, in doing so (I learned this afterwards), knocked over George; and then George, swearing at Harris, began to struggle too, and got himself entangled and rolled up.[91]

I knew nothing about all this at the time. I had been told to stand where I was,[92] and wait till the canvas came to me, and Montmorency and I stood there and waited.

We waited some time, until, at last, George’s head came over the side of the boat, and spoke up.

It said:

“Give us a hand here, can’t you, you cuckoo; standing there, when you see we are both being suffocated, you dummy!”

I never could withstand an appeal for help, so I went and undid them; Harris was nearly black in the face.

It took us half an hour after that, before the canvas was properly up, and then we cleared the decks, and got out supper. We put the kettle, and went down to the stern and pretended to take no notice of it.

That is the only way to deal with the kettle. If it sees that you are waiting for it and are anxious, it will never even sing. You have to go away and begin your meal, as if you were not going to have any tea at all. You must not even look round at it. Then you will soon hear it sounds.

It is a good plan, too, if you are in a great hurry, to talk very loudly to each other about how you don’t need any tea. You get near the kettle, so that it can hear you, and then you shout out, “I don’t want any tea; do you, George?” to which George shouts back, “Oh, no, I don’t like tea; we’ll have lemonade instead – tea’s so indigestible.” And the kettle begins to boil.

We made this old trickery, and it worked. Then we lit the lantern, and sat down to supper.

How good one feels when one is full – how satisfied with the world! People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained.

One feels so forgiving and generous after a substantial and well-digested meal – so noble-minded, so kindly-hearted.

It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions. After eggs and bacon, it says, “Work!” After beefsteak and porter, it says, “Sleep!” After a cup of tea (two spoonful for each cup, and don’t let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, “Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; and soar over the whirling world beneath you!”

After hot muffins, it says, “Be dull and soulless, like a beast of the field[93] – a brainless animal, with listless eye that lacks hope, or fear, or love, or life.” And after brandy it says, “Now, come, fool, grin and tumble.”

We are but[94] the sorriest slaves of our stomach. Reach not after morality and righteousness, my friends; watch vigilantly your stomach, and diet it with care and judgment. Then virtue and contentment will come and reign within your heart; and you will be a good citizen, a loving husband, and a tender father – a noble, pious man.

Before our supper, Harris and George and I were quarrelsome and snappy and angry; after our supper, we sat and smiled. We loved each other, we loved everybody.

We lit our pipes, and sat, looking out on the quiet night, and talked.

George said why could not we be always like this – away from the world, with its sin and temptation, leading sober, peaceful lives, and doing good. And we discussed the possibility of our going away, we four, to some desert island, and living there in the woods.

George remembered a very funny story that happened to his father once. He said his father was travelling with another fellow through Wales,[95] and, one night, they stopped at a little inn, where there were some other fellows, and they joined the other fellows, and spent the evening with them.

They had a very jolly evening, and sat up late,[96] and, by the time they came to go to bed, they (this was when George’s father was a very young man) were slightly drunk, too. They (George’s father and George’s father’s friend) were to sleep in the same room, but in different beds. They took the candle, and went up. The candle went out,[97] and they had to undress and grope into bed in the dark. This they did; but, instead of getting into separate beds, as they thought they were doing, they both climbed into the same one without knowing it – one getting in with his head at the top, and the other lying with his feet on the pillow.

There was silence for a moment, and then George’s father said:

“Joe!”

“What’s the matter, Tom?” replied Joe’s voice from the other end of the bed.

“Look, there’s a man in my bed,” said George’s father; “here’s his feet on my pillow.”

“Well, it’s an extraordinary thing, Tom,” answered the other; “but there is a man in my bed, too!” “What are you going to do?” asked George’s father.

“Well, I’m going to throw him out,” replied Joe. “So am I,” said George’s father, valiantly.

There was a brief struggle, then a rather doleful voice said:

“I say, Tom![98]”

“Yes!”

“How are you?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, my man has thrown me out.”

“So has mine! It’s an awful inn!”

We turned in at ten that night, and I thought I should sleep well, being tired; but I didn’t. As a rule, I undress and put my head on the pillow, and then somebody hits at the door, and says it is half-past eight. But tonight everything seemed against me; the hardness of the boat, the cramped position[99] (I was lying with my feet under one seat, and my head on another), the sound of the water round the boat, and the wind among the branches disturbed me.

I did get to sleep for a few hours. I slept through it for a while, dreaming that I had swallowed a sovereign, and that they were cutting a hole in my back with a gimlet, so as to get it out. I thought it very unkind of them, and I told them I would owe them the money, and they should have it at the end of the month. But they would not hear of that, and said it would be much better if they had it then, because otherwise the interest would accumulate so.[100] I told them what I thought of them, and then they pushed me so hard that I woke up.

The boat seemed stuffy, and my head ached; so I stepped out into the cool night air. I put on what clothes I could find about – some of my own, and some of George’s and Harris’s – and crept under the canvas on to the bank.

It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk, and left the quiet earth alone with the stars. They awe us, these strange stars, so cold, so clear.