Читать книгу Comic Classics: Great Expectations - Jack Noel - Страница 8

MY SISTER, MRS Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours because she had brought me up ‘by hand’. Not knowing what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both brought up BY HAND.

Joe Gargery was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow, a sort of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.

My sister had such a prevailing redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap.

Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house. When I ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen.

“and what’s worse, she’s got TICKLER with her.”

“She sat down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at Tickler, and she RAMPAGED out. That’s what she did,” said Joe. “She RAMPAGED OUT, PIP.”

“Has she been gone long, Joe?”

“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the clock, “she’s been on the Rampage, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip.

SHE’S A COMING! Get behind the door, old chap.”

My sister, throwing the door wide open, and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by throwing me at Joe, who passed me on into the chimney and quietly fenced me up there with his great leg.

repeated my sister.

“If it warn’t for me you’d have been to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there.

WHO BROUGHT YOU UP BY HAND?”

“You did,” said I.

“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.

I whimpered, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife without being your mother.”

I looked at the fire. The fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was under, rose before me in the avenging coals.

“Hah!” said Mrs Joe, restoring Tickler to his station.

Joe was about to take another bite, when his eye fell on me, and he saw that my bread and butter was gone.
	“What’s the matter now?” said my sister, smartly, as she put down her cup.
Joe shook his head.
	“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.

She pounced on Joe while I sat, looking guiltily on. “Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of breath,

“YOU STARING GREAT STUCK PIG.”

Joe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and looked at me again.

“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.

She made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying nothing more than the awful words,

The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs Joe almost drove me out of my mind.

Then, as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg, declaring that he must be fed NOW.

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the clock.

“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed.

“There was a convict escaped last night,” said Joe. “And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re firing warning of another.”

interposed my sister, frowning at me, “what a questioner he is.

Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”

Joe opened his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word that looked to me like ‘SULKS’.

Therefore, I pointed to my sister, and mouthed, “her?”

“From the HULKS!” exclaimed my sister.

“Oh-H!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”

Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”

“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.

“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister. “Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right across the marshes.”

“Who’s put into prison-ships, and why are they put there?” said I, with quiet desperation. It was too much for Mrs Joe, who immediately rose. “I didn’t bring you up BY HAND to badger people’s lives out.
People are put in the Hulks because they MURDER,
	and because they ROB,
and FORGE,

and do all sorts of BAD; and they always begin by ASKING QUESTIONS.

I went upstairs in the dark, with my head tingling from Mrs Joe’s last words. I was clearly on my way to the hulks. I had begun by asking questions, and I was going to rob Mrs Joe . . .

I was afraid to sleep for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must rob the pantry.

I got up and went downstairs; every floorboard upon the way, and every crack in every board calling after me.

In the pantry, I had no time to spare.

There was a door in the kitchen to the forge; I unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.