Читать книгу The Middle Aged Man on the Flying Trapeze - James Thurber - Страница 7

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When the motorcycle cop came roaring up, unexpectedly, out of Never-Never Land (the way motorcycle cops do), the man was on his hands and knees in the long grass beside the road, barking like a dog. The woman was driving slowly along in a car that stopped about eighty feet away; its headlights shone on the man: middle-aged, bewildered, sedentary. He got to his feet.

“What’s goin’ on here?” asked the cop. The woman giggled. “Cock-eyed,” thought the cop. He did not glance at her.

“I guess it’s gone,” said the man. “I--ah--could not find it.”

“What was it?”

“What I lost?” The man squinted, unhappily. “Some--some cufflinks; topazes set in gold.” He hesitated: the cop didn’t seem to believe him. “They were the color of a fine Moselle,” said the man. He put on a pair of spectacles which he had been holding in his hand. The woman giggled.

“Hunt things better with ya glasses off?” asked the cop. He pulled his motorcycle to the side of the road to let a car pass. “Better pull over off the concrete, lady,” he said. She drove the car off the roadway.

“I’m nearsighted,” said the man. “I can hunt things at a distance with my glasses on, but I do better with them off if I am close to something.” The cop kicked his heavy boots through the grass where the man had been crouching.

“He was barking,” ventured the lady in the car, “so that I could see where he was.” The cop pulled his machine up on its standard; he and the man walked over to the automobile.

“What I don’t get,” said the officer, “is how you lose ya cufflinks a hunderd feet in front of where ya car is; a person usually stops his car past the place he loses somethin’, not a hunderd feet before he gits to the place.”

The lady laughed again; her husband got slowly into the car, as if he were afraid the officer would stop him any moment. The officer studied them.

“Been to a party?” he asked. It was after midnight.

“We’re not drunk, if that’s what you mean,” said the woman, smiling. The cop tapped his fingers on the door of the car.

“You people didn’t lose no topazes,” he said.

“Is it against the law for a man to be down on all fours beside a road, barking in a perfectly civil manner?” demanded the lady.

“No, ma’am,” said the cop. He made no move to get on his motorcycle, however, and go on about his business. There was just the quiet chugging of the cycle engine and the auto engine, for a time.

“I’ll tell you how it was, Officer,” said the man, in a crisp, new tone. “We were settling a bet. O.K.?”

“O.K.,” said the cop. “Who win?” There was another pulsing silence.

“The lady bet,” said her husband, with dignity, as though he were explaining some important phase of industry to a newly hired clerk, “the lady bet that my eyes would shine like a cat’s do at night, if she came upon me suddenly close to the ground alongside the road. We had passed a cat, whose eyes gleamed. We had passed several persons, whose eyes did not gleam--”

“Simply because they were above the light and not under it,” said the lady. “A man’s eyes would gleam like a cat’s if people were ordinarily caught by headlights at the same angle as cats are.” The cop walked over to where he had left his motorcycle, picked it up, kicked the standard out, and wheeled it back.

“A cat’s eyes,” he said, “are different than yours and mine. Dogs, cats, skunks, it’s all the same. They can see in a dark room.”

“Not in a totally dark room,” said the lady.

“Yes, they can,” said the cop.

“No, they can’t; not if there is no light at all in the room, not if it’s absolutely black,” said the lady. “The question came up the other night; there was a professor there and he said there must be at least a ray of light, no matter how faint.”

“That may be,” said the cop, after a solemn pause, pulling at his gloves. “But people’s eyes don’t shine--I go along these roads every night an’ pass hunderds of cats and hunderds of people.”

“The people are never close to the ground,” said the lady.

“I was close to the ground,” said her husband.

“Look at it this way,” said the cop. “I’ve seen wildcats in trees at night and their eyes shine.”

“There you are!” said the lady’s husband. “That proves it.”

“I don’t see how,” said the lady. There was another silence.

“Because a wildcat in a tree’s eyes are higher than the level of a man’s,” said her husband. The cop may possibly have followed this, the lady obviously did not; neither one said anything. The cop got on his machine, raced his engine, seemed to be thinking about something, and throttled down. He turned to the man.

“Took ya glasses off so the headlights wouldn’t make ya glasses shine, huh?” he asked.

“That’s right,” said the man. The cop waved his hand, triumphantly, and roared away. “Smart guy,” said the man to his wife, irritably.

“I still don’t see where the wildcat proves anything,” said his wife. He drove off slowly.

“Look,” he said. “You claim that the whole thing depends on how low a cat’s eyes are; I--”

“I didn’t say that; I said it all depends on how high a man’s eyes...”