Читать книгу Gobble-Up Stories - Oscar Mandel - Страница 13
ОглавлениеAn old gardener was shearing and trimming a privet hedge around one of the gardens of a famous duke, when, looking up from his work, he saw a dark figure standing beside him. “Who are you?” the gardener asked.
“I am your death,” replied the figure, “your time has come, gardener, and I must take you away.”
The gardener’s arms fell as he looked at Death. For a few moments he could not speak, but then he said: “My hedge is not yet done. Look, it is evened here as smooth as a baby’s cheek, but yonder it is as wrinkled and rough as my own. Let me finish my work, it will not take me long; I wish to leave the garden in order.”
Death answered him: “Why care about leaving the garden in order? Presently, when I extend my fingers into your old heart, the garden will not matter to you.”
“I have been the duke’s gardener for sixty years,” said the old man, “what will he think of me if I leave him with a rough privet hedge?”
“What will he think of you! Fool, I repeat that in another minute, you will have ceased to care about privets and trimmings and masters.”
“But I care now,” cried the gardener with his last tears in his eyes, “I care, I do, let me complete my work!”
“Death waits for nothing and no one.”
“Yes it does! We are debating, so you’ve delayed!”
“You are mistaken,” Death said, “the moment hadn’t come; but now it has.” And he extended his long fingers into the old man’s heart.
