Outstanding Short Stories

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Dear friends , this is a collection of the best short stories ever written

I hope you find time to read them and enjoy them .


The Open Window by H. H. Munro



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhtcFpcmpZc





The Open Window

"My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."
Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.
"I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."
Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.
"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.
"Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."
He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.
"Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.
"Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.
"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."
"Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.
"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.
"It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"
"Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window - "


She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.
"I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.
"She has been very interesting," said Framton.
"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't it?"
She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.
"The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.
"No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.
"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"
Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"


Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.
"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"
"A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."
"I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."
Romance at short notice was her speciality.


The End




The short story "The Open Window" by Saki gives us a marvelous example of how appearance, semblance and our naivety can distract our attention from reality and even make harm to our health. This story also shows how a writer can make perfect use of irony.

"The Open Window" is a story about deception, perpetrated on an unsuspecting, and constitutionally nervous man, Mr. Nuttel. He comes to the country in order to cure his nervous condition. He pays a visit to the home of Mrs. Sappleton to introduce himself. Mr. Nuttel is intercepted by her niece, who, while they are waiting for her aunt, regales him with an artful story that, in the end, only makes his nervous condition worse

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The Necklace
by
Guy De Maupassant



SHE WAS ONE OF THOSE PRETTY AND CHARMING GIRLS BORN, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. She had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the Ministry of Education. Her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family. Their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land.

She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. She suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. All these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. The sight of the little Breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart-broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. She imagined silent antechambers, heavy with Oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. She imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings.

When she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "Aha! Scotch broth! What could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken.

She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. And these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. She had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after.

She had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. She would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery.

***

One evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand.

" Here's something for you," he said.

Swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words:

"The Minister of Education and Madame Ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of Monsieur and Madame Loisel at the Ministry on the evening of Monday, January the 18th."

Instead of being delighted, as her-husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring:

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Why, darling, I thought you'd be pleased. You never go out, and this is a great occasion. I had tremendous trouble to get it. Every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. You'll see all the really big people there."

She looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "And what do you suppose I am to wear at such an affair?"

He had not thought about it; he stammered:

"Why, the dress you go to the theatre in. It looks very nice, to me...."

He stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. Two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth.

"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" he faltered.

But with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I haven't a dress and so I can't go to this party. Give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than I shall."

He was heart-broken.

"Look here, Mathilde," he persisted. :What would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?"

She thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk.

At last she replied with some hesitation:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could do it on four hundred francs."

He grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on Sundays.

Nevertheless he said: "Very well. I'll give you four hundred francs. But try and get a really nice dress with the money."

The day of the party drew near, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening her husband said to her:

"What's the matter with you? You've been very odd for the last three days."

"I'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "I shall look absolutely no one. I would almost rather not go to the party."

"Wear flowers," he said. "They're very smart at this time of the year. For ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses."

She was not convinced.

"No . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women."

"How stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "Go and see Madame Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her quite well enough for that."

She uttered a cry of delight.

"That's true. I never thought of it."

Next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble.

Madame Forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to Madame Loisel, opened it, and said:

"Choose, my dear."

First she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. She tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. She kept on asking:

"Haven't you anything else?"

"Yes. Look for yourself. I don't know what you would like best."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetousIy. Her hands trembled as she lifted it. She fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself.

Then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish:

"Could you lend me this, just this alone?"
Yes, of course."

She flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure. The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was a success. She was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. All the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. All the Under-Secretaries of State were eager to waltz with her. The Minister noticed her.

She danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart.

She left about four o'clock in the morning. Since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time. He threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. She was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs.

Loisel restrained her.

"Wait a little. You'll catch cold in the open. I'm going to fetch a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended-the staircase. When they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance.

They walked down towards the Seine, desperate and shivering. At last they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen in Paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight.

It brought them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. It was the end, for her. As for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten.

She took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. But suddenly she uttered a cry. The necklace was no longer round her neck!

"What's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed.

She turned towards him in the utmost distress.

I . . . I . . . I've no longer got Madame Forestier's necklace. . . ."

He started with astonishment.

"What! . . . Impossible!"

They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.

"Are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked.

"Yes, I touched it in the hall at the Ministry."

"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall."

"Yes. Probably we should. Did you take the number of the cab?"

"No. You didn't notice it, did you?"

"No."

They stared at one another, dumbfounded. At last Loisel put on his clothes again.

"I'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if I can't find it."

And he went out. She remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought.

Her husband returned about seven. He had found nothing.

He went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him.

She waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe.

Loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. That will give us time to look about us."

She wrote at his dictation.

***

By the end of a week they had lost all hope.

Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must see about replacing the diamonds."
Next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. He consulted his books.

"It was not I who sold this necklace, Madame; I must have merely supplied the clasp."

Then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind.

In a shop at the Palais-Royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand.

They begged the jeweller not tO sell it for three days. And they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. He intended to borrow the rest.
He did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. He mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing it he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice:

"You ought to have brought it back sooner; I might have needed it."

She did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. If she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? What would she have said? Would she not have taken her for a thief?

***

Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the very first she played her part heroically. This fearful debt must be paid off. She would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof.

She came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. She washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. And, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money.

Every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained.

Her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page.

And this life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. Her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. She spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired.

What would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. Who knows? Who knows? How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed to ruin or to save!

One Sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the Champs-Elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive.

Madame Loisel was conscious of some emotion. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why not?

She went up to her.

"Good morning, Jeanne."

The other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman.

"But . . . Madame . . ." she stammered. "I don't know . . . you must be making a mistake."

"No . . . I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh! . . . my poor Mathilde, how you have changed! . . ."

"Yes, I've had some hard times since I saw you last; and many sorrows . . . and all on your account."

"On my account! . . . How was that?"

"You remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the Ministry?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"How could you? Why, you brought it back."

"I brought you another one just like it. And for the last ten years we have been paying for it. You realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. . . . Well, it's paid for at last, and I'm glad indeed."

Madame Forestier had halted.

You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"

"Yes. You hadn't noticed it? They were very much alike."

And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was imitation. It was worth at the very most five hundred francs! . . . "

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The Black Cat
by
Edgar Allen Poe


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWiLtgFs728&feature=related


FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror - to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place - some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects
.From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man .
I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat .

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point - and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.

Pluto - this was the cat's name - was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character - through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance - had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me - for what disease is like Alcohol! - and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish - even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity
When reason returned with the morning - when I had slept off the fumes of the night's debauch - I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.
In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart - one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law , merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself - to offer violence to its own nature - to do wrong for the wrong's sake only - that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; - hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; - hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; - hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin - a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it - if such a thing wore possible - even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to despair.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts - and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and against which had rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of the fire - a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with very minute and eager attention. The words "strange!" "singular!" and other similar expressions, excited my curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven in bas relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic cat. The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous. There was a rope about the animal's neck.

When I first beheld this apparition - for I could scarcely regard it as less - my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflection came to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the crowd - by some one of whom the animal must have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber. This had probably been done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had compressed the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and the ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture as I saw it.

Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me, among the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat similar appearance, with which to supply its place.

One night as I sat, half stupified, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat - a very large one - fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast. Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was the very creature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made no claim to it - knew nothing of it - had never seen it before.

I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my wife.
For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. This was just the reverse of what I had anticipated; but - I know not how or why it was - its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted and annoyed. By slow degrees, these feelings of disgust and annoyance rose into the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature; a certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, preventing me from physically abusing it. I did not, for some weeks, strike, or otherwise violently ill use it; but gradually - very gradually - I came to look upon it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath of a pestilence.

What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast, was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of one of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.
With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly - let me confess it at once - by absolute dread of the beast.

This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil - and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed to own - yes, even in this felon's cell, I am almost ashamed to own - that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me, had been heightened by one of the merest chimaeras it would be possible to conceive. My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but, by slow degrees - degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a long time my Reason struggled to reject as fanciful - it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the representation of an object that I shudder to name - and for this, above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster had I dared - it was now, I say, the image of a hideous - of a ghastly thing - of the GALLOWS ! - oh, mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime - of Agony and of Death !

And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere Humanity. And a brute beast - whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed - a brute beast to work out for me - for me a man, fashioned in the image of the High God - so much of insufferable wo! Alas! neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of Rest any more! During the former the creature left me no moment alone; and, in the latter, I started, hourly, from dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast weight - an incarnate Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off - incumbent eternally upon my heart!

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates - the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers
One day she accompanied me, upon some household errand, into the cellar of the old building which our poverty compelled us to inhabit. The cat followed me down the steep stairs, and, nearly throwing me headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an axe, and forgetting, in my wrath, the childish dread which had hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow at the animal which, of course, would have proved instantly fatal had it descended as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife. Goaded, by the interference, into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain. She fell dead upon the spot, without a groan.

This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forthwith, and with entire deliberation, to the task of concealing the body. I knew that I could not remove it from the house, either by day or by night, without the risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many projects entered my mind. At one period I thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments, and destroying them by fire. At another, I resolved to dig a grave for it in the floor of the cellar. Again, I deliberated about casting it in the well in the yard - about packing it in a box, as if merchandize, with the usual arrangements, and so getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far better expedient than either of these. I determined to wall it up in the cellar - as the monks of the middle ages are recorded to have walled up their victims.
For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls were loosely constructed, and had lately been plastered throughout with a rough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented from hardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace, that had been filled up, and made to resemble the red of the cellar. I made no doubt that I could readily displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could detect any thing suspicious. And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crow-bar I easily dislodged the bricks, and, having carefully deposited the body against the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while, with little trouble, I re-laid the whole structure as it originally stood. Having procured mortar, sand, and hair, with every possible precaution, I prepared a plaster which could not be distinguished from the old, and with this I very carefully went over the new brickwork. When I had finished, I felt satisfied that all was right. The wall did not present the slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The rubbish on the floor was picked up with the minutest care. I looked around triumphantly, and said to myself - "Here at least, then, my labor has not been in vain."

My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause of so much wretchedness; for I had, at length, firmly resolved to put it to death. Had I been able to meet with it, at the moment, there could have been no doubt of its fate; but it appeared that the crafty animal had been alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and forebore to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe, or to imagine, the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of the detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance during the night - and thus for one night at least, since its introduction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept; aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul!

The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a freeman. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few inquiries had been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a search had been instituted - but of course nothing was to be discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured.

Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The police were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness.

"Gentlemen," I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, "I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this - this is a very well constructed house." [In the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all.] - "I may say an excellently well constructed house. These walls are you going, gentlemen? - these walls are solidly put together;" and here, through the mere phrenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand, upon that very portion of the brick-work behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my bosom.

But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-Fiend ! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb! - by a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman - a howl - a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the dammed in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation.

Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!

[سعودي انجلش]

الف شكر لك
وبارك الله فيك
عمل جميل
وجهد رائع
تم التقييم

[ACME]

قصة القطة السوداء


لست أتوقع منكم، بل لست أطلب أن تصدقوا الوقائع التي أسطرها هنا لقصة هي أغرب القصص وإن كانت في الآن عينه مألوفة للغاية.
سوف أكون مجنوناً لو توقعت أن تصدقوا ذلك، لأن حواسي ذاتها ترفض أن تصدق ماشهدته ولمسته.
غير أنني لست مجنوناً – ومن المؤكد أنني لا أحلم- وإذ كنت ملاقياً حتفي غداً فلا بد لي من أن أزيح هذا العبئ عن روحي.

ما أرمي إليه هو أن أبسط أمام العالم، بوضوح ودقة، وبلا أي تعليق، سلسلة من الوقائع العادية جداً. إنها الوقائع التي عصفت بي أهوالها و واصلت تعذيبي ودمرتني. مع ذلك لن أحاول تفسيرها وإذا كنت لا أجد فيها غير الرعب فإنها لن تبدو للآخرين مرعبة بقدر ما ستبدو نوعاً من الخيال الغرائبي المعقد.

قد يجيء في مقبل الأيام ألمعي حصيف يبين له تفكيره أن هذا الكابوس مجرد أحداث عادية – وربما جاء ألمعي آخر أكثر رصانة وأرسخ منطقاً وتفكيره أقل استعداداً للإثارة من تفكيري، ليرى في الأحداث التي أعرضها بهلع مجرد تعاقب مألوف لأسباب طبيعية ونتائجها المنطقية.

عُرِفْت منذ طفولتي بوداعتي ومزاجي الإنساني الرقيق، حتى أن رقة قلبي كانت على درجة من الإفراط جعلتني موضوع تندر بين زملائي. وقد تميزت بولع خاص بالحيوانات مما جعل أبواي يعبّران عن تدليلهما لي بإهدائي أنواعاً من الحيوانات المنزلية. مع هذه الحيوانات كنت أمضي معظم أوقاتي ، ولم أعرف سعادة تفوق سعادتي حين كنت أطعمها وأداعبها. نمت هذه الطباع الغريبة مع نموي، وكانت لي في طور الرجولة أكبر منابع المتعة.

الذين عرفوا مشاعر الولع بكلب أمين ذكي سوف يفهمون بسهولة ما أود قوله عن مدى البهجة المستمدة من العناية بحيوان أليف. إن في تعلق الحيوان بصاحبه تعلقاً ينـكر الـذات ويضـحي بها مايخترق قلب الإنسان الذي هيأت له الظروف أن يعاني من خسة الصداقة وضعف الوفاء عند الجنس البشري.

تزوجت في سن مبكرة، وقد أسعدني أن أجد في مزاج زوجتي مالايناقض مزاجي. وإذ لاحظت ولعي بالحيوانات المنزلية لم تترك مناسبة تمر دون أن تقتني منها الأجناس الأكثر إمتاعاً وإيناساً. هكذا تجمع لدينا طيور وأسماك ذهبية وكلب أصيل وأرانب وقرد صغير وقط.

كان هذا القط كبير الحجم بشكل مميز، جميل الشكل، أسود اللون بتمامه، وعلى قدر عجيب من الذكاء، كانت زوجتي التي لا أثر للمعتقدات الخرافية في تفكيرها، حين تتحدث عن ذكائه تشير إلى الحكايات الشعبية القديمة التي تعتبر القطط السود سحرة متنكرين. هذه الإشارات لاتعني أنها كانت في يوم من الأيام جادة حول هذه المسألة. أذكر هذا لسبب وحيد هو أنه لم يرد إلى ذهني قبل هذه اللحظة.

كان بلوتو – وهذا هو اسم القط- حيواني المدلل وأنيسي المفضل، أطعمه بنفسي، ويلازمني حيثما تحركت في البيت. بل كنت أجد صعوبة لمنعه من اللحاق بي في الشوارع.

دامت صداقتنا على هذه الحال سنوات عديدة، تبدل خلالها مزاجي وساء سلوكي بفعل ادماني على المسكرات (إني أحمرّ خجلاً إذ أعترف بذلك) ويوما بعد يوم تزايدت حدة مزاجي وشراستي، واستعدادي للهيجان، وتزايد استهتاري بمشاعر الآخرين. ولكم عانيت وتألمت بسبب التعابير القاسية التي رحت أوجهها إلى زوجتي، حتى أنني في النهاية لجأت إلى العنف الجسدي في التعامل معها.
وبالطبع فقد استشعرت حيواناتي هذا التغير في مزاجي. ولم أكتف بإهمالها بل أسأت معاملتها. وإذا كان قد بقي لبلوتو بعض الاعتبار مما حال دون إساءتي إليه فإنني لم أستشعر دائماً في الإساءة إلى الأرانب أو القرد، أو حتى الكلب، كلما اقتربت مني مصادفة أو بدافع عاطفي. غير أن مرضي قد تغلب علي – وأي مرض كالمسكرات!- ومع الأيام حتى بلوتو الذي صار هرماً ومن ثم عنيداً نكداً بدأ يعاني من نتائج مزاجي المعتل.

ذات ليل كنت عائداً إلى البيت من البلدة التي كثر ترددي إليها وقد تعتعني السكر؛ وخيل إلي أن القط يتجنب حضوري؛ فقبضت عليه، وإذ أفزعته حركاتي العنيفة جرحني بأسنانه جرحاً طفيفاً فتملكني غضب الأبالسة. وبدا أن روحي القديمة قد اندفعت على الفور طائرة من جسدي؛ وارتعد كل عرق في هيكلي بفعل حقد شيطاني غذاه المخدر. فتناولت من جيب سترتي مطواة، فتحتها وقبضت على عنق الحيوان المسكين واقتلعت عامداً إحدى عينيه من محجرها! إنني أحتقن، أحترق، أرتعد حين أكتب تفاصيل هذه الفظاعة الجهنمية.

لما استعدت رشدي في الصباح – لما نام هياج الفسوق الذي شهده الليل- عانيت شعوراً هو مزيج من الرعب والندم بسبب الجريمة التي ارتكبتها، غير أن ذلك كان في أحسن الحالات شعوراً ضعيفاً وملتبساً لم يبلغ مني الأعماق. ومن جديد استحوذ علي الإفراط في الشراب. وسرعان ما أغرقت الخمرة كل ذكرى لتلك الواقعة.

في هذه الأثناء أخذ القط يتماثل للشفاء تدريجياً. صحيح أن تجويف العين الفارغ كان يشكل منظراً مخيفاً لكن لم يبد عليه أنه يتألم، وعاد يتنقل في البيت كسابق عهده، غير أنه كما هو متوقع، كان ينطلق وقد استبد به الذعر كلما اقتربت منه. كانت ماتزال لدي بقايا من القلب القديم بحيث ينتابني الحزن إزاء هذه الكراهية الصارخة التي يبديها لي كائن أحبني ذات يوم. لكن سرعان ماحل الانزعاج محل الحزن. وأخيراً جاءت روح الانحراف لتدفعني إلى السقوط الذي لانهوض منه. هذه الروح لاتوليها الفلسفة أي اعتبار. مع ذلك لست واثقاً من وجود روحي في الحياة أكثر من ثقتي أن الانحراف واحد من الموازع البدئية في القلب البشري، واحد من الملكات أو المشاعر الأصيلة التي توجه سلوك الإنسان. من منا لم يضبط نفسه عشرات المرات وهو يقترف إثماً أو حماقة لا لسبب غير كون هذا العمل محرماً؟ أليس لدينا ميل دائم، حتى في أحسن حالات وعينا، إلى خرق مايعرف بالقانون لمجرد علمنا بأنه قانون؟ روح الانحراف هذه هي التي تحركت تدفعني إلى السقوط النهائي. إنها رغبة النفس الدفينة لمشاكسة ذاتها – لتهشيم طبيعة ذاتها- لاقتراف الإثم لوجه الإثم، هذه الرغبة التي لايسبر غورها هي التي حرضتني على مواصلة الأذى ضد الحيوان الأعزل، وأخيراً الإجهاز عليه.

ذات صباح وعن سابق تصور وتصميم لففت حول عنقه أنشوطة وعلقته بغصن شجرة ..شنقته والدموع تتدفق من عيني، وفي قلبي تضطرم أمرّ مشاعر الندم؛ شنقته لعلمي أنني بذلك أقترف خطيئة،خطيئة مميتة سوف تعرض روحي الخالدة للهلاك الأبدي، وتنزلها إن كان أمر كهذا معقولاً، حيث لاتبلغها رحمة أرحم الراحمين والمنتقم الجبار.

في الليلة التي وقع فيها هذا الفعل الشنيع، استيقظت من النوم على صوت النيران. كان اللهب يلتهم ستائر سريري والبيت بكامله يشتعل. ولم ننج أنا وزوجتي والخادم من الهلاك إلا بصعوبة كبيرة. كان الدمار تاماً. ابتلعت النيران كل ما أملك في هذه الدنيا، واستسلمت مذ ذاك للقنوط واليأس.

لم يبلغ بي الضعف مبلغاً يجعلني أسعى لإقامة علاقة سببية بين النتيجة وبين الفظاعة التي ارتكبتها والكارثة التي حلت بي. لكنني أقدم سلسلة من الوقائع وآمل ألا أترك أي حلقة مفقودة في هذا التسلسل.

في اليوم الذي أعقب الحريق ذهبت أزور الأنقاض. كانت الجدران جميعها قد تهاوت باستثناء جدار واحد، هذا الجدار الذي نجا بمفرده لم يكن سميكاً لأنه جدار داخلي يفصل بين الحجرات ويقع في وسط البيت، وإليه كان يستند سريري من جهة الرأس. وقد صمد طلاء هذا الجدار وتجصيصه أمام فعل النيران. وهو أمر عزوته إلى كون التجصيص حديثاً. أمام هذا الجدار كان يتجمهر حشد من الناس وبدا أن عدداً كبيراً منهم يتفحص جانباً مخصوصاً منه باهتمام شديد، فحركت فضولي تعابير تصدر عن هذا الحشد من نوع (عجيب!) (غريب!) دنوت لأرى رسماً على الجدار الأبيض كأنه حفر نافر يمثل قطاً عملاقاً. كان الحفر مدهشاً بدقته ووضوحه، وبدا حبل يلتف حول عنق الحيوان.

عندما وقع نظري لأول مرة على هذا الشبح، إذ لم أكن أستطيع أن أعتبره أقل من ذلك، استبد بي أشد العجب وأفظع الذعر. غير أن التفكير المحلل جاء ينقذني من ذلك. لقد كان القط على ما أذكر معلقاً في حديقة متاخمة للبيت؛ فلما ارتفعت صيحات التحذير من النار، غصت الحديقة فوراً بالناس، ولابد أن شخصاً ما قد انتزعه من الشجرة وقذف به عبر النافذةإلى غرفتي، وربما كان القصد من ذلك تنبيهي من النوم. ولابد أن سقوط الجدران الأخرى قد ضغط ضحية وحشيتي على مادة الجص الحديث للطلاء؛ اختلط كلس هذا الطلاء بالنشادر المتصاعد من الجثة وتفاعل به بتأثير النيران فأحدث الرسم النافر الذي رأيته.

ومع أنني قدمت هذا التفسير لأريح عقلي، إن لم أكن قد فعلت ذلك لأريح ضميري، فإن المشهد الغريب الذي وصفته لم يتوقف عن التأثير في مخيلتي، وعلى مدى أشهر لم أستطع أن أتخلص من هاجس القط؛ خلال هذه الفترة عاودني شعور بدا لي أنه الندم، ولم يكن في الحقيقة كذلك. لم يكن أكثر من أسف على فقد حيوان، وتفكير بالحصول على بديل من النوع نفسه والشكل نفسه ليحل محله.

في إحدى الليالي، فيما كنت جالساً، شبه مخبول، في وكر من أوكار العار، إذ أنني أدمنت الآن ارتياد هذه الأماكن الموبوءة، جذب انتباهي فجأة شيء أسود فوق برميل ضخم من براميل الجن أو شراب الروم، البراميل التي تشكل قطع الأثاث الرئيسية في ذلك المكان، كنت طوال دقائق أحدق بثبات في رأس البرميل، وما سبب دهشتي هو أنني لم أتبين للحال طبيعة الشيء باستثناء شيء واحد. إذ لم تكن في أي مكان من جسم بلوتو شعرة بيضاء واحدة؛وكانت لهذا القط بقعة بيضاء غير واضحة الحدود تتوزع على منطقة الصدر بكاملها.

حالما لمسته نهض وأخذ يخط بصوت مرتفع ويتمسح بيدي، وبدا مسروراً باهتمامي له، وإذن هذا هو بالضبط ماكنت أبحث عنه. للحال عرضت على صاحب البيت شراءه، لكن هذا أجاب بأنه لايملكه ولايعرف شيئاً عنه، ولم يره من قبل.

واصلت مداعبتي له، ولما تهيأت للذهاب، اتخذ وضعية تبين أنه يريد مرافقتي، فتركته يصحبني، وكنت بين الحين والآخر أتوقف وأربت على ظهره أو أمسح رأسه. لما وصل إلى البيت بدا أليفاً ولم يظهر عليه أي استغراب. وعلى الفور صار أثيراً لدى زوجتي.

أما أنا فسرعان ماوجدت المقت يتصاعد في أعماقي، وكان هذا عكس ماتوقعته. ولم أستطع أن أفهم كيف تعلق القط بي ولاسبب هذا التعلق الواضح الذي أثار اشمئزازي وأزعجني. وأخذ الانزعاج والاشمئزاز يتزايدان شيئاً فشيئاً ويتحولان إلى كراهية مريرة، فأخذت أتجنب هذا الكائن؛ كان إحساس ما بالعار، وذكرى فظاعتي السابقة يمسكان بي عن إلحاق الأذى الجسدي به. وامتنعت طوال أسابيع عن ضربه أو معاملته بعنف، لكن تدريجياً - وبتدرج متسارع- أخذت أنظر إليه بكره لايوصف وأبتعد بصمت عن حضوره البغيض كما أبتعد عن لهاث مصاب بالطاعون.

ما أكدَّ كرهي لهذا الحيوان هو اكتشافي، صبيحة اليوم التالي لوصوله أنه مثل بلوتو، قد فقد إحدى عينيه، غير أن هذا زاد من عطف زوجتي عليه لأنها كما ذكرت تملك قدراً عظيماً من المشاعر الإنسانية التي كانت ذات يوم ملامحي المميزة، ومنبعاً لأكثر المسرات براءة ونقاء.

كان هيام القط بي يزداد بازدياد بغضي له، فكان يتبع خطواتي بثبات يصعب إيضاحه، فحيثما جلست، كان يجثم تحت مقعدي، أو يقفز إلى ركبتي ويغمرني بمداعباته المقززة، فإذا نهضت لأمشي اندفع بين قدمي وأوشك أو يوقعني، أو غرز مخالبه الطويلة الحادة في ثيابي ليتسلق إلى صدري، ومع أنني كنت أتحرق في مناسبات كهذه لقتله بضربة واحدة فقد كنت أمتنع عن ذلك بسبب من ذكرى جريمتي السابقةإلى حد ما، لكن بصورة أخص – ولأعترف بذلك حالاً- بسبب الرعب من هذا الحيوان.

لم يكن هذا الرعب خوفاً من شر مادي مجسد، مع ذلك أحار كيف أحدده بغير ذلك، يخجلني أن أعترف أجل، حتى في زنزانة المجرمين هذه، يكاد يخجلني الاعتراف بأن الرعب والهلع اللذين أوقعهما في نفسي هذا الحيوان ازدادا حدة بسبب من وهم لايقبله العقل.

كانت زوجتي قد لفتت انتباهي، أكثر من مرة إلى طبيعة البقعة البيضاء على صدر القط، والتي أشرت إليها سابقاً، تلك العلامة التي تشكل الفارق الوحيد بين هذا الحيوان الغريب وذاك الذي قتلته.

هذه البقعة على اتساعها لم تكن لها حدود واضحة، غير أنها شيئاً فشياً وبتدرج يكاد لايلحظ، تدرج صارع عقلي لكي يدحضه ويعتبره وهماً، اكتسبت شكلاً محدداً بوضوح تام. صار لها الآن شكل ارتعد لذكر اسمه ..هذا الشكل هو ماجعلني أشمئز وأرتعب، وأتمنى التخلص من الحيوان لو تجرأت ، كان الآن صورة لشيء بغيض شيء مروع هو المشنقة! أوه أيّ آلة شنيعة جهنيمة للفظاعة والجريمة للنزع والموت!

والآن لقد انحدرت إلى درك ينحط بي عن صفة الإنسانية! كيف ينزل بي حيوان بهيم – قتلت مثله عن سابق تصميم- حيوان بهيم ينزل بي أنا الإنسان المخلوق على صورة كريمة، كل هذا الويل الذي لايحتمل! وا أسفاه! ماعدت أعرف رحمة الراحة لا في النهار ولا في الليل! ففي النهار لم يكن ذلك البهيم ليفارقني لحظة واحدة، وفي الليل كنت أهب من النوم مراراً يتملكني ذعر شديد لأجد لهاث ذلك الشيء فوق وجهي، وثقل جسمه الضخم – مثل كابوس متجسد لا أقوى على زحزحته- يجثم أبدياً فوق قلبي.
وهكذا انهارت بقايا الخير الواهية تحت وطأة هذا العذاب، وصارت أفكار الشر خدين روحي، أشدَّ الأفكار حلكة وشيطانية، ازدادت مزاجيتي سوداوية حتى تحولت إلى كراهية للأشياء كلها وللجنس البشري بأسره، وأخذت نوبات غضبي المفاجئة المتكررة التي لم أعد أتحكم بها واستسلمت لها كالأعمى، أخذت تطال وا أسفاه زوجتي، أعظم الصابرين على الآلام.

رافقتني ذات يوم لقضاء بعض الأعمال المنزلية في قبو المبنى القديم حيث أرغمتنا الفاقة على السكنى، تبعني القط على الدرج وكاد يرميني، فاستشاط غضبي الجنوني؛ رفعت فأساً متناسياً ماكان من خوفي الصبياني الذي أوقفني حتى الآن، وسددت ضربة إلى الحيوان كانت ستقضي عليه لو أنها نزلت حيث تمنيت، غير أن يد زوجتي أوقفت هذه الضربة. كان هذا التدخل بمثابة منخاس دفع بغضبي إلى الهياج الشيطاني؛ انتزعت يدي من قبضة زوجتي وودفنت الفأس في رأسها، فسقطت ميتة دون أن تصدر عنها نأمة.

لما ارتكبت هذه الجريمة البشعة، جلست على الفور أفكر في التخلص من الجثة. عرفت أنني لا أستطيع إخراجها من البيت لا في الليل ولا في النهار دون أن أخاطر بتنبيه الجيران. مرت برأسي خطط عديدة. فكرت بأن أقطع الجثة إرباً ثم أتخلص منها بالحرق. وفكرت في حفر قبر لها في أرض القبو. كما فكرت في إلقائها في بئر الحوش، أو أن أحشرها في صندوق بضاعة وأستدعي حمالاً لأخذها من البيت. وأخيراً اهتديت إلى أفضل خطة للتخلص منها. قررت أن أبنيها في جدار القبو، كما كان الرهبان في القرون الوسطى يبنون ضحاياهم في الجدران.

كان القبو مناسباً لهذه الغاية. فقد كان بناء جدرانه مخلخلاً وقد تم توريق الجدران حديثاً بملاط خشن حالت الرطوبة دون تصلبه. وفوق ذلك كان في أحد الجدران تجويف بشكل المدخنة تم ردمه بحيث تستوي أجزاء الجدار، وتأكد لي أن باستطاعتي انتزاع قطع الطوب من هذا التجويف وإدخال الجثة، وبناء التجويف ليعود الجدار كما كان بحيث لاترتاب العين في أي تغيير.

ولم تخطئ حساباتي. استعنت بمخل لانتزاع قطع الطوب، وأوقفت الجثة بتأن لصق الجدار الداخلي ودعمتها لتحتفظ بوضع الوقوف، فيما كنت أدقق لأعيد كل شيء إلى ما كان عليه. كنت قد أحضرت الملاط والرمل والوبر، فهيأت الخليط بمنتهى الدقة والعناية بحيث لايميز من الملاط السابق، وأعدت كل قطعة طوب إلى مكانها. عندما أكملت العمل أحسست بالرضا عن النتيجة. لم يكن يبدو على الجدار أدنى أثر يدل على أنه قد لمس. نظفت الأرض بمنتهى العناية ونظرت حولي منتصراً وقلت في نفسي: ’’لم يذهب جهدي سدىً‘‘.

كانت الخطوة الثانية هي البحث عن الحيوان الذي سبب لي هذه الفاجعة الرهيبة، ذلك أنني قررت القضاء عليه، لوعثرت عليه في تلك اللحظة لما كان هنالك من شك في أمر مصيره؛ لكن يبدو أن الحيوان الذكي أدرك عنف غضبي فاختفى متجنباً رؤيتي وأنا في ذلك المزاج.

يستحيل علي أن أصف عمق الراحة والسكينة التي أتاحها لروحي غياب ذلك الحيوان. لم يعد للظهور تلك الليلة. وهكذا ولأول مرة منذ وصوله إلى البيت نمت بعمق وهدوء، أجل نمت على الرغم من وزر الجريمة الرابض فوق روحي.

مر اليوم الثاني ثم الثالث ولم يظهر معذبي، ومن جديد تنفست بحرية. لقد أصيب الوحش بالذعر فنجا بنفسه نهائياً! ولن يكون علي أن أتحمله بعد الآن! كانت سعادتي بذلك عظيمة! ولم يؤرق مضجعي وزر الجريمة السوداء إلا لماماً. جرت بعض التحقيقات وقدمت أجوبة جاهزة. بل كانت هناك تحريات، غير أن شيئاً ما لم يكتشف، وأدركت أن مستقبل سعادتي في أمان.

في اليوم الرابع بعد وقوع الجريمة جاءت فرقة من الشرطة إلى البيت بشكل لم أتوقعه وبدأت تحريات واستجوابات دقيقة، لكن بما أنني كنت مطمئنا إلى إخفاء الجثة لم أشعر بأي حرج. سألني ضباط الشرطة أن أرافقهم إلى القبو، فلم ترتعد فيَّ عضلة واحدة. كان قلبي ينبض بهدوء كقلب بريء نائم. رحت أذرع القبو جيئة وذهاباً عاقداً ذراعي فوق صدري. اقتنع رجال الشرطة بنتائج بحثهم واستعدوا للذهاب، كانت النشوة في قلبي أقوى من أن أكتمها. كنت أتحرق لقول كلمة واحدة، لفرط ما أطربني الانتصار، ولكي أزيد يقينهم ببراءتي.

’’أيها السادة - قلت أخيراً، لما كان الفريق يصعد الدرج - يسرني أن أكون قد بددت كل شكوككم. أتمنى لكم تمام الصحة ومزيداً من اللباقة، بالمناسبة أيها السادة، هذا بيت مكين البناء - في رغبتي العارمة لقول شيء سهل،لم أجد ما أتلفظ به - إنه بيت مبني بشكل ممتاز. هذه الجدران- هاأنتم ذاهبون أيها السادة- هذه الجدران متماسكة تماماً‘‘

وهنا ، وبنوع من الزهو المتشنج- طرقت طرقاً قوياً على الجدار بعصا كانت بيدي، تماماً في الموضع الذي أخفيت فيه زوجة قلبي.

لكن ليحمني الله من مخالب إبليس الأبالسة! لم تكد اهتزازات ضربتي تغرق في الصمت حتى جاوبني صوت من داخل القبر! صرخة مكتومة متقطعة بدأت كبكاء طفل، لكن سرعان ما أخذت تتعاظم وتتضخم لتغدو صرخة واحدة هائلة مديدة شاذة غريبة وغير آدمية بالمرة.. غدت عواء.. عويلاً مجلجلاً يطلقه مزيج من الرعب والظفر، وكأنما تتصاعد من قيعان الجحيم تتعاون فيها حناجر الملعونين في سعير عذاباتهم والشياطين إذ يهللون اللعنات.

من الحماقة أن أحدثكم عن الأفكار التي تلاطمت في رأسي.. ترنحت منهاراً وتهاويت مستنداً إلى الجدار المقابل.. للحظة واحدة ظل فريق الشرطة مسمراً على الدرج بفعل الرعب والاستغراب. وفي اللحظة التالية كانت بضع عشرة ذراعاً شديدة تهدم الجدار. إنهار قطعة واحدة. كانت الجثة قد تحللت إلى درجة كبيرة وغطاها الدم المتجمد، وهي تنتصب واقفة أمام أعين المشاهدين وعلى رأسها يقف القط الأسود الكريه بفمه الأحمر المفتوح وعينه الوحيدة النارية، القط الذي دفعتني أفعاله إلى الجريمة ثم أسلمني صوته الكاشف إلى حبل المشنقة. كنت قد بنيت الجدار والقط داخل القبر.

[ACME]

القلادة
جي دي موباسان

اجتمعت آراء النقاد في العالم علي أن هذه القصة هي الأنموذج الكامل للقصة القصيرة ذات النهاية المفاجئة,التي تتوافر فيها العناصر الأساسية للقصة القصيرة : الشخوص , والمكان والزمان , والمسوغات المنطقية للأحداث , والنهاية , كما تتوافر فيها عناصر أخرى مثل : التشويق , والمصادفة المعقولة , والتصوير الدرامي , والتدرج لبلوغ النهاية.



(القصة)


كانت من أولئك الفتيات الأنيقات اللاتي يحسبن و لادتهن في أسرة من اسر الموظفين مصيبة ،لم يكن لديها صداق يحقق الزواج السعيد،ولا رجاء يضمن العيش الرغيد،ولا وسيلة تكشفها للناس فتعرف وتفهم وتحب وتتزوج من رجل غني ثري امثل ؛فتركت قيادها للخط ، فزوجها بموظف ضعيف من موظفي وزارة المعارف العمومية.
كانت بسيطة الهندام ،لانها لم تجد زينتها وكانت معذبة النفس لانها لم تعايش طبقتها، والنساء ليس لهن طبقة و لا جنس،و إنما يقوم لهن الجمال والظرف والفتنة مقام الأصل والأسرة ،فلا تري فيهن من تفاوت ، ولا تمايز، الا بالرقة الفطرية، والأناقة الغريزية،والذهن المتصرف المرن فهي التي تجعل من سواسية بنات الشعب سيدات و عقائل.
كان الألم يلح عليها عنيفا كلما شعرت بأنها خلقت للنعيم والترف ،وهي إنما تعيش في هذا المسكن الحقير بين هذه الجدران العاطلة ،والمقاعد الحائلة،والقماش الزري . كانت هذه الأشياء التي لا تفطن إليها امرأة أخري في طبقتها تحرق نفسها بالألم , وتوقد صدرها بالغضب. وكان منظر الخادمة الصغيرة البريوتية التي تقوم على تدبير بيتها المتواضع و توقد في قلبها الحسرات اللاذعة والأحلام الحائرة. كانت تحلم بالاواوين الصامتة تدبجها الطنافس الشرقية, وتضيئها المصابيح البرنزية , وبالخادمين الفارهين في السراويل القصيرة,يرقدان في المقعد الوسيع .
وكانت تحلم بالبهو الفخم يغشية الديباج القديم , وبالاثاث الدقيق. يجمله الرياش الكريم , و بالصالون الانيق العطر يجعل لأحاديث العصر مع اخص الأصدقاء وانبه الكبراء , ممن تشتهي النساء استقبالهم.
ولما جلست إلى العشاء على المائدة المستديرة امام زوجها , وقد رفع غطاء الحساء , وقال في وجه منبسط واهجة راضية :"الله ! ما أطيب هذا اللحم ! أني لم أشهي منه ولا ألذ , كانت هي تفكر في الأعشية الناعمة الجامعة و وفي الأدوات الفضية الامعة ,وفي نسائج الوشي تزين الجدار بصور الاعلام البارزة في التاريخ, والاطيار الغريبة في غابة. من غاب عبقر ! كانت تفكرفي الألوان الشهية تقدم في الصحاف العجيبة و وفي الملاطفات الغزلة الهامسة وهي تأكل لحم السمك المورد و او الدراج المسمن. لم تكن تملك زينة ولا حلية ولا شيئا مما تتزين به المرأة ,وهي لا تريد إلا ذلك, و لا تظن نفسها خلقت لغير ذلك. وطالما ودت أن تكون موضع الإعجاب والغبطة , ومنتجع العيون والافئدة.
وقد كان لها صديقة غنية من رفيقات الدراسة , فكانت تكره ان تزورها , لان الالم الممض كان يرافقها وهي عائدة . وربما ظلت الايام الطوال تسفح الدموع الغزار إجابة لدواعي الأسف واليأس والحزن.ففي ذات مساء عاد زوحها وعلى وجهه سمة الجلال , وفي يده غلاف عريض و فقال : خذي ! هاك شيئا لك. ثم فض الغلاف بقوة ةأخرج منه بطاقة مطبوعة كتب فيها :
" وزير المعارف العمومية وعقيلته يرجوان السيد (لوازيل) وعقيلته أن يشرفاهما بحضور الحفلة الساهرة التي ستقام في ديوان الوزارة يوم الاثنين الثامن عشر من كانون الثاني " .
ولكنها بدل أن تنبسط وتغتبط وتدهش كما كان يرجو زوجها رمت البطاقة على المائدة في غضب وسخط وهي تقول :
- ماذا تريد ان اصنع بهذه ؟
- و لكنني ظننت انك تسرين بهذا. إنك لا تخرجين ابدا , وهذه فرصة جميلة , حقا جميلة ! ولقد احتملت في سبيل الحصول على هذه البطاقة مالا تتصورين من الجهد والمشقة . كل الناس يرغبون فيها كل الرغبة , ويسعون لها كل السعي. وهم لا يعطون الموظفين منها إلا بقدر. سترين هناك العام الرسمي كله, فنظرت اليه نظرة الغضب , ثم انفجرت قائلة :
- ماذا تريد ان اضع علي جسمي هذه الحفلة ؟
لم يكن الزوج قد فكر في هذا, ولكنه أجاب في خفوت وغمغمة:
- عندك الثوب الذي تذهبين بت الي المسرح , إنه على ما أرى ملائم كل الملائمة ...
ثم أخذه الدهش و والتوى عليه الكلام حين رأى زوجته تبكيو ةابصر دمعتين غليظتين تنحدران من زاويتي عينيها إالى زاويتي فمها , وقال في تمتمة :
- ماذا بك ؟ ماذا بك ؟
فتحاملت على نفسها بالجهد العنيف , وأجابتة بصةت هادئ وهي تمسح الدمع علي خديها:
- لا شئ غير انني لا أملك ما أتزين به , ولذلك لا أستطيع الذهاب الى الحفلة , فأعط هذه البطاقة زميلا من زملائك تكزن امرأته أحسن مني جهازا, وأتم أهبة. فابتأس الزوج وقال : لنظر في الامر يا ماتيلدة ! كم تكلفنا الزينة البسيطة الملاءمة التي تغنيك في مثل هذه المناسبة؟ ففكرت بضع ثوان تحرر الحساب , وتتحرى المبلغ الذي اذا طلبته لا يثير دهش الموظف الصغير , ولا يوجب رفض الزوج المقتصد, ثم أجابت جواب المتردد :
- لا أعرف ذلك على وحه الدقة, وأظن اربعمئة فرنكتبلغبي الى هذه الغاية!
اصفر وجه الزوج قليلا, لانه كان ادخر هذه المبلغ بتمامه ليشتري به بندقية يصطاد بها في الصيف مع بعض الاصدقاء في سهل (ننتير), ومع ذلك قال لامرأته:
ليكن! سأعطيك أربعمئة فرنك. فاجتهدي أن يكون لك منها ثوب جميل.
دنا يوم الحفل, وهيئت زينة السيدة لوازيل ,ولكنها لا تزال كما يظهر حزينة مهمومة قلقة. فقال لها زوجها ذات ليلية :
- ماذا تجدين؟ إنك منذ ثلاثة أيام في حال غريبة.
فأجابته:أني ليحزنني ألا تكون لي حلية. فلا أملك مما تتحلي به النساء شيئا من معدن أو حجر , وسأكون أسوأ من في الحفل زيا وهيئة , وأرى من الخير ألا أذهب في هذه الأمسية
فعقب علي قولها بقةله:
تتحلين بالزهور الطبيعية. ذلك أجمل شئ وأطرفه في هذا الفصل. وبعشرة فرنكات تبتاعين وردتين او ثلاثم من اندر انواع الورد. فلم يند هذا الكلام عل كبدها القريحة وقالت :كلاوفإن أشد الأشياء هوانا وضراعة أن نظهر في محضر الأغنياء بمظهر الفقراء.
ولكن زوجها صاح بها قائلا: ما اشد غباءك! اذهبي غال صديقتك السيدة فورستييه فاستعيري منها بعض الحلي, فإن بينكما من قديم الصداقة ووثيق العلاقة ما يتسع لمثل ذلك, فصاحت صيحة فرح وقالت: هذا صحيح! ومن العجب انه لم يجر عل بالي.
وفي صبيحة الفد ذهبت الى صديقتها ,فقصت عليها ما همها وغمها. فلم تكد تسمع شكوتها حتى أسرعت الى خزانتهاو فأخرجت منها صندوقا عريضا وفتحته, وقدمتة الى السيدة لوازيل وهي تقولك اختاري يا عزيزتي.
فوقع بصرها أول ما وقع على الأساور , ثم على عقد من اللؤلؤ, ثم على صليب بندقي من الذهب قد رصعته بالحجارة يد صناع. فجربت على نفسها الحلي في المرأة , ثم أخذتها حيرة فلم تقطع العزم على ما تأخذ وما تدع و فقالت لصديقتها: ألم يعد لديكي شئ آخر؟
فأجابتها : بلى! ابحثي. فإني لا أعرف ماذا يعجبك؟ وعلى حين بغتة وجدت في علبة من الديباج الاسود قلادة فاخرة من الماس, فخفق قلبها خفوق الرغبة الملحة, ثم تناواتها بيد مضطربة,
وتقلدتها على ثوبها المجهز فإذا هي على ما صورت في الخيال وما قدرت في الامل . فسألت صديقتها غي تردد وقلق: اتستطيعين أن تعيريني هذه القلادة! لا شئ إلا هذه القلادةو فاجابتها صديقتها: نعم ولا شك. فأهوت على نحرها تقبله في حمية وطرب, ثم ولت مسرعة بهذا الكنز.
أقيمت الحفلة الساهرة , ونجحت السيدة لوازيل , فكانت أكثر من حضرها من النساء رشاقة ولباقة وبهجة . تدفقت في السرور متأنقة متألقة , فاسترعت الأنظار, واستهوت القلوب , فتسابق الرجال خاصة موظفي مجلس الوزراء إالى السؤال عنها, والتعرف إليها ,والرقص معها.حتي الوزير نفسه ألقى إليها باله.
كانت ترقص في نشوة من الغبظة , وقد امحى من ذهنها كل شئ, فلم تعد تفكر إلا في انتصار جمالها ,وفي مجد انتصارها, وفي ظل رقيق من ظلال السعادة بسطته عليها التحيات التي قدمت إليها , والإعجاب الذي انثال عليها, والرغبات التي تيقظت فيها, والفوز الكامل الذي يبهج بسحره فؤاد المرأة.
تركت الحفل زهاء الساعة الرابعة من الصباح, وكان زوجها منذ منتصف الليل قد غلبه النوم فأخذ مرقده في بهو صغير خلا من الناس هو وثلاثة من المدعوين كان نسؤهم لا يزلن يقصفن
في نشاط ومرح. فلما همت هي وهو بالانصراف ألقى على كتفيها الثياب التي اعدها للخروج, وهي ثياب متواضعة مبتذلة تتنافر بحقارتها مع أناقة ما تلبس من زينة المرقص. وقد شعرت هي بذلك فأرادت ان تتسلل حتى لا يلمحها النساء الأخر وهن يرتدين معاطف الفراء الفاخر . غير أن زوجها اعتاقها قائلا: انتظري ,فقد يصيبك البرد, وسأطلب عربة . ولكنها تصامت كلامه , وانحدرت مسرعة علي السلم. فلما صارا في الشارع لم يجدا مركبة فمشيا, وكلما ابصرا على البعد حوذيا صاحا بت, فلا يقف.
أخذا سبيلهما إلى(السين) هابطين قانطين يقرقفان من البرد, فوجدا بعد لأي على رصيفه مركبة عتيقة من تلك المراكب التي تسير وهي نائمة, ثم لا تري في باريس إلا تحت الليل كأنما تخزى أن تظهر مهانتها في وضح النهار.
ركباها إلى دارهما في شارع (الشهداء) ودخلاها حزينين أما هي فلأنها تتحسر على انقضاء ما كانت فيه, أما هو فلأنه يتذكر أن من واجبه أن يكون في ديوان الوزارة الساعة العاشرة. نضت عن كتفيها امام المراة الثياب التي تدثرت بها حتي تنظر الي نفسها مرة اخيرة وهي في مجدها .
ولم تكد تجيل اللحظ في جيدها حتي صاحت صيحة منكرة ! إنها لم تجد على نحرها تلك الفلادة!
فأقبل عليها زوجها في نصف ثيابه يسألها ماذا أصابها فالتفتت إليه هالعة تقول: أنا .. أنا .. لا أجد قلادة السيدة فورستييه! فانتفض قائما وقد هفا قلبه من الجزع.
- ماذا ؟ كيف ؟ لا يمكن أن يكون هذا!
و طفقا يبحثان في ثنايا الثوب ، وفي طوايا المعطف ، وفي جيوب هذا وذاك ، وفي كل مكان هنا وهناك ،فلم يجداها . فقال الزوج للزوجة : أأنت على يقين من ان القلادة كانت في عنقك ساعة تركت المرقص؟ فأجابته : نعم ، ولقد لمستها بيدي وأنا في دهليز الوزارة .فقال لها: ولكنك لو فقدتها ونحن في الشارع لكنا سمعنا وقعها حين سقطت , فلا بد أن تكون في المركبة . فقالت له:نعم . هذا جائز . فهل تذكر رقم المركبة ؟ فأجابها كلا , وأنت الم تلحظيها؟ فأجابته كلا , فرنا إليها , ورنت إليه , وكلاهما لا يملك فؤاده من الجزع .
وأخيرا , مضى لوازيل فلبس ثيابه وقال : سأرجع في الطريق التي قطعناها على الأقدام فلعلي أجدها . ثم خرج وترك امرأته في ثياب السهرة , وقد استلقت من الخور علي أحد المقاعد , لا تشتهي النوم , ولا تطلب الدفء , ولا تملك الفكر . ثم عاد في الساعة السابعة دون ان يجد شيئا . وما لبث أن ارتد غالى دائرة الشرطة يسجل المفقود , ثم إلى إدارات الصحف يعلن المكافأة , ثم إلى شركة العربات الصغيرة ينشد المركبة , ثم إلى كل مكان يهديه إليه بصيص من الأمل .
وكانت هي تنتظر طول النهار علي حالها الأليمة من الذهول والوله . وفي المساء عاد لوازيل ساهم الوجه , كاسف البال , لأنه لم يكتشف شيئا. ولما أعياه الأمر قال لزوجته : لا بد أن تكتبي إلى صديقتك تخبرينها ان مشبك القلادة انكسر , وأنك بسبيل تصليحه . ذلك يعطينا المهلة لنتخذ تدبيرا آخر . فكتبت ما أملاه عليها .
وفي آخر الأسبوع وقفت أمالها على شفا اليأس , فأعلن لوازيل أنه لا بد من وسيلة لشراء قلادة بدل القلادة.
وفي صباح الغد أخدا علبة الحلية , وذهبا بها إلى الجوهري الذي كتب اسمه عليها فسألاه عنها . فقال بعد أن رجع إلى سجلاته : لست أنا يا سيدتي الذي صنع القلادة , وإنما صنعت هذه العلبة فقط . فذهبا يضطربان في سوق الجواهر ينتقلان من صائغ إلى صائغ يسألان , ويبحثان وجدا آخر الأمر في دكان من الدكاكين قلادة من الماس تشبه في نظرهما القلادة المفقودة كل الشبه... كان ثمنها أربعين ألف فرنك , ولكن الجوهري رضي أن ينزل عنها بستة وثلاثين ألفا . فرجوا منه ألا يبيعها لأحد قبل ُثلاثة أيام , وشرطا عليه أن يعود فيشتريها منهما بأربعة وثلاثين ألف فرنك إذا هما وجدا القلادة الأولى آخر شباط .
كان لوازيل يملك ثمانية عشر ألف فرنك تركها له أبوه , فلا مناص من أن يقترض الباقي . اقترض ألفا من هذا و خمسمئة من ذاك , وخمس ليرات من هنا وثلاثا من هناك .
كتب على نفسه الصكوك المحرجة , وتردد على كل مراب , واختلف إلى كل مقرض .
عرض آخرة عمرة للخطر ,وغامر بإمضائه وهو لا يضمن الوفاء بما التزم . وفي حال يرجف لها القلب فرقا ( ) , مما يتجرعه من هموم المستقبل , وما يتوقعه من بؤس العيش , وما يخشاه من حرمان الجسم ولوعة القلب , ذهب يشتري القلادة الجديدة . وضع علي منضدة الجوهري ستة وثلاثين ألف فرنك ؟
ولما أخذت السيدة فورستييه الحلية من السيدة لوازيل , قالت في هيئة من غاضبة ولهجة عاتبة : لقد كان ينبغي أن ترديها قبل ذلك , فقد كنت بحاجة إليها .
ثم رفعت العلبة من دون ان تفتحها , فكفت بذلك صديقتها ما كانت تخشاه . فلقد كانت تقول لنفسها : ماذا عسى ان تظن السيدة فورستييه إذا لحظت أن القلادة غير القلادة ؟ إلا تحسبني لصة ؟!
ذاقت السيدة لوازيل عيش المعوزين المر الخشن , وحملت نصيبها من ذلك دفعة واحدة في بسالة وقوة. كان لا بد من قضاء هذا الدين الفادح وستقضيه . استغنت عن الخادم , وانتقلت من المنزل , واستأجرت غرفة على أحد السطوح , وزاولت الأعمال الغليظة في البيت و وباشرت الأمور البغيضة في المطبخ و فغسلت الأطباق ة وأتلفت أظافرها الوردية في صدأ القدور ودسم الأواني (وصبنت) القذر من الابيضة والأقمصة والخرق ونشرتها على الحبل , ثم هبطت الشارع كل صباح لتصعد بالماء وتقف عند كل طبقة تتنفس الصعداء من التعب , ولبست لباس السوقة , واختلفت إلى الفاكهاني والبقال والجزار وعلى ذراعها السلة , فتساوم ,وتقاوم وتدفع الغبن عن كل (بارة) من نقودها القليلة . فإذا تصرم الشهر وجب عليها أن توفي صكا , وتجدد صكا , وتطلب مهلة .
وكان الزوج في المساء يشتغل بتبييض الحساب لتاجر , وفي الليل بنسخ صور لبعض الأصول , كل صفحة بربع فرنك , ودأب الزوجان على هذه الحال عشرة سنين . وفي نهاية هذه المدة كانا قد أديا الدين كله بسعره الفاحش و وربحه المركب , وكانت السيدة لوازيل قد أخلقت جدتها و وبدت في رأسها رواعي المشيب . وكان من طول قيامها بشؤون المنزل أصبحت قوية غليظة جافية . لا تكاد تراها إلا شعثاء الشعر ,حمراء اليد , مقلوبة الثوب , ترفع صوتها في الكلام , وتغسل ارض الغرف بالماء الغمر , ولكنك تراها في بعض أوقاتها تجلس إلى النافذة حين يجلس زوجها إلى المكتب , فتفكر في تلك الأمسية الذاهبة في تلك الحفلة الساهرة التي كانت فيها مهوى القلوب , ومراد الأعين . ما الذي يحدث لو أن هذه الحلية لم تفقد؟ من يدري ؟ إن الحياة غريبة الأطوار سريعة التقلب ! وإن موتك أو حياتك قد يكونان رهنا بأحقر الأشياء !
وفي ذات أحد من الآحاد بينما كانت ماتيلدة ترغه عن نفسها عناء الأسبوع في رياض (الشانزليزيه) وقع بصرها فجأة على السيدة فورستييه ,ومعها طفل تنزهه وتروضه. وكانت لا تزال رفافة البشرة , رائقة الحسن ’ فتانة الملامح ,فاعتراها لدى مرآها اضطراب وقلق . أتذهب إليها فتكلمها! نعم! ولم لا ؟ لقد أدت الآن كل ما عليها , فلم لا تفضي بكل شئ إليها ؟
دنت السيدة لوازيل من صديقتها القديمة وقالت لها:
صباح الخير يا جان!
ولكن صديقتها أنكرتها , وأدهشها أن تسمع امرأة مع عرض الطريق بهذه الألفة , وتناديها من غير كلفة ,فقالت مغمغمة:
ولكن .. سيدتي ... لا بد أن يكون الأمر قد اشتبه عليك . فقالت لها: كلا! أنا ماتيلدة لوازيل .
فصاحت السيدة صيحة الدهش , وقالت : أوه! صديقتي المسكينة ماتيلدة ! لشدة ما تغيرت بعدي !
فقالت: نعم! لقد كابدت برحاء الهموم عانيت بأساء منذ غبت عنك , وذلك كله بسببك .
- بسببي؟ وكيف ذلك؟
- إنك تذكرين ولا شك تلك القلادة الماسية التي أعرتني إياها يوم حفلة الوزارة.
- نعم , وبعد؟
- إنني أضعتها.
- وكيف أضعتها وقد رددتها إلي؟
- لقد رددت إليك قلادة أخرى تشبهها كل الشبه.
وها هي تلك عشرة أعوام قضيناها في أداء ثمنها . وليس ذلك باليسير علينا كما تعلمين, فاليد خالية, والمورد ناضب, والجهد قليل ,وقد انتهى الأمر والحمد لله , وأصبحت على هذه الشدة راضية مغتبطة , فقالت السيدة فورستييه في تؤدة وبطء:
- أتقولين إنك اشتريت قلادة من الماس بدل قلادتي؟
- نعم. ألم تلاحظي ذلك؟ هه ؟ إنها لا تختلف عنها في شئ .
وكانت شفتاها قد افترتا عن ابتسامة تنم على الكبر والسذاجة , ولكن السيدة فورستييه أخذت يديها في يديها , وقالت لها في لهجة الإشفاق والعجب :
- مسكينة يا صديقتي ماتيلدة !
إن قلادتي كانت كاذبة !
وما كان ثمنها يزيد عن خمسمئة فرنك !!
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[ACME]

A Haunted House by Virginia Woolf


Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple.

"Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them."

But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe" the pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure buried; the room . . ." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?

A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. 'The Treasure yours."

The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.

"Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking in the morning--" "Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" 'In the garden--" "When summer came--" 'In winter snowtime--" "The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound asleep. Love upon their lips."

Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.

"Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--" he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe! safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart."


منزل مسكون

فيرجينيا وولف

أيما ساعة استيقظت كان هناك باب يغلق. يتنقلون من غرفة إلى غرفة، يداً بيد، رفع هنا، فتح هناك، يجعلك واثقاً .. زوجان من الأشباح.

قالت " هنا تركناه". وأضاف هو، " أوه، لكن هنا أداة" همهمت " إنه في الأعلى". همس " وفي الحديقة" . " قالا " بهدوء" " وإلا فسنوقظهم".

لم تكن المشكلة أن أيقظتمانا. أوه، لا. قد يقول أحدهم " إنهما يبحثان عنه، إنهما يسدلان الستائر،" وهكذا يتابع قراءة صفحة أو صفحتين. ويمكن أن يكون أحدهم واثقاً " لقد وجداه الآن" ، موقفاً القلم فوق الهامش. ومن ثم، تعباً من القراءة، يمكن له أن ينهض ويبحث بنفسه، المنزل كله كان فارغاً، الأبواب مازالت مشرعة، فقط اليمام الخشبي تهدل برضا وطنين الدرّاسة تسمع من الحقل. " لماذا دخلت إلى هنا؟ ما الذي أريد اكتشافه؟" يداي كانتا فارغتين.
" ربما كان في الأعلى إذا؟" التفاح كان في العليّة. وهكذا إلى الأسفل مرة أخرى، الحديقة مازالت كما هي دوماً، الكتاب وحده انزلق ضمن الأعشاب.

لكنهما كانا قد وجداه في غرفة الجلوس. لم يستطع ذاك الشخص أن يراهما أبداً. تعكس جوانب النافذة التفاح، تعكس الورود، جميع الأوراق كانت خضراء في الآنية الزجاجية. إذا تحركا ضمن غرفة الجلوس يدير التفاح وحده جانبه الأصفر. علاوة على ذلك، وفي الدقيقة التي تليها، إذا فتح الباب، ينتشران على الأرض، يتعلقان بالجدران، يتدليان من السقف.. ماذا؟ يداي كانتا فارغتين. اجتاز ظل طائر السجادة، من أغوار آبار الصمت سحبت اليمامات الخشبية هديل الصوت. " آمن، آمن، آمن" دق نبض البيت بنعومة." دفن الكنز، الغرفة.." توقف النبض قليلاً. أوه، هل كان ذاك الكنز المدفون؟

بعد دقيقة بهت الضوء. خارجاً في الحديقة إذاً؟ لكن الأشجار تنسج الظلمة لشعاع الشمس المتجول. رائع جداً، نادر جداً، غاص ببرود تحت السطح، الشعاع الذي رأيته دوماً يحترق خلف الزجاج. الموت كان الزجاج، الموت كان بيننا، آتياً إلى النساء أولاً، منذ مئات سنين مضت، تاركاً المنزل، مغلقاً جميع النوافذ، أعتمت الغرف. تركه ، تركها، مضى شمالاً، مضى شرقاً، رأى النجوم تدور في السماء الجنوبية، رأى المنزل، وجده مسقطاً تحت المنخفضات" آمن، آمن، آمن" نبض المنزل يدق بفرح. " الكنز لك."

زأرت الرياح أعلى الطريق. انحنت الأشجار وتمايلت هذا الطريق وذاك. أشعة القمر ارتشت وتناثرت بوحشية في المطر . لكن أشعة المصباح سقطت مباشرة من النافذة. الشمعة تحترق بثبات واستمرارية. متجولين خلال المنزل، فاتحين النوافذ، هامسين كيلا يوقظانا، الزوجان الشبحين يبحثان عن سعادتهما.

" هنا نمنا" قالت. وأضاف هو، " قبل بلا عدد" " الاستيقاظ صباحاً.." " الفضة بين الأشجار.." " في الأعلى.." " في الحديقة.." " عندما أقبل الصيف.." " زمن ثلوج الشتاء.." أخذت الأبواب تغلق بعيداً في المدى، تدق بلطف مثل نبض قلب.

اقتربا أكثر، توقفا عند المدخل. سكنت الريح، يدفع المطر الفضة أسفل الزجاج. اغتمت عيوننا، لا نسمع خطوات قربنا، لم نر أية سيدة تفرش عباءتها الشبحية. حجبت يداه الفانوس " قال ملتقطاً أنفاسه" أنظري". يبدوان نائمين. الحب فوق شفاههما."

منحنيين، ممسكين بمصباحهما الفضي فوقنا، حدقا طويلاً وبعمق. توقفا طويلاً. تندفع الريح إلى الأمام، انحنى اللهب قليلاً. الأشعة الوحشية للقمر اجتازت كلا الأرض والجدار، ومتقابلين، انحنى الوجهان الملطخان، الوجهان يفكران، الوجهان اللذان يتفحصان النائمين ويتلمسان سعادتهم المخفية.

" آمن ، آمن، آمن" يدق قلب البيت فخوراً. تنهد " سنوات طويلة..." . همست " ثانية تجدني" " هنا" " نائمة، قارئة في الحديقة، ضاحكة، مدحرجة التفاح في العلية. هنا تركنا كنزنا.." منحنيين، رفع نورهما الأجفان فوق عيوني. " " آمن! آمن! آمن!" نبض البيت يدق بعنف. مستيقظة، صرخت " أوه، هل هذا هو كنزك المدفون؟ النور الذي في القلب.

[ACME]

The Doll's House

by Katherine Mansfield



When dear old Mrs. Hay went back to town after staying with the Burnells she sent the children a doll's house. It was so big that the carter and Pat carried it into the courtyard, and there it stayed, propped up on two wooden boxes beside the feed-room door. No harm could come of it; it was summer. And perhaps the smell of paint would have gone off by the time it had to be taken in. For, really, the smell of paint coming from that doll's house ("Sweet of old Mrs. Hay, of course; most sweet and generous!") -- but the smell of paint was quite enough to make any one seriously ill, in Aunt Beryl's opinion. Even before the sacking was taken off. And when it was . . .
There stood the doll's house, a dark, oily, spinach green, picked out with bright yellow. Its two solid little chimneys, glued on to the roof, were painted red and white, and the door, gleaming with yellow varnish, was like a little slab of toffee. Four windows, real windows, were divided into panes by a broad streak of green. There was actually a tiny porch, too, painted yellow, with big lumps of congealed paint hanging along the edge.
But perfect, perfect little house! Who could possibly mind the smell? It was part of the joy, part of the newness.
"Open it quickly, some one!"
The hook at the side was stuck fast. Pat pried it open with his pen- knife, and the whole house-front swung back, and-there you were, gazing at one and the same moment into the drawing-room and dining-room, the kitchen and two bedrooms. That is the way for a house to open! Why don't all houses open like that? How much more exciting than peering through the slit of a door into a mean little hall with a hat-stand and two umbrellas! That is-isn't it? -- what you long to know about a house when you put your hand on the knocker. Perhaps it is the way God opens houses at dead of night when He is taking a quiet turn with an angel. . . .
"Oh-oh!" The Burnell children sounded as though they were in despair. It was too marvellous; it was too much for them. They had never seen anything like it in their lives. All the rooms were papered. There were pictures on the walls, painted on the paper, with gold frames complete. Red carpet covered all the floors except the kitchen; red plush chairs in the drawing-room, green in the dining-room; tables, beds with real bedclothes, a cradle, a stove, a dresser with tiny plates and one big jug. But what Kezia liked more than anything, what she liked frightfully, was the lamp. It stood in the middle of the dining-room table, an exquisite little amber lamp with a white globe. It was even filled all ready for lighting, though, of course, you couldn't light it. But there was something inside that looked like oil, and that moved when you shook it.
The father and mother dolls, who sprawled very stiff as though they had fainted in the drawing-room, and their two little children asleep upstairs, were really too big for the doll's house. They didn't look as though they belonged. But the lamp was perfect. It seemed to smile to Kezia, to say, "I live here." The lamp was real.
The Burnell children could hardly walk to school fast enough the next morning. They burned to tell everybody, to describe, to-well-to boast about their doll's house before the school-bell rang.
"I'm to tell," said Isabel, "because I'm the eldest. And you two can join in after. But I'm to tell first."
There was nothing to answer. Isabel was bossy, but she was always right, and Lottie and Kezia knew too well the powers that went with being eldest. They brushed through the thick buttercups at the road edge and said nothing.
"And I'm to choose who's to come and see it first. Mother said I might."
For it had been arranged that while the doll's house stood in the courtyard they might ask the girls at school, two at a time, to come and look. Not to stay to tea, of course, or to come traipsing through the house. But just to stand quietly in the courtyard while Isabel pointed out the beauties, and Lottie and Kezia looked pleased. . . .
But hurry as they might, by the time they had reached the tarred palings of the boys' playground the bell had begun to jangle. They only just had time to whip off their hats and fall into line before the roll was called. Never mind. Isabel tried to make up for it by looking very important and mysterious and by whispering behind her hand to the girls near her, "Got something to tell you at playtime."
Playtime came and Isabel was surrounded. The girls of her class nearly fought to put their arms round her, to walk away with her, to beam flatteringly, to be her special friend. She held quite a court under the huge pine trees at the side of the playground. Nudging, giggling together, the little girls pressed up close. And the only two who stayed outside the ring were the two who were always outside, the little Kelveys. They knew better than to come anywhere near the Burnells.
For the fact was, the school the Burnell children went to was not at all the kind of place their parents would have chosen if there had been any choice. But there was none. It was the only school for miles. And the consequence was all the children in the neighborhood, the judge's little girls, the doctor's daughters, the store-keeper's children, the milkman's, were forced to mix together. Not to speak of there being an equal number of rude, rough little boys as well. But the line had to be drawn somewhere. It was drawn at the Kelveys. Many of the children, including the Burnells, were not allowed even to speak to them. They walked past the Kelveys with their heads in the air, and as they set the fashion in all matters of behaviour, the Kelveys were shunned by everybody. Even the teacher had a special voice for them, and a special smile for the other children when Lil Kelvey came up to her desk with a bunch of dreadfully common-looking flowers.
They were the daughters of a spry, hardworking little washerwoman, who went about from house to house by the day. This was awful enough. But where was Mr. Kelvey? Nobody knew for certain. But everybody said he was in prison. So they were the daughters of a washerwoman and a gaolbird. Very nice company for other people's children! And they looked it. Why Mrs. Kelvey made them so conspicuous was hard to understand. The truth was they were dressed in "bits" given to her by the people for whom she worked. Lil, for instance, who was a stout, plain child, with big freckles, came to school in a dress made from a green art-serge table-cloth of the Burnells', with red plush sleeves from the Logans' curtains. Her hat, perched on top of her high forehead, was a grown-up woman's hat, once the property of Miss Lecky, the postmistress. It was turned up at the back and trimmed with a large scarlet quill. What a little guy she looked! It was impossible not to laugh. And her little sister, our Else, wore a long white dress, rather like a nightgown, and a pair of little boy's boots. But whatever our Else wore she would have looked strange. She was a tiny wishbone of a child, with cropped hair and enormous solemn eyes-a little white owl. Nobody had ever seen her smile; she scarcely ever spoke. She went through life holding on to Lil, with a piece of Lil's skirt screwed up in her hand. Where Lil went our Else followed. In the playground, on the road going to and from school, there was Lil marching in front and our Else holding on behind. Only when she wanted anything, or when she was out of breath, our Else gave Lil a tug, a twitch, and Lil stopped and turned round. The Kelveys never failed to understand each other.
Now they hovered at the edge; you couldn't stop them listening. When the little girls turned round and sneered, Lil, as usual, gave her silly, shamefaced smile, but our Else only looked.
And Isabel's voice, so very proud, went on telling. The carpet made a great sensation, but so did the beds with real bedclothes, and the stove with an oven door.
When she finished Kezia broke in. "You've forgotten the lamp, Isabel."
"Oh, yes," said Isabel, "and there's a teeny little lamp, all made of yellow glass, with a white globe that stands on the dining-room table. You couldn't tell it from a real one."
"The lamp's best of all," cried Kezia. She thought Isabel wasn't making half enough of the little lamp. But nobody paid any attention. Isabel was choosing the two who were to come back with them that afternoon and see it. She chose Emmie Cole and Lena Logan. But when the others knew they were all to have a chance, they couldn't be nice enough to Isabel. One by one they put their arms round Isabel's waist and walked her off. They had something to whisper to her, a secret. "Isabel's my friend."
Only the little Kelveys moved away forgotten; there was nothing more for them to hear.
Days passed, and as more children saw the doll's house, the fame of it spread. It became the one subject, the rage. The one question was, "Have you seen Burnells' doll's house?" "Oh, ain't it lovely!" "Haven't you seen it? Oh, I say!"
Even the dinner hour was given up to talking about it. The little girls sat under the pines eating their thick mutton sandwiches and big slabs of johnny cake spread with butter. While always, as near as they could get, sat the Kelveys, our Else holding on to Lil, listening too, while they chewed their jam sandwiches out of a newspaper soaked with large red blobs.
"Mother," said Kezia, "can't I ask the Kelveys just once?"
"Certainly not, Kezia."
"But why not?"
"Run away, Kezia; you know quite well why not."


At last everybody had seen it except them. On that day the subject rather flagged. It was the dinner hour. The children stood together under the pine trees, and suddenly, as they looked at the Kelveys eating out of their paper, always by themselves, always listening, they wanted to be horrid to them. Emmie Cole started the whisper.
"Lil Kelvey's going to be a servant when she grows up."
"O-oh, how awful!" said Isabel Burnell, and she made eyes at Emmie.
Emmie swallowed in a very meaning way and nodded to Isabel as she'd seen her mother do on those occasions.
"It's true-it's true-it's true," she said.
Then Lena Logan's little eyes snapped. "Shall I ask her?" she whispered.
"Bet you don't," said Jessie May.
"Pooh, I'm not frightened," said Lena. Suddenly she gave a little squeal and danced in front of the other girls. "Watch! Watch me! Watch me now!" said Lena. And sliding, gliding, dragging one foot, giggling behind her hand, Lena went over to the Kelveys.
Lil looked up from her dinner. She wrapped the rest quickly away. Our Else stopped chewing. What was coming now?
"Is it true you're going to be a servant when you grow up, Lil Kelvey?" shrilled Lena.
Dead silence. But instead of answering, Lil only gave her silly, shame-faced smile. She didn't seem to mind the question at all. What a sell for Lena! The girls began to titter.
Lena couldn't stand that. She put her hands on her hips; she shot forward. "Yah, yer father's in prison!" she hissed, spitefully.
This was such a marvellous thing to have said that the little girls rushed away in a body, deeply, deeply excited, wild with joy. Someone found a long rope, and they began skipping. And never did they skip so high, run in and out so fast, or do such daring things as on that morning.
In the afternoon Pat called for the Burnell children with the buggy and they drove home. There were visitors. Isabel and Lottie, who liked visitors, went upstairs to change their pinafores. But Kezia thieved out at the back. Nobody was about; she began to swing on the big white gates of the courtyard. Presently, looking along the road, she saw two little dots. They grew bigger, they were coming towards her. Now she could see that one was in front and one close behind. Now she could see that they were the Kelveys. Kezia stopped swinging. She slipped off the gate as if she was going to run away. Then she hesitated. The Kelveys came nearer, and beside them walked their shadows, very long, stretching right across the road with their heads in the buttercups. Kezia clambered back on the gate; she had made up her mind; she swung out.
"Hullo," she said to the passing Kelveys.
They were so astounded that they stopped. Lil gave her silly smile. Our Else stared.
"You can come and see our doll's house if you want to," said Kezia, and she dragged one toe on the ground. But at that Lil turned red and shook her head quickly.
"Why not?" asked Kezia.
Lil gasped, then she said, "Your ma told our ma you wasn't to speak to us."
"Oh, well," said Kezia. She didn't know what to reply. "It doesn't matter. You can come and see our doll's house all the same. Come on. Nobody's looking."
But Lil shook her head still harder.
"Don't you want to?" asked Kezia.
Suddenly there was a twitch, a tug at Lil's skirt. She turned round. Our Else was looking at her with big, imploring eyes; she was frowning; she wanted to go. For a moment Lil looked at our Else very doubtfully. But then our Else twitched her skirt again. She started forward. Kezia led the way. Like two little stray cats they followed across the courtyard to where the doll's house stood.
"There it is," said Kezia.
There was a pause. Lil breathed loudly, almost snorted; our Else was still as a stone.
"I'll open it for you," said Kezia kindly. She undid the hook and they looked inside.
"There's the drawing-room and the dining-room, and that's the-"
"Kezia!"
Oh, what a start they gave!
"Kezia!"
It was Aunt Beryl's voice. They turned round. At the back door stood Aunt Beryl, staring as if she couldn't believe what she saw.
"How dare you ask the little Kelveys into the courtyard?" said her cold, furious voice. "You know as well as I do, you're not allowed to talk to them. Run away, children, run away at once. And don't come back again," said Aunt Beryl. And she stepped into the yard and shooed them out as if they were chickens.
"Off you go immediately!" she called, cold and proud.
They did not need telling twice. Burning with shame, shrinking together, Lil huddling along like her mother, our Else dazed, somehow they crossed the big courtyard and squeezed through the white gate.
"Wicked, disobedient little girl!" said Aunt Beryl bitterly to Kezia, and she slammed the doll's house to.
The afternoon had been awful. A letter had come from Willie Brent, a terrifying, threatening letter, saying if she did not meet him that evening in Pulman's Bush, he'd come to the front door and ask the reason why! But now that she had frightened those little rats of Kelveys and given Kezia a good scolding, her heart felt lighter. That ghastly pressure was gone. She went back to the house humming.
When the Kelveys were well out of sight of Burnells', they sat down to rest on a big red drain-pipe by the side of the road. Lil's cheeks were still burning; she took off the hat with the quill and held it on her knee. Dreamily they looked over the hay paddocks, past the creek, to the group of wattles where Logan's cows stood waiting to be milked. What were their thoughts?
Presently our Else nudged up close to her sister. But now she had forgotten the cross lady. She put out a finger and stroked her sister's quill; she smiled her rare smile.
"I seen the little lamp," she said, softly.
Then both were silent once more.

[ACME]

Edgar Allan Poe

The Cask of Amontillado



The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.
He had a weak point - this Fortunato - although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; - I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

< 2 >

I said to him - 'My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.'
'How?' said he. 'Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!'
'I have my doubts,' I replied; 'and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.'
'Amontillado!'
'I have my doubts.'
'Amontillado!'
'And I must satisfy them.'
'Amontillado!'
'As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me -'
'Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.'
'And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.'
'Come, let us go.'
'Whither?'
'To your vaults.'
'My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi -'
'I have no engagement; - come.'
'My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre.'
'Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.'
Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.
There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in hour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicitly orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

< 3 >

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.
'The pipe,' he said.
'It is farther on,' said I; 'but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls.'
He turned towards me, and looked onto my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.
'Nitre?' he asked, at length.
'Nitre,' I replied. 'How long have you had that cough?'
'Ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh!'
'My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.
'It is nothing,' he said, at last.
'Come,' I said, with decision, 'we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi -'
'Enough,' he said; 'the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.'
'True - true,' I replied; 'and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily - but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.'
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
'Drink,' I said, presenting him the wine.
'He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
'I drink,' he said, 'to the buried that repose around us.'
'And I to your long life'
He again took my arm, and we proceeded.

< 4 >

'These vaults,' he said, 'are extensive.'
'The Montresors,' I replied, 'were a great and numerous family.'
'I forget your arms.'
'A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.'
'And the motto?'
'Nemo me impune lacessit.'
'Good!' he said.
'The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.
'The nitre!' I said; 'see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough -'
'It is nothing,' he said; 'let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc.'
I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.
I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement - a grotesque one.
'You do not comprehend?' he said.
'Not I,' I replied.
'Then you are not of the brotherhood.'
'How?'
'You are not of the masons.'
'Yes, yes,' I said; 'yes, yes.'
'You? Impossible! A mason?'
'A mason,' I replied.
'A sign,' he said, 'a sign'
'It is this,' I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel.

< 5 >

'You jest,' he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. 'But let us proceed to the Amontillado.'
'Be it so,' I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.
It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his full torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.
'Proceed,' I said; 'herin is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi -'
'He is an ignoramus,' interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess.

< 6 >

'Pass your hand,' I said, 'over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.'
'The Amontillado!' ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.
'True,' I replied; 'the Amontillado.'
As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The nose lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.
A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I re-approached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

< 7 >

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I paced it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said -
'Ha! ha! ha! - he! he! he! - a very good joke, indeed - and excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo - he! he! he! - over our wine - he! he! he!'
'The Amontillado!' I said.
'He! he! he! - he! he! he! - yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.'
'Yes,' I said, 'let us be gone.'
'For the love of God, Montresor!'
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew inpatient. I called aloud -
'Fortunato!'
No answer. I called again -
'Fortunato!'
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. Of the half of a century no mortal had disturbed them. In pace requiescat! top

[ACME]

Irish writer Frank O’Connor explains,
far better than Freud might have done ...

My Oedipus Complex


Father was in the army all through the war – the first war, I mean – so, up to the age of five, I never saw much of him, and what I saw did not worry me. Sometimes I woke and there was a big figure in khaki peering down at me in the candlelight. Sometimes in the early morning I heard the slamming of the front door and the clatter of nailed boots down the cobbles of the lane. These were Father’s entrances and exits. Like Santa Claus he came and went mysteriously.

In fact, I rather liked his visits, though it was an uncomfortable squeeze between Mother and him when I got into the big bed in the early morning. He smoked, which gave him a pleasant musty smell, and shaved, an operation of astounding interest. Each time he left a trail of souvenirs – model tanks and Gurkha knives with handles made of bullet cases, and German helmets and cap badges and button sticks, and all sorts of military equipment – carefully stowed away in a long box on top of the wardrobe, in case they ever came in handy. There was a bit of the magpie about Father; he expected everything to come in handy. When his back was turned, Mother let me get a chair and rummage through his treasures. She didn’t seem to think so highly of them as he did.

The war was the most peaceful period of my life. The window of my attic faced southeast. My mother had curtained it, but that had small effect. I always woke with the first light and, with all the responsibilities of the previous day melted, feeling myself rather like the sun, ready to illumine and rejoice. Life never seemed so simple and clear and full of possibilities as then. I put my feet out from under the clothes – I called them Mrs. Left and Mrs. Right – and invented dramatic situations for them in which they discussed the problems of the day. At least Mrs. Right did; she was very demonstrative, but I hadn’t the same control of Mrs. Left, so she mostly contented herself with nodding agreement.

They discussed what Mother and I should do during the day, what Santa Claus should give a fellow for Christmas, and what steps should be taken to brighten the home. There was that little matter of the baby, for instance. Mother and I could never agree about that. Ours was the only house in the terrace without a new baby, and Mother said we couldn’t afford one till Father came back from the war because they cost seventeen and six.

That showed how simple she was. The Geneys up the road had a baby, and everyone knew they couldn’t afford seventeen and six. It was probably a cheap baby, and Mother wanted something really good, but I felt she was too exclusive. The Geneys’ baby would have done us fine.

Having settled my plans for the day, I got up, put a chair under the attic window, and lifted the frame high enough to stick out my head. The window overlooked the front gardens of the terrace behind ours, and beyond these it looked over a deep valley to the tall, red brick houses terraced up the opposite hillside, which were all still in shadow, while those at our side of the valley were all lit up, though with long strange shadows that made them seem unfamiliar; rigid and painted.

After that I went into Mother’s room and climbed into the big bed. She woke and I began to tell her of my schemes. By this time, though I never seemed to have noticed it, I was petrified in my nightshirt, and I thawed as I talked until, the last frost melted, I fell asleep beside her and woke again only when I heard her below in the kitchen, making the breakfast.

After breakfast we went into town; heard Mass at St. Augustine’s and said a prayer for Father, and did the shopping. If the afternoon was fine we either went for a walk in the country or a visit to Mother’s great friend in the convent, Mother Saint Dominic. Mother had them all praying for Father, and every night, going to bed, I asked God to send him back safe from the war to us. Little, indeed, did I know what I was praying for!

One morning, I got into the big bed, and there, sure enough, was Father in his usual Santa Claus manner, but later, instead of uniform, he put on his best blue suit, and Mother was as pleased as anything. I saw nothing to be pleased about, because, out of uniform, Father was altogether less interesting, but she only beamed, and explained that our prayers had been answered, and off we went to Mass to thank God for having brought Father safely home.

The irony of it! That very day when he came in to dinner he took off his boots and put on his slippers, donned the dirty old cap he wore about the house to save him from colds, crossed his legs, and began to talk gravely to Mother, who looked anxious. Naturally, I disliked her looking anxious, because it destroyed her good looks, so I interrupted him.

"Just a moment, Larry!" she said gently. This was only what she said when we had boring visitors, so I attached no importance to it and went on talking.
"Do be quiet, Larry!" she said impatiently. "Don’t you hear me talking to Daddy?"
This was the first time I had heard those ominous words, "talking to Daddy," and I couldn’t help feeling that if this was how God answered prayers, he couldn’t listen to them very attentively.
"Why are you talking to Daddy?" I asked with as great a show of indifference as I could muster.
"Because Daddy and I have business to discuss. Now, don’t interrupt again!"

In the afternoon, at Mother’s request, Father took me for a walk. This time we went into town instead of out in the country, and I thought at first, in my usual optimistic way, that it might be an improvement. It was nothing of the sort. Father and I had quite different notions of a walk in town. He had no proper interest in trams, ships, and horses, and the only thing that seemed to divert him was talking to fellows as old as himself. When I wanted to stop he simply went on, dragging me behind him by the hand; when he wanted to stop I had no alternative but to do the same. I noticed that it seemed to be a sign that he wanted to stop for a long time whenever he leaned against a wall. The second time I saw him do it I got wild. He seemed to be settling himself forever. I pulled him by the coat and trousers, but, unlike Mother who, if you were too persistent, got into a wax and said: "Larry, if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll give you a good slap," Father had an extraordinary capacity for amiable inattention. I sized him up and wondered would I cry, but he seemed to be too remote to be annoyed even by that. Really, it was like going for a walk with a mountain! He either ignored the wrenching and pummeling entirely, or else glanced down with a grin of amusement from his peak. I had never met anyone so absorbed in himself as he seemed.

At teatime, "talking to Daddy" began again, complicated this time by the fact that he had an evening paper, and every few minutes he put it down and told Mother something new out of it. I felt this was foul play. Man for man, I was prepared to compete with him any time for Mother’s attention, but when he had it all made up for him by other people it left me no chance. Several times I tried to change the subject without success.
"You must be quiet while Daddy is reading, Larry," Mother said impatiently.
It was clear that she either genuinely liked talking to Father better than talking to me, or else that he had some terrible hold on her which made her afraid to admit the truth.
"Mummy," I said that night when she was tucking me up, "do you think if I prayed hard God would send Daddy back to the war?"
She seemed to think about that for a moment.
"No, dear," she said with a smile. "I don’t think He would."
"Why wouldn’t He, Mummy?"
"Because there isn’t a war any longer, dear."
"But, Mummy, couldn’t God make another war, if He liked?"
"He wouldn’t like to, dear. It’s not God who makes wars, but bad people."
"Oh!" I said. I was disappointed about that. I began to think that God wasn’t quite what He was cracked up to be.

Next morning I woke at my usual hour, feeling like a bottle of champagne. I put out my feet and invented a long conversation in which Mrs. Right talked of the trouble she had with her own father till she put him in the Home. I didn’t quite know what the Home was but it sounded the right place for Father. Then I got my chair and stuck my head out of the attic window. Dawn was just breaking, with a guilty air that made me feel I had caught it in the act. My head bursting with stories and schemes, I stumbled in next door, and in the half-darkness scrambled into the big bed. There was no room at Mother’s side so I had to get between her and Father. For the time being I had forgotten about him, and for several minutes I sat bolt upright, racking my brains to know what I could do with him. He was taking up more than his fair share of the bed, and I couldn’t get comfortable, so I gave him several kicks that made him grunt and stretch. He made room all right, though. Mother waked and felt for me. I settled back comfortably in the warmth of the bed with my thumb in my mouth.

"Mummy!" I hummed, loudly and contentedly.
"Sssh! dear," she whispered. "Don’t wake Daddy!"
This was a new development, which threatened to be even more serious than "talking to Daddy." Life without my early-morning conferences was unthinkable.
"Why?" I asked severely.
"Because poor Daddy is tired." This seemed to me a quite inadequate reason, and I was sickened by the sentimentality of her "poor Daddy." I never liked that sort of gush; it always struck me as insincere.
"Oh!" I said lightly. Then in my most winning tone: "Do you know where I want to go with you today, Mummy?"
"No, dear," she sighed.
"I want to go down the Glen and fish for thornybacks with my new net, and then I want to go out to the Fox and Hounds, and –"
"Don’t-wake-Daddy!" she hissed angrily, clapping her hand across my mouth.
But it was too late. He was awake, or nearly so. He grunted and reached for the matches. Then he stared incredulously at his watch.
"Like a cup of tea, dear?" asked Mother in a meek, hushed voice I had never heard her use before. It sounded almost as though she were afraid.
"Tea?" he exclaimed indignantly. "Do you know what the time is?"
"And after that I want to go up the Rathcooney Road," I said loudly, afraid I’d forget something in all those interruptions.
"Go to sleep at once, Larry!" she said sharply.

I began to snivel. I couldn’t concentrate, the way that pair went on, and smothering my early-morning schemes was like burying a family from the cradle. Father said nothing, but lit his pipe and sucked it, looking out into the shadows without minding Mother or me. I knew he was mad. Every time I made a remark Mother hushed me irritably. I was mortified. I felt it wasn’t fair; there was even something sinister in it. Every time I had pointed out to her the waste of making two beds when we could both sleep in one, she had told me it was healthier like that, and now here was this man, this stranger, sleeping with her without the least regard for her health! He got up early and made tea, but though he brought Mother a cup he brought none for me.

"Mummy," I shouted, "I want a cup of tea, too."
"Yes, dear," she said patiently. "You can drink from Mummy’s saucer."
That settled it. Either Father or I would have to leave the house. I didn’t want to drink from Mother’s saucer; I wanted to be treated as an equal in my own home, so, just to spite her, I drank it all and left none for her. She took that quietly, too. But that night when she was putting me to bed she said gently:
"Larry, I want you to promise me something."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Not to come in and disturb poor Daddy in the morning. Promise?"
"Poor Daddy" again! I was becoming suspicious of everything involving that quite impossible man.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because poor Daddy is worried and tired and he doesn’t sleep well."
"Why doesn’t he, Mummy?"
"Well, you know, don’t you, that while he was at the war Mummy got the pennies from the post office?"
"From Miss MacCarthy?"
"That’s right. But now, you see, Miss MacCarthy hasn’t any more pennies, so Daddy must go out and find us some. You know what would happen if he couldn’t?"
"No," I said, "tell us."
"Well, I think we might have to go out and beg for them like the poor old woman on Fridays. We wouldn’t like that, would we?"
"No," I agreed. "We wouldn’t."
"So you’ll promise not to come in and wake him?"
"Promise."

Mind you, I meant that. I knew pennies were a serious matter, and I was all against having to go out and beg like the old woman on Fridays. Mother laid out all my toys in a complete ring round the bed so that, whatever way I got out, I was bound to fall over one of them. When I woke I remembered my promise all right. I got up and sat on the floor and played – for hours, it seemed to me. Then I got my chair and looked out the attic window for more hours. I wished it was time for Father to wake; I wished someone would make me a cup of tea. I didn’t feel in the least like the sun; instead, I was bored and so very, very cold! I simply longed for the warmth and depth of the big feather bed. At last I could stand it no longer. I went into the next room. As there was still no room at Mother’s side I climbed over her and she woke with a start. "Larry," she whispered, gripping my arm very tightly, "what did you promise?"
"But I did, Mummy," I wailed, caught in the very act. "I was quiet for ever so long."
"Oh, dear, and you’re perished!" she said sadly, feeling me all over. "Now, if I let you stay will you promise not to talk?"
"But I want to talk, Mummy," I wailed.
"That has nothing to do with it," she said with a firmness that was new to me. "Daddy wants to sleep. Now, do you understand that?"

I understood it only too well. I wanted to talk, he wanted to sleep – whose house was it, anyway?
"Mummy," I said with equal firmness, "I think it would be healthier for Daddy to sleep in his own bed."
That seemed to stagger her, because she said nothing for a while.
"Now, once for all," she went on, "you’re to be perfectly quiet or go back to your own bed. Which is it to be?"

The injustice of it got me down. I had convicted her out of her own mouth of inconsistency and unreasonableness, and she hadn’t even attempted to reply. Full of spite, I gave Father a kick, which she didn’t notice but which made him grunt and open his eyes in alarm.
"What time is it?" he asked in a panic-stricken voice, not looking at Mother but at the door, as if he saw someone there.
"It’s early yet," she replied soothingly. "It’s only the child. Go to sleep again.... Now, Larry," she added, getting out of bed, "you’ve wakened Daddy and you must go back."
This time, for all her quiet air, I knew she meant it, and knew that my principal rights and privileges were as good as lost unless I asserted them at once. As she lifted me, I gave a screech, enough to wake the dead, not to mind Father.
He groaned. "That damn child! Doesn’t he ever sleep?"
"It’s only a habit, dear," she said quietly, though I could see she was vexed.
"Well, it’s time he got out of it," shouted Father, beginning to heave in the bed. He suddenly gathered all the bedclothes about him, turned to the wall, and then looked back over his shoulder with nothing showing only two small, spiteful, dark eyes. The man looked very wicked. To open the bedroom door, Mother had to let me down, and I broke free and dashed for the farthest corner, screeching.
Father sat bolt upright in bed. "Shut up, you little puppy," he said in a choking voice.

I was so astonished that I stopped screeching. Never, never had anyone spoken to me in that tone before. I looked at him incredulously and saw his face convulsed with rage. It was only then that I fully realized how God had codded me, listening to my prayers for the safe return of this monster.
"Shut up, you!" I bawled, beside myself.
"What’s that you said?" shouted Father, making a wild leap out of the bed.
"Mick, Mick!" cried Mother. "Don’t you see the child isn’t used to you?"
"I see he’s better fed than taught," snarled Father, waving his arms wildly. "He wants his bottom smacked."
All his previous shouting was as nothing to these obscene words referring to my person. They really made my blood boil.
"Smack your own!" I screamed hysterically. "Smack your own! Shut up! Shut up!"

At this he lost his patience and let fly at me. He did it with the lack of conviction you’d expect of a man under Mother’s horrified eyes, and it ended up as a mere tap, but the sheer indignity of being struck at all by a stranger, a total stranger who had cajoled his way back from the war into our big bed as a result of my innocent intercession, made me completely dotty. I shrieked and shrieked, and danced in my bare feet, and Father, looking awkward and hairy in nothing but a short gray army shirt, glared down at me like a mountain out for murder. I think it must have been then that I realized he was jealous too. And there stood Mother in her nightdress, looking as if her heart was broken between us. I hoped she felt as she looked. It seemed to me that she deserved it all.

From that morning out my life was a hell. Father and I were enemies, open and avowed. We conducted a series of skirmishes against one another, he trying to steal my time with Mother and I his. When she was sitting on my bed, telling me a story, he took to looking for some pair of old boots which he alleged he had left behind him at the beginning of the war. While he talked to Mother I played loudly with my toys to show my total lack of concern.

He created a terrible scene one evening when he came in from work and found me at his box, playing with his regimental badges, Gurkha knives and button sticks. Mother got up and took the box from me.
"You mustn’t play with Daddy’s toys unless he lets you, Larry," she said severely. "Daddy doesn’t play with yours."
For some reason Father looked at her as if she had struck him and then turned away with a scowl. "Those are not toys," he growled, taking down the box again to see had I lifted anything. "Some of those curios are very rare and valuable."

But as time went on I saw more and more how he managed to alienate Mother and me. What made it worse was that I couldn’t grasp his method or see what attraction he had for Mother. In every possible way he was less winning than I. He had a common accent and made noises at his tea. I thought for a while that it might be the newspapers she was interested in, so I made up bits of news of my own to read to her. Then I thought it might be the smoking, which I personally thought attractive, and took his pipes and went round the house dribbling into them till he caught me. I even made noises at my tea, but Mother only told me I was disgusting. It all seemed to hinge round that unhealthy habit of sleeping together, so I made a point of dropping into their bedroom and nosing round, talking to myself, so that they wouldn’t know I was watching them, but they were never up to anything that I could see. In the end it beat me. It seemed to depend on being grown-up and giving people rings, and I realized I’d have to wait. But at the same time I wanted him to see that I was only waiting, not giving up the fight.

One evening when he was being particularly obnoxious, chattering away well above my head, I let him have it.
"Mummy," I said, "do you know what I’m going to do when I grow up?"
"No, dear," she replied. "What?"
"I’m going to marry you," I said quietly.
Father gave a great guffaw out of him, but he didn’t take me in. I knew it must only be pretence.
And Mother, in spite of everything, was pleased. I felt she was probably relieved to know that one day Father’s hold on her would be broken.
"Won’t that be nice?" she said with a smile.
"It’ll be very nice," I said confidently. "Because we’re going to have lots and lots of babies."
"That’s right, dear," she said placidly. "I think we’ll have one soon, and then you’ll have plenty of company."

I was no end pleased about that because it showed that in spite of the way she gave in to Father she still considered my wishes. Besides, it would put the Geneys in their place. It didn’t turn out like that, though. To begin with, she was very preoccupied – I supposed about where she would get the seventeen and six – and though Father took to staying out late in the evenings it did me no particular good. She stopped taking me for walks, became as touchy as blazes, and smacked me for nothing at all. Sometimes I wished I’d never mentioned the confounded baby – I seemed to have a genius for bringing calamity on myself.

And calamity it was! Sonny arrived in the most appalling hulla-baloo – even that much he couldn’t do without a fuss – and from the first moment I disliked him. He was a difficult child – so far as I was concerned he was always difficult – and demanded far too much attention. Mother was simply silly about him, and couldn’t see when he was only showing off. As company he was worse than useless. He slept all day, and I had to go round the house on tiptoe to avoid waking him. It wasn’t any longer a question of not waking Father. The slogan now was "Don’t-wake-Sonny!" I couldn’t understand why the child wouldn’t sleep at the proper time, so whenever Mother’s back was turned I woke him. Sometimes to keep him awake I pinched him as well. Mother caught me at it one day and gave me a most unmerciful flaking.

One evening, when Father was coming in from work, I was playing trains in the front garden. I let on not to notice him; instead, I pretended to be talking to myself, and said in a loud voice: "If another bloody baby comes into this house, I’m going out."
Father stopped dead and looked at me over his shoulder. "What’s that you said?" he asked sternly.
""I was only talking to myself," I replied, trying to conceal my panic. "It’s private."
He turned and went in without a word.

Mind you, I intended it as a solemn warning, but its effect was quite different. Father started being quite nice to me. I could understand that, of course. Mother was quite sickening about Sonny. Even at mealtimes she’d get up and gawk at him in the cradle with an idiotic smile, and tell Father to do the same. He was always polite about it, but he looked so puzzled you could see he didn’t know what she was talking about. He complained of the way Sonny cried at night, but she only got cross and said that Sonny never cried except when there was something up with him – which was a flaming lie, because Sonny never had anything up with him, and only cried for attention. It was really painful to see how simpleminded she was.

Father wasn’t attractive, but he had a fine intelligence. He saw through Sonny, and now he knew that I saw through him as well. One night I woke with a start. There was someone beside me in the bed. For one wild moment I felt sure it must be Mother, having come to her senses and left Father for good, but then I heard Sonny in convulsions in the next room, and Mother saying: "There! There! There!" and I knew it wasn’t she. It was Father. He was lying beside me, wide-awake, breathing hard and apparently as mad as hell. After a while it came to me what he was mad about. It was his turn now. After turning me out of the big bed, he had been turned out himself. Mother had no consideration now for anyone but that poisonous pup, Sonny.

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Father. I had been through it all myself, and even at that age I was magnanimous. I began to stroke him down and say: "There! There!"
He wasn’t exactly responsive. "Aren’t you asleep either?" he snarled.
"Ah, come on and put your arm around us, can’t you?" I said, and he did, in a sort of way. Gingerly, I suppose, is how you’d describe it. He was very bony but better than nothing.

At Christmas he went out of his way to buy me a really nice model railway.

[hussien2010]

عايز ترجمة قصة عقدة اوديبي

[Nanosh]

http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/8275/goodtopicnw7.gif http://img412.imageshack.us/img412/4952/16mr1it31mj2bq4cj4.gif

[uau]

مشكور عمل اكثر من رائع!!! وعمل مذهل في ترجمة هذه القصص جزاك الله خيرا http://img412.imageshack.us/img412/4952/16mr1it31mj2bq4cj4.gif

[M.o_o.N]

sirhasan



wonderful stories brother