Поворот винта. Уровень 1 / The Turn of the Screw. Генри Джеймс

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СКАЧАТЬ target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#n_33" type="note">[33]—?”

      “His influence?” She repeated with a painful look, waiting for me to continue.

      “On innocent little lives. They were under your care.”

      “No, they weren’t under mine!” She replied firmly. “The master trusted him and put him here because he was supposed to be unwell, and the country air would be good for him. So he had all the authority. Yes,”—she told me sternly[34]—”even over them.”

      “Over those children?” I had to hold back a cry. “And you could stand it!”

      “No, I couldn’t—and I can’t now!” And the poor woman started crying.

      From the next day, there would be strict control over the children, as I said before. However, we couldn’t stop talking about the subject passionately for a whole week! We had discussed it on Sunday night, but I couldn’t help but feel that there was something she hadn’t told me. I had been completely open, but Mrs. Grose had kept a secret. I was sure that she didn’t do that because she wasn’t honest. She was afraid and that’s it. Looking back now, it seems that I had already interpreted[35] most of the meaning behind the situation, thanks to following more terrible events. What those events showed to me was the presence of a mysterious man who was still alive, while the dead one would stay a mystery for a while. This man had spent several months at Bly, which was quite a long time. The end of this terrible period only came when, on a winter morning, Peter Quint’s body was found on the road. The cause of his death was a head wound[36], which have been caused by a slip on an icy slope[37]. It was a wrong path to take, especially in the dark and after having drinks at the pub.

      I don’t know how to explain my feelings in simple words, but during that time I found joy in being brave. We were all in danger together. They had no one but me, and I had them. It was a wonderful opportunity. This opportunity came to me like a clear picture. I was like a shield, standing in front of them. The more I watched them, the less they noticed me. I started watching them with nervousness[38] and excitement. It could have turned to madness[39] if it had lasted too long. But it turned into something else. It turned into horrible evidence. The evidence started when I took action.

      The moment this happened was one afternoon when I was alone in the garden with the younger child. We had left Miles inside reading a book. His sister, on the other hand, had wanted to come outside. We walked together for about half an hour. I noticed how both children were able to be independent yet still be with me. They never asked for attention but also never seemed bored. I enjoyed watching them have fun without needing me. It was like being a special person or thing in their game, and I was happy to play that role. I can’t remember what role I played that day, but I know I felt important and Flora was playing happily. We were near the lake, which we called the Sea of Azov because we were learning about geography.

      Suddenly, I realized that there was someone watching us from the other side of the Sea of Azov. I was sitting on an old stone bench near the lake when I felt, without actually seeing, the presence of another person in the distance. I was sure that if I looked across the lake, I would see that person. I was busy stitching and tried not to look. I thought that it could be one of the men from the area or even a messenger, a postman, or a tradesman’s boy, from the village. But my thoughts didn’t seem right to me.

      I looked straight at little Flora, who was about ten yards away. I was worried if she would also see the strange visitor. I held my breath, hoping for a cry or some sign from her. But nothing happened. Two things shocked me even more. First, I felt that all sounds from her had stopped in a minute. Second, she turned her back to the water while playing. When I finally looked at her, I was sure that we were still being watched by someone. With my newfound bravery, I was ready to face whatever came next.

      VII

      I found Mrs. Grose as soon as I could. I remember crying out as I hugged her tightly, saying, “They know, it’s too scary. They know, they know!”

      Mrs. Grose looked at me with disbelief[40] as she held me. “What do you mean?” she asked.

      “Well, everything we know, and who knows what else!” I tried to explain after she let go of me. “Two hours ago, in the garden… Flora saw!”

      “She told you?”

      “Not a word—that’s the horror. She kept it to herself! The child of eight, that child!” I was completely shocked by it.

      Mrs. Grose, of course, was surprised too. “Then how did you find out?”

      “I was there, I saw it with my own eyes. I saw that she knew.”

      “Do you mean she sees him?”

      “No—her.” I knew I must have looked really shocked because I could see it on Mrs. Grose’s face. “Another person, but just as terrifying and evil. A woman dressed in black, pale and scary, with a strange face. She was on the other side of the lake. I was there with the child—quiet for the hour; and then she came.”

      “Came how—from where?”

      “From where they come from! She just appeared and stood there—but not so near.”

      “And without coming nearer?”

      “Oh, for the effect and the feeling, she might have been as close as you!”

      “Was she someone you’ve never seen?”

      “Yes. But someone the child has. Someone you have.” Then, to show how I had thought it all out: “My predecessor[41]—the one who died.”

      “Miss Jessel?”

      “Miss Jessel. You don’t believe me?”

      She turned right and left “How can you be sure?”

      “Then ask Flora—she’s sure!” But before I could finish speaking, I stopped myself. “No, for God’s sake, don’t! She’ll say she isn’t—she’ll lie!”

      “Oh, how could you?”

      “Because I’m sure. Flora doesn’t want me to know.”

      “Then, it’s only to protect you.”

      “No, no, there’s more to it! The more I think about it, the more I understand, and the more I understand, the more I’m afraid. I don’t know what I don’t see, what I don’t fear!”

      Mrs. Grose tried to keep up with me. “Do you mean you’re afraid of seeing her again?”

      “Oh, no, that’s not the problem now!” Then I explained. “I’m afraid of not seeing her.”

      But my companion just looked pale. “I don’t understand you.”

      “Well, it’s that the child may continue to do it, and she will, without СКАЧАТЬ