The House of Pride, and Other Tales of Hawaii. Джек Лондон

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      And Percival Ford knew only disapproval of it all. He was irritated by the love-laugh of the woman, by the steersman with pillowed head on the white holoku, by the couples that walked on the beach, by the officers and women that danced, and by the voices of the singers singing of love, and his brother singing there with them under the hau tree. The woman that laughed especially irritated him. A curious train of thought was aroused. He was Isaac Ford’s son, and what had happened with Isaac Ford might happen with him. He felt in his cheeks the faint heat of a blush at the thought, and experienced a poignant sense of shame. He was appalled by what was in his blood. It was like learning suddenly that his father had been a leper and that his own blood might bear the taint of that dread disease. Isaac Ford, the austere soldier of the Lord – the old hypocrite! What difference between him and any beach-comber? The house of pride that Percival Ford had builded was tumbling about his ears.

      The hours passed, the army people laughed and danced, the native orchestra played on, and Percival Ford wrestled with the abrupt and overwhelming problem that had been thrust upon him. He prayed quietly, his elbow on the table, his head bowed upon his hand, with all the appearance of any tired onlooker. Between the dances the army men and women and the civilians fluttered up to him and buzzed conventionally, and when they went back to the lanai he took up his wrestling where he had left it off.

      He began to patch together his shattered ideal of Isaac Ford, and for cement he used a cunning and subtle logic. It was of the sort that is compounded in the brain laboratories of egotists, and it worked. It was incontrovertible that his father had been made of finer clay than those about him; but still, old Isaac had been only in the process of becoming, while he, Percival Ford, had become. As proof of it, he rehabilitated his father and at the same time exalted himself. His lean little ego waxed to colossal proportions. He was great enough to forgive. He glowed at the thought of it. Isaac Ford had been great, but he was greater, for he could forgive Isaac Ford and even restore him to the holy place in his memory, though the place was not quite so holy as it had been. Also, he applauded Isaac Ford for having ignored the outcome of his one step aside. Very well, he, too, would ignore it.

      The dance was breaking up. The orchestra had finished “Aloha Oe” and was preparing to go home. Percival Ford clapped his hands for the Japanese servant.

      “You tell that man I want to see him,” he said, pointing out Joe Garland. “Tell him to come here, now.”

      Joe Garland approached and halted respectfully several paces away, nervously fingering the guitar which he still carried. The other did not ask him to sit down.

      “You are my brother,” he said.

      “Why, everybody knows that,” was the reply, in tones of wonderment.

      “Yes, so I understand,” Percival Ford said dryly. “But I did not know it till this evening.”

      The half-brother waited uncomfortably in the silence that followed, during which Percival Ford coolly considered his next utterance.

      “You remember that first time I came to school and the boys ducked me?” he asked. “Why did you take my part?”

      The half-brother smiled bashfully.

      “Because you knew?”

      “Yes, that was why.”

      “But I didn’t know,” Percival Ford said in the same dry fashion.

      “Yes,” the other said.

      Another silence fell. Servants were beginning to put out the lights on the lanai.

      “You know.. now,” the half-brother said simply.

      Percival Ford frowned. Then he looked the other over with a considering eye.

      “How much will you take to leave the Islands and never come back?” he demanded.

      “And never come back?” Joe Garland faltered. “It is the only land I know. Other lands are cold. I do not know other lands. I have many friends here. In other lands there would not be one voice to say, ‘Aloha, Joe, my boy.’”

      “I said never to come back,” Percival Ford reiterated. “The Alameda sails tomorrow for San Francisco.”

      Joe Garland was bewildered.

      “But why?” he asked. “You know now that we are brothers.”

      “That is why,” was the retort. “As you said yourself, everybody knows. I will make it worth your while.”

      All awkwardness and embarrassment disappeared from Joe Garland. Birth and station were bridged and reversed.

      “You want me to go?” he demanded.

      “I want you to go and never come back,” Percival Ford answered.

      And in that moment, flashing and fleeting, it was given him to see his brother tower above him like a mountain, and to feel himself dwindle and dwarf to microscopic insignificance. But it is not well for one to see himself truly, nor can one so see himself for long and live; and only for that flashing moment did Percival Ford see himself and his brother in true perspective. The next moment he was mastered by his meagre and insatiable ego.

      “As I said, I will make it worth your while. You will not suffer. I will pay you well.”

      “All right,” Joe Garland said. “I’ll go.”

      He started to turn away.

      “Joe,” the other called. “You see my lawyer tomorrow morning. Five hundred down and two hundred a month as long as you stay away.”

      “You are very kind,” Joe Garland answered softly. “You are too kind. And anyway, I guess I don’t want your money. I go tomorrow on the Alameda.”

      He walked away, but did not say good-bye.

      Percival Ford clapped his hands.

      “Boy,” he said to the Japanese, “a lemonade.”

      And over the lemonade he smiled long and contentedly to himself.

      KOOLAU THE LEPER

      “Because we are sick they take away our liberty. We have obeyed the law. We have done no wrong. And yet they would put us in prison. Molokai is a prison. That you know. Niuli, there, his sister was sent to Molokai seven years ago. He has not seen her since. Nor will he ever see her. She must stay there until she dies. This is not her will. It is not Niuli’s will. It is the will of the white men who rule the land. And who are these white men?

      “We know. We have it from our fathers and our fathers’ fathers. They came like lambs, speaking softly. Well might they speak softly, for we were many and strong, and all the islands were ours. As I say, they spoke softly. They were of two kinds. The one kind asked our permission, our gracious permission, to preach to us the word of СКАЧАТЬ