Повелитель мух / Lord of the Flies. Уильям Голдинг

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      “’n I’m Eric.”

      “We’d better all have names,” said Ralph, “so I’m Ralph.”

      “We got most names,” said Piggy. “Got ’em just now.”

      “Kids’ names,” said Merridew. “Why should I be Jack? I’m Merridew.”

      Ralph turned to him quickly. This was the voice of one who knew his own mind.

      “Then,” went on Piggy, “that boy—I forget—”

      “You’re talking too much,” said Jack Merridew. “Shut up, Fatty.”

      Laughter arose.

      “He’s not Fatty,” cried Ralph, “his real name’s Piggy!”

      “Piggy!”

      “Piggy!”

      “Oh, Piggy!”

      A storm of laughter arose and even the tiniest child joined in. For the moment the boys were a closed circuit of sympathy with Piggy outside: he went very pink, bowed his head and cleaned his glasses again.

      Finally the laughter died away and the naming continued. There was Maurice, next in size among the choir boys to Jack, but broad and grinning all the time. There was a slight, furtive boy whom no one knew, who kept to himself with an inner intensity of avoidance and secrecy. He muttered that his name was Roger and was silent again. Bill, Robert, Harold, Henry; the choir boy who had fainted sat up against a palm trunk, smiled pallidly at Ralph and said that his name was Simon.

      Jack spoke.

      “We’ve got to decide about being rescued.”

      There was a buzz. One of the small boys, Henry, said that he wanted to go home.

      “Shut up,” said Ralph absently. He lifted the conch. “Seems to me we ought to have a chief to decide things.”

      “A chief! A chief!”

      “I ought to be chief,” said Jack with simple arrogance, “because I’m chapter chorister and head boy. I can sing C sharp.”

      Another buzz.

      “Well then,” said Jack, “I—”

      He hesitated. The dark boy, Roger, stirred at last and spoke up.

      “Let’s have a vote.”

      “Yes!”

      “Vote for chief!”

      “Let’s vote—”

      This toy of voting was almost as pleasing as the conch. Jack started to protest but the clamor changed from the general wish for a chief to an election by acclaim of Ralph himself. None of the boys could have found good reason for this; what intelligence had been shown was traceable to Piggy while the most obvious leader was Jack. But there was a stillness about Ralph as he sat that marked him out: there was his size, and attractive appearance; and most obscurely, yet most powerfully, there was the conch. The being that had blown that, had sat waiting for them on the platform with the delicate thing balanced on his knees, was set apart.

      “Him with the shell.”

      “Ralph! Ralph!”

      “Let him be chief with the trumpet-thing.”

      Ralph raised a hand for silence.

      “All right. Who wants Jack for chief?”

      With dreary obedience the choir raised their hands.

      “Who wants me?”

      Every hand outside the choir except Piggy’s was raised immediately. Then Piggy, too, raised his hand grudgingly into the air.

      Ralph counted.

      “I’m chief then.”

      The circle of boys broke into applause. Even the choir applauded; and the freckles on Jack’s face disappeared under a blush of mortification. He started up, then changed his mind and sat down again while the air rang. Ralph looked at him, eager to offer something.

      “The choir belongs to you, of course.”

      “They could be the army—”

      “Or hunters—”

      “They could be—”

      The suffusion drained away from Jack’s face. Ralph waved again for silence.

      “Jack’s in charge of the choir. They can be—what do you want them to be?”

      “Hunters.”

      Jack and Ralph smiled at each other with shy liking. The rest began to talk eagerly. Jack stood up.

      “All right, choir. Take off your togs.”

      As if released from class, the choir boys stood up, chattered, piled their black cloaks on the grass. Jack laid his on the trunk by Ralph. His grey shorts were sticking to him with sweat. Ralph glanced at them admiringly, and when Jack saw his glance he explained.

      “I tried to get over that hill to see if there was water all round. But your shell called us.”

      Ralph smiled and held up the conch for silence.

      “Listen, everybody. I’ve got to have time to think things out. I can’t decide what to do straight off. If this isn’t an island we might be rescued straight away. So we’ve got to decide if this is an island. Everybody must stay round here and wait and not go away. Three of us—if we take more we’d get all mixed, and lose each other—three of us will go on an expedition and find out. I’ll go, and Jack, and, and …”

      He looked round the circle of eager faces. There was no lack of boys to choose from.

      “And Simon.”

      The boys round Simon giggled, and he stood up, laughing a little. Now that the pallor of his faint was over, he was a skinny, vivid little boy, with a glance coming up from under a hut of straight hair that hung down, black and coarse.

      He nodded at Ralph.

      “I’ll come.”

      “And I—”

      Jack snatched from behind him a sizable sheath-knife and clouted it into a trunk. The buzz rose and died away.

      Piggy stirred.

      “I’ll come.”

      Ralph turned to him.

      “You’re no good on a job like this[7].”

      “All the same—”

      “We don’t want you,” said Jack, flatly. “Three’s enough.”

      Piggy’s СКАЧАТЬ