On his bench in Madison Square, Soapy moved
uneasily. Winter was coming and it was the time for him to look for shelter.
Soapy's desires were not great. Three months in prison was what he wanted.
There he was sure of a little food and a bed, safe from the winter wind and the
cold.
For years prison had been his shelter during
the winter. Now the time had come again. And that is why he moved uneasily on
his bench.
Having decided to go to prison, Soapy at once
set about fulfilling his desire.
There were many easy ways of doing this. The
most pleasant was to dine well at some expensive restaurant, and then, after
saying that he could not pay, be quietly arrested by a policeman and sent to
prison by the judge.
Soapy got up and walked out of the square and
across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flew together.
He stopped at the window of a brightly lit cafe. Soapy was shaven, and his coat and tie were decent. But his boots and trousers were shabby. If he could reach a table in the restaurant and nobody saw him, he thought, success would be his. The upper part of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted duck, two bottles of wine, a cup of coffee, and a cigar would make him happy for the journey to his winter quarters.
He stopped at the window of a brightly lit cafe. Soapy was shaven, and his coat and tie were decent. But his boots and trousers were shabby. If he could reach a table in the restaurant and nobody saw him, he thought, success would be his. The upper part of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted duck, two bottles of wine, a cup of coffee, and a cigar would make him happy for the journey to his winter quarters.
But just as Soapy entered the restaurant
door, the head waiter's eyes fell upon his shabby trousers and boots. Strong
hands turned him round and pushed him to the sidewalk.
Soapy turned off Broadway.
He had to think of another way of getting to
prison. At a corner of Sixth Avenue he saw a brightly lit shop window. Soapy
took a stone and threw it at the glass and broke it. People came running around
the corner, a policeman at their head. Soapy stood still, with his hands in his
pockets, and smiled when he saw the policeman's blue coat.
"Where is the man that has done
it?" shouted the policeman.
"Do you think I have done it?" said
Soapy in a friendly way.
The policeman did not understand Soapy's
hint.
Men who break windows do not usually remain
to speak to policemen. They run away. Just then the policeman saw a man who was
hurrying to catch a car. Club in hand, he rushed after that man. Soapy had
failed again.
On the opposite side of the street was a
small and cheap restaurant. Soapy came in, sat down at a table, and ate a
beefsteak and an enormous apple-pie. "Now call a policeman. I cannot pay.
I have no money," said Soapy. "And don't keep a gentleman
waiting."
"No cop for you," said the waiter,
and seizing Soapy by the collar threw him out of the restaurant. Soapy got up
and beat the dust from his clothes. He was in despair.
His last hope was to be caught for
"disorderly conduct". Soapy began to yell at the top of his voice. He
danced and cried like a madman. A policeman who was standing nearby turned his
back to Soapy, and remarked to a passer-by: "It's one of those University
lads. They are celebrating their traditional holiday. They are noisy; but they
mean no harm". Soapy stopped in despair. He buttoned his thin coat against
the cold wind and the rain, and walked on.
At last he reached a street where there was
little traffic and few pedestrians. At a quiet corner he suddenly stopped.
There was an old church in front of him.
Through one window a soft light shone, and he
heard the sweet music of the organ which made him come closer. The moon was
above, cold and beautiful, and the music made Soapy suddenly remember those
days when his life was full of such things as mothers and roses, and ambitions
and friends, and pure thoughts, and clean collars.
The organ music set up a revolution in him.
There was time yet. He was still young. He would get out of the mire. He would
be somebody in the world. He would — Soapy felt a hand on his arm. He looked
quickly around into the broad face of a policeman.
"What are you doing here?" he
asked.
"Nothing," said Soapy.
"Then come along," said the
policeman.
"Three months' imprisonment," said
the judge in the Police Court next morning.
(After O. Henry)
1 The Cop and the Anthem ['энтэм] – "Полицейский и хорал"
2 Having decided to go to prison... – Решив попасть в тюрьму...
3
set about fulfilling his desire – приступил к осуществлению своего плана
(желания)
4 to flow together – сливаться
5 would raise no doubt [daut] in the waiter's
mind – не вызовет никаких сомнений у официанта
6
quarters ['kwo:tez] – зд. квартира, убежище
7
sidewalk ['saidwo:k] – амер. тротуар
8
Club in hand – С дубинкой в руке
9 to keep waiting – заставлять ждать
10 beat the dust from his clothes – стряхнул пыль с одежды
11
disorderly conduct [dis,o:dali 'kondekt] – нарушение общественного порядка,
хулиганство
12 to yell at the top of his voice – вопить во все горло
13 they mean no harm – они безобидны
14 mire['maia] – трясина, болото
15 Police Court [pa'li:s ,ko:t] – полицейский суд (по мелким делам)
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