|
At one point of the hopeless early hours the International Patrol took a look at the scene. Martins had drink after drink: he would probably have had a woman too, but the cabaret performers had all gone home, and there were practically no women left in the place, except for one beautiful shrewd-looking French journalist who made one remark to her companion and fell contemptuously asleep.
Martins moved on: at Maxim's a few couples were dancing rather gloomily, and at a place called Chez Victor the heating had failed and people sat in overcoats drinking cocktails. By this time the spots were swimming in front of Martins' eyes, and he was oppressed by a sense of loneliness. His mind reverted to the girl in Dublin, and the one in Amsterdam. That was one thing that didn't fool you—the straight drink, the simple physical act: one didn't expect fidelity from a woman. His mind revolved in circles—from sentiment to lust and back again from belief to cynicism. The trams had stopped, and he set out obstinately on foot to find Harry's girl. He wanted to make love to her—just like that: no nonsense, no sentiment. He was in the mood for violence, and the snowy road heaved like a lake, and set his mind on a new course towards sorrow, eternal love, renunciation. It must have been about three in the morning when he climbed the stairs to Anna's room. He was nearly sober by that time and had only one idea in his head, that she must know about Harry too. He felt that somehow this knowledge would pay the mortmain that memory levies on human beings, and he would stand a chance with Harry's girl. If one is in love oneself, it never occurs to one that the girl doesn't know: one believes one has told it plainly in a tone of voice, the touch of a hand. When Anna opened the door to him, with astonishment at the sight of him tousled on the threshold, he never imagined that she was opening the door to a stranger.
He said, "Anna, I've found out everything (я все выяснил)." "Come in (входите)," she said, "you don't want to wake the house (вы /ведь/ не хотите перебудить /весь/ дом)." She was in a dressing gown (она была в халате): the divan had become a bed (тахта стала кроватью), the kind of rumbled bed (той разновидностью разворошенной кровати) that showed how sleepless the occupant had been (которая показывала, каким бессонным был владелец: «занимающий ее»). "Now (ну вот; now — сейчас, теперь, в настоящий момент; вот /в начале предложения/, ср.: now it chanced that... — и вот оказалось, что...)," she said, while he stood there (пока он стоял там), fumbling for words (нащупывая = ища слова), "what is it (что это = что случилось; what is it now? — ну, что опять случилось?)? I thought you were going to keep away (я думала, вы собирались держаться подальше). Are the police after you (полиция гонится за вами/преследует вас)?" "No." "You didn't really kill that man (вы действительно не убивали того человека), did you (правда)?" "Of course not (конечно нет)." "You're drunk (вы пьяны), aren't you (правда)?" "I am a bit (немного)," he said sulkily (сказал он угрюмо). The meeting seemed to be going on the wrong lines (встреча, казалось, быть проходила по неправильному пути: «на неправильных линиях»). He said angrily (он сказал сердито), "I'm sorry (извините: «я сожалею»)." "Why (почему)? I could do with a bit of drink myself (я и сама могла бы/мне бы и самой не помешало немного выпить; to do with smth. — находить применение чему-л.; нуждаться в чем-л., быть непрочь от чего-л. /разг./)." He said, "I've been with the British police (я был у британских полицейских). |
