Загадочная история Бенджамина Баттона / The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Button began to mount to the second floor. In the upper hall he addressed another nurse who approached him. “I’m Mr. Button,” he managed to say. “I want to see my—”

“All right, Mr. Button,” she agreed in a hushed voice. “Very well! But the hospital will never have the ghost of its reputation after—”

“Hurry! I can’t stand this!” “Come this way Mr. Button.”

He went after her. At the end of a long hall they reached a room. They entered. Ranged around the walls were half a dozen rolling cribs.

“Well,” gasped Mr. Button, “which is mine?”

“There!” said the nurse.

Mr. Button’s eyes followed her pointing finger, and this is what he saw. Wrapped in a white blanket, in one of the cribs, there sat an old man apparently about seventy years old. His sparse hair was almost white[4 - his sparse hair was almost white—его редкие волосы были почти белыми], and he had a long smoke-coloured beard. He looked up at Mr.

Button with a question in his eyes.

“Is this a hospital joke?

“It doesn’t seem like a joke to us,” replied the nurse. “And that is most certainly your child.”

Mr. Button’s closed his eyes, and then, opening them, looked again. There was no mistake—he was gazing at a man of seventy—a baby of seventy, a baby whose feet hung over the sides of the crib.

The old man suddenly spoke in a cracked voice. “Are you my father?” he demanded. “Because if you are,” went on the old man, “I wish you’d get me out of this place…”

“Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you exactly who I am, because I’ve only been born a few hours—but my last name is certainly Button.

”

“You lie!”

The old man turned wearily to the nurse. “Nice way to welcome a new-born child,” he complained in a weak voice. “Tell him he’s wrong, why don’t you?”

“You’re wrong. Mr. Button,” said the nurse. “This is your child.

We’re going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible.” “Home?” repeated Mr. Button. “Yes, we can’t have him here. We really can’t, you know?”

Mr. Button sank down upon a chair near his son and put his face in his hands. “My heavens!” he murmured, in horror. “What will people say? What must I do?”

“You’ll have to take him home,” insisted the nurse—“immediately!”

“I can’t. I can’t,” he moaned.