Загадочная история Бенджамина Баттона / The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

People would stop to speak to him, and what was he going to say? He would have to introduce this—this creature: “This is my son, born early this morning.” And then the old man would gather his blanket around him and they would go on, past stores, the slave market—for a dark instant Mr. Button wished his son was black—past luxurious houses, past the home for the aged…

“Pull yourself together,” commanded the nurse.

“If you think I’m going to walk home in this blanket, you’re entirely mistaken,” the old man announced suddenly.

“Babies always have blankets.” Mr. Button turned to the nurse. “What’ll I do?”

“Go down town and buy your son some clothes.”

Mr. Button’s son’s voice followed him down into the hall:

“And a cane, father. I want to have a cane.”

“Good-morning,” Mr. Button said, nervously, to the clerk in the Chesapeake Dry Goods Company. “I want to buy some clothes for my child.”

“How old is your child, sir?”

“About six hours,” answered Mr.

“Babies’ supply department in the rear.”

“I’m not sure that’s what I want. It’s—he’s an unusually large-size child. Exceptionally—ah—large.”

“They have the largest child’s sizes.”

“Where is the boys’ department?” inquired Mr. Button. He felt that the clerk must scent his shameful secret.

“Right here.”

“Well—” He hesitated. If he could only find a very large boy’s suit, he might cut off that long and awful beard[5 - he might cut off that long and awful beard—он мог бы отрезать ту длинную и ужасную бороду], dye the white hair brown, and hide the worst and retain something of his own self-respect—not to mention his position in Baltimore society.

But there were no suits to fit the new-born Button in the boys’ department. He blamed the store, of course—in such cases it is the thing to blame the store.

“How old did you say that boy of yours was?” demanded the clerk curiously.

“He’s—sixteen.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said six hours. You’ll find the youths’ department in the next aisle.”

Mr. Button turned miserably away. Then he stopped, brightened, and pointed his finger toward a dressed dummy in the window display. “There!” he exclaimed. “I’ll take that suit, out there on the dummy.”

The clerk stared.