Дом с привидениями. Уровень 2 / A Haunted House

Plate-glass windows. Carnations; chrysanthemums. Ivy in dark gardens. Milk carts at the door. Wherever I go, mysterious figures, I see you. Mothers and sons; you, you, you. I hasten. I follow. This must be the sea. The landscape is grey; dim as ashes. The water murmurs and moves. I fall on my knees. I go through the ritual. I adore you, unknown figures. I open my arms. I embrace you. I’ll draw you to me—adorable world!

The String Quartet

Well, here we are. Cast your eye over the room. You will see that Tubes[11 - Tubes – метро] and trams and omnibuses, private carriages, landaus with bays in them, are weaving threads from one end of London to the other.

Yet I begin to doubt…

If indeed it’s true, as they say, that Regent Street is closed, and the weather not cold for the time of year… If I forgot to write about the leak in the larder… If I left my glove in the train… If the ties of blood require to accept cordially the hand which is offered…

“Seven years since we met!”

“The last time in Venice.

”

“And where are you living now?”

“Well, the late afternoon suits me the best[12 - suits me the best – мне вполне удобно].”

“But I knew you at once!”

“Still, the war is the war.”

Such little arrows. One is launched. Another presses forward. What chance is there?

Of what? It becomes every minute more difficult to say why, in spite of everything, I sit here. I believe I can’t now say what happened. I can’t now say when it happened.

“Did you see the procession?”

“The King looked cold.”

“No, no, no. But what was it?”

“She bought a house at Malmesbury.”

“How lucky to find one!”

On the contrary, it is sure that she is damned. Whoever she may be. Why fidget? Why so anxious about the cloaks and gloves, whether to button or unbutton? Was it the sound of the second violin the ante-room? Here they come. Four black figures. They are carrying instruments. They seat themselves under the downpour of light.

They rest the tips of their bows on the music stand. They lift them with a simultaneous movement. They poise them lightly. The first violin counts one, two, three…

Flourish, spring, burgeon, burst! The pear tree on the top of the mountain. Fountains jet. Drops descend. But the waters of the Rhone flow swift and deep. They race under the arches. The fish rushed down by the swift waters. Now the fish swept into an eddy where.