"01 - The White Mountains" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christopher John)

"He keeps the mill."

"And this the burden of his song forever seems to be: I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me. Have you many friends. Will?"

"No. Not many."

"A good answer. For he that proclaims many friends declares that he has none."

I said, on an impulse which surprised me when I reflected on it, "In fact, I don't have any. I had one, but he was Capped a month ago."

He stopped in the road, and I did so too. We were on the outskirts of the village, opposite the Widow Ingold's cottage. The Vagrant looked at me keenly.

"No business, of importance anyway, and no friend. One who talks and walks with Vagrants. How old are you. Will?"

Thirteen."

"You are small for it So you will take the Cap next summer?"

"Yes"

Widow Ingold, I saw, was watching us through the curtains. The Vagrant also flicked a glance in that direction, and suddenly started dancing a weird little jig in the road. He sang, in a cracked voice:

Under the greenwood tree. Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat?

All the rest of the way to the Vagrant House he talked nonsense, and I was glad to part from him there.

My preoccupation with the Vagrants had been noticed, and that evening my father took me to task for it He was sometimes stem but more often kindly-just according to his lights, but he saw the world in simple shades of black and white, and found it hard to be patient with things that struck him as foolishness. There was no sense that he could see in a boy hanging about the Vagrant House: one was sorry for them and it was a human duty to give them food and shelter, but there it should end. I had been seen that day with the most recent arrival, who appeared to be even madder than most It was silly, and it gave tongues cause to wag. He hoped he would hear no more such reports, and I was not to go into the Vagrant House on any pretext Did I understand?

I indicated that I did. There was more to it, I realized, than concern over people talking about me. He might be willing to listen, at a remove, to news from other villages and from the city, but for gossip and ill-natured talk he truly had nothing but contempt

I wondered if his tear was of something quite different, and much worse. As a boy he had had an elder brother who had turned Vagrant; this had never been spoken of in our house, but Jack had told me of it long ago. There were some who said that this kind of weakness ran In families, and he might think that my interest in Vagrants was a bad omen for the Capping next year. This was not logical, but I knew that a man impatient of foolishness in others may yet have fallibilities of his own.

What with this, and my own embarrassment at the way in which the new Vagrant had behaved in thepresence of others, I made a land of resolve to do as I had been bid, and for a couple of days kept well dear of the Vagrants. Twice I saw the man who had called himself Ozymandias downing and talking to himself in the street, and shied off. But on the third day I went to school not by the back way, the path along the river bank, but out of our front door, past the church. And past the Vagrant House. There was no sign of anyone, but when I came back in the middle of the day, I saw Ozymandias coming from the opposite direction. I quickened my step, and we met at the crossroads.

He said, "Welcome, WiIl I have not seen thee, these many days. Hast aught ailed thee, boy? A murrain? Or happly the common cold?"

There had been something about him that had interested, even fascinated me. and it was that which had brought me here in the hope of encountering him again. I admitted that but, in the moment of admission, was once more conscious of the things that had kept me away. There was no one in our immediate vicinity, but other children, coming from school, were not far behind me. and there were people who knew me on the far side of the crossroads.

I said, "I've been busy with things," and prepared to move on.

He put a hand on my arm. "Wilt tarry. Will? He that has no friend can travel at his own pace, and pause, when he chooses, for a few minutes' converse."

"I've got to get back," I said. "My dinner will be waiting."

I had looked away from him. After only a slight pause, he dropped his hand.

"Then do not let me keep you. Will. for though man does not live on bread alone, it is bread he must have first."

His tone was cheerful, but I thought I detected something eke. Disappointment? I started to walk on. but after a few steps checked and looked back. His eyes were still on me.