"A. E. Merritt - The Moon Pool" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merritt A. E)

Hurrying down to the lower deck I found him with the purser. As I spoke he
turned, thrust out to me an eager hand—and then I saw what was that difference
that had so moved me. He knew, of course by my silence and involuntary shrinking
the shock my closer look had given me. His eyes filled; he turned brusquely from
the purser, hesitated—then hurried off to his stateroom.
"'E looks rather queer—eh?" said the purser. "Know 'im well, sir? Seems to 'ave
given you quite a start."
I made some reply and went slowly up to my chair. There I sat, composed my mind
and tried to define what it was that had shaken me so. Now it came to me. The
old Throckmartin was on the eve of his venture just turned forty, lithe, erect,
muscular; his controlling expression one of enthusiasm, of intellectual
keenness, of—what shall I say—expectant search. His always questioning brain had
stamped its vigor upon his face.
But the Throckmartin I had seen below was one who had borne some searing shock
of mingled rapture and horror; some soul cataclysm that in its climax had
remoulded, deep from within, his face, setting on it seal of wedded ecstasy and
despair; as though indeed these two had come to him hand in hand, taken
possession of him and departing left behind, ineradicably, their linked shadows!

Yes—it was that which appalled. For how could rapture and horror, Heaven and
Hell mix, clasp hands—kiss?
Yet these were what in closest embrace lay on Throckmartin's face!
Deep in thought, subconsciously with relief, I watched the shore line sink
behind; welcomed the touch of the wind of the free seas. I had hoped, and within
the hope was an inexplicable shrinking that I would meet Throckmartin at lunch.
He did not come down, and I was sensible of deliverance within my
disappointment. All that afternoon I lounged about uneasily but still he kept to
his cabin—and within me was no strength to summon him. Nor did he appear at
dinner.
Dusk and night fell swiftly. I was warm and went back to my deck-chair. The
Southern Queen was rolling to a disquieting swell and I had the place to myself.

Over the heavens was a canopy of cloud, glowing faintly and testifying to the
moon riding behind it. There was much phosphorescence. Fitfully before the ship
and at her sides arose those stranger little swirls of mist that swirl up from
the Southern Ocean like breath of sea monsters, whirl for an instant and
disappear.
Suddenly the deck door opened and through it came Throckmartin. He paused
uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager, intent gaze,
hesitated, then closed the door behind him.
"Throck," I called. "Come! It's Goodwin."
He made his way to me.
"Throck," I said, wasting no time in preliminaries. "What's wrong? Can I help
you?"
I felt his body grow tense.
"I'm going to Melbourne, Goodwin," he answered. "I need a few things—need them
urgently. And more men—white men——"
He stopped abruptly; rose from his chair, gazed intently toward the north. I
followed his gaze. Far, far away the moon had broken through the clouds. Almost
on the horizon, you could see the faint luminescence of it upon the smooth sea.