-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Фоулз
-
- Волхв
-
- Стр. 105/136
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Go
back
to
England
and
make
it
up
with
this
girl
you
spoke
of
.
Marry
her
and
have
a
family
and
learn
to
be
what
you
really
are
.
"
I
had
my
eyes
on
the
ground
.
I
wanted
to
shout
at
him
that
Alison
was
dead
;
and
largely
because
he
had
woven
Julie
’
s
life
through
mine
.
I
trembled
on
the
brink
of
telling
him
I
wanted
no
more
deceptions
,
no
more
comedy
,
rose
ou
noir
.
Perhaps
I
really
wanted
to
squeeze
some
sympathy
out
of
that
dry
heart
.
"
Is
that
how
you
learn
what
you
are
?
Marrying
and
having
a
family
?
"
"
Why
not
?
"
"
A
steady
job
and
a
house
in
the
suburbs
?
"
"
Excellent
.
"
"
I
’
d
rather
die
.
"
He
gave
a
shrug
of
regret
,
but
as
if
he
didn
’
t
really
care
.
"
Come
.
You
have
never
heard
me
play
my
clavichord
.
"
I
followed
him
indoors
and
upstairs
.
He
went
to
the
little
table
and
lifted
the
lid
revealing
the
keyboard
underneath
.
I
sat
by
his
closed
desk
,
watching
the
Bonnards
.
He
began
to
play
.
Those
Bonnards
,
their
eternal
outpouring
of
a
golden
happiness
,
haunted
me
;
they
were
like
windows
on
a
world
I
had
tried
to
reach
all
my
life
,
and
failed
;
they
had
reminded
me
of
Alison
,
or
rather
of
the
best
of
my
relationship
with
Alison
,
before
;
and
now
they
bred
a
kind
of
Watteau
-
like
melancholy
in
me
,
the
forevergoneness
of
pictures
like
L
’
Embarcation
pour
Cythere
.
As
if
Bonnard
had
captured
a
reality
so
real
that
it
could
not
exist
;
or
only
as
a
dream
,
a
looking
back
and
seeing
where
the
way
was
lost
and
if
it
had
not
been
lost
but
it
had
been
lost
…
then
I
thought
of
Julie
.
One
day
I
should
see
her
so
,
naked
at
a
sunlit
window
;
my
naked
wife
.
I
turned
to
glance
at
her
photo
by
the
window
,
and
realized
that
it
wasn
’
t
there
;
or
anywhere
else
in
the
room
.
It
hadn
’
t
just
been
moved
,
but
removed
.
The
small
muted
notes
of
the
clavichord
barely
filled
the
room
.
It
was
clipped
,
fluttering
,
with
whimpering
vibratos
,
remotely
plangent
.
He
played
a
series
of
little
Elizabethan
almans
and
voltas
.
Then
a
Bach
-
like
gigue
.
Finally
,
a
small
set
of
variations
;
each
variation
ended
in
the
same
chanting
silvery
chorus
.
He
came
to
an
end
and
looked
round
at
me
.
"
I
liked
that
last
one
.
"
Without
a
word
he
played
the
chorus
again
.
"
Byrd
.
But
the
tune
is
much
older
.
It
is
called
Rosasolis
.
The
English
archers
sang
it
at
Agincourt
.
"
He
shut
the
clavichord
,
and
turned
with
a
smile
that
was
of
dismissal
;
once
again
manipulating
my
exits
and
entries
.
"
Nicholas
,
I
have
much
to
attend
to
.
I
must
ask
you
to
leave
me
in
peace
for
an
hour
or
so
.
"
I
stood
up
.
"
No
work
?
"
"
You
wish
to
work
?
"
"
No
.
"
"
Then
we
will
meet
for
ouzo
.
"
I
thought
that
perhaps
he
wanted
me
to
go
out
of
doors
,
that
Julie
would
be
waiting
there
.
So
I
went
down
.
In
the
music
room
I
saw
that
the
other
photo
of
Lily
had
also
disappeared
.
I
strolled
idly
all
round
the
domaine
,
in
the
windless
air
;
I
waited
in
all
the
likely
places
;
I
kept
on
turning
,
looking
backwards
,
sideways
,
listening
.
But
the
landscape
seemed
dead
.
Nothing
and
no
one
appeared
.
The
theatre
was
empty
;
and
,
like
all
empty
theatres
,
it
became
in
the
end
frightening
.
We
silently
toasted
each
other
,
across
the
lamplit
table
with
the
ouzo
and
the
olives
,
under
the
colonnade
.
Apparently
we
were
to
have
dinner
there
that
night
,
for
the
other
table
,
laid
for
two
,
had
been
placed
at
the
western
end
of
the
colonnade
,
looking
out
over
the
trees
.
I
stood
beside
Conchis
at
the
front
steps
.
A
breath
of
dead
air
washed
over
us
.
"
I
hoped
you
would
tell
me
more
about
previous
years
here
.
"
He
smiled
.
"
In
the
middle
of
a
performance
?
"
"
I
thought
this
was
a
sort
of
interval
.
"
"
There
are
no
intervals
here
,
Nicholas
.
"
He
took
my
arm
.
"
After
dinner
I
am
going
to
tell
you
the
story
of
the
execution
.
And
now
I
am
going
to
tell
you
what
happened
when
I
returned
to
France
.
After
Seidevarre
.
If
you
are
interested
?
"
"
Of
course
.
"
He
gestured
with
his
glass
.
"
Let
us
stroll
as
far
as
the
seat
.
It
will
be
cooler
.
"
We
went
down
the
steps
and
across
the
gravel
into
the
trees
.
As
we
walked
,
he
talked
.
"
It
took
me
many
months
to
learn
how
much
I
had
changed
.
As
one
learns
of
a
distant
earthquake
by
the
imperceptible
shakings
of
a
needle
on
a
seismograph
.
I
gradually
came
to
understand
that
I
was
really
by
nature
a
very
different
person
from
what
I
had
previously
imagined
.
I
had
,
you
remember
,
many
new
notes
on
bird
sounds
to
collate
and
work
through
.
But
I
found
that
I
had
no
real
interest
in
the
subject
after
all
.
That
in
fact
I
preferred
the
mystery
of
birds
’
voices
to
any
scientific
explanation
of
them
.
Something
analogous
happened
in
every
department
of
my
life
.
When
I
looked
back
I
saw
that
there
had
always
been
a
discord
in
me
between
mystery
and
meaning
.
I
had
pursued
the
latter
,
worshipped
the
latter
,
as
a
doctor
,
and
as
a
socialist
and
rationalist
.
But
then
I
saw
that
the
attempt
to
scientize
reality
,
to
name
it
and
classify
it
and
vivisect
it
out
of
existence
,
was
like
trying
to
remove
all
the
air
from
atmosphere
.
In
the
creating
of
the
vacuum
it
was
the
experimenter
who
died
,
because
he
was
inside
the
vacuum
.
All
this
change
in
me
came
just
when
I
unexpectedly
found
myself
presented
with
the
money
and
the
leisure
to
do
what
I
wanted
in
life
.
At
that
time
I
interpreted
that
last
question
of
de
Deukans
as
a
warning
.
I
was
to
look
for
the
water
,
not
the
wave
.
So
.
"
We
came
to
the
seat
overlooking
the
dark
sea
.
"
And
you
came
to
Greece
?
"
"
I
did
not
come
to
Greece
to
…
look
for
water
.
I
came
because
my
mother
was
dying
of
cancer
.
Like
myself
,
she
had
always
resisted
any
idea
of
coming
here
.
Or
rather
,
I
learnt
my
unwillingness
to
face
Greece
from
her
.
But
when
she
knew
she
was
dying
she
suddenly
wanted
to
see
it
one
last
time
.
So
we
took
a
boat
from
Marseilles
.
This
was
in
1928
.
I
shall
never
forget
seeing
her
come
on
deck
one
morning
.
In
brilliant
sunshine
.
And
finding
herself
in
the
Gulf
of
Corinth
,
which
we
had
entered
during
the
night
.
She
stood
gripping
the
rail
.
Facing
the
mountains
of
Achaia
with
the
tears
streaming
down
her
face
.
Lacerated
with
joy
.
I
could
not
feel
it
then
.
But
later
I
did
.
By
the
end
of
the
holiday
I
knew
that
I
too
had
gained
a
homeland
.
Perhaps
I
should
say
a
motherland
.
My
mother
died
four
months
after
we
returned
to
Paris
.
"
"
And
you
came
here
.
"
"
I
came
here
.
I
told
you
why
.
But
it
also
reminded
me
very
much
of
Norway
.
Like
Henrik
Nygaard
,
like
de
Deukans
,
in
their
different
ways
,
I
have
always
craved
for
territory
.
I
use
the
word
in
the
technical
ornithological
sense
.
A
fixed
domaine
on
which
no
other
of
my
species
may
trespass
.
"
He
stared
to
sea
.
"
I
gave
up
all
ideas
of
practicing
medicine
.
In
spite
of
what
I
have
just
said
about
the
wave
and
the
water
,
in
those
years
in
France
I
am
afraid
I
lived
a
selfish
life
.
That
is
,
I
offered
myself
every
pleasure
.
I
traveled
a
great
deal
.
I
lost
some
money
dabbling
in
the
theatre
,
but
I
made
much
more
dabbling
on
the
Bourse
.
I
gained
a
great
many
amusing
friends
,
some
of
whom
are
now
quite
famous
.
But
I
was
never
very
happy
.
I
suppose
I
was
fortunate
.
It
took
me
only
five
years
to
discover
what
some
rich
people
never
discover
—
that
we
all
have
a
certain
capacity
for
happiness
and
unhappiness
.
And
that
the
economic
hazards
of
life
do
not
seriously
affect
it
.
"
"
When
did
you
start
your
theatre
here
?
"
"
Friends
used
to
come
.
They
were
bored
.
Very
often
they
bored
me
,
because
an
amusing
person
in
Paris
can
become
insufferable
on
an
Aegean
island
.
We
had
a
little
fixed
theatre
,
a
stage
.
Where
the
Priapus
is
now
.
We
began
to
write
our
own
plays
.
"
He
turned
.
"
Et
voilà
.
"
The
new
-
risen
moon
was
amber
,
hazed
,
and
made
the
sea
glisten
turgidly
.
A
few
crickets
cheeped
,
but
we
sat
before
a
dropsied
,
listless
silence
.
Far
away
to
the
west
over
the
black
mountains
of
the
mainland
I
saw
the
nervous
,
thunderless
flicker
of
summer
lightning
.
I
sprang
my
question
on
him
,
out
of
the
silence
,
in
his
own
style
.
"
Is
your
dislike
of
me
a
part
of
your
part
?
"
He
was
undisconcerted
.
"
Liking
is
not
important
.
Between
men
.
"
I
felt
the
ouzo
in
me
.
"
Even
so
,
you
don
’
t
like
me
.
"
His
dark
eyes
turned
on
mine
.
"
I
am
to
answer
?
"
I
nodded
.
"
No
.
But
I
like
very
few
people
.
And
no
longer
any
of
your
sex
and
age
.
Liking
other
people
is
an
illusion
we
have
to
cherish
in
ourselves
if
we
are
to
live
in
society
.
It
is
one
I
have
long
banished
from
my
life
.
You
wish
to
be
liked
.
I
wish
simply
to
be
.
One
day
you
will
know
what
that
means
,
perhaps
.
And
you
will
smile
.
Not
against
me
.
But
with
me
.
"
From
the
house
the
bell
rang
,
and
we
walked
back
slowly
through
the
trees
.
Maria
’
s
shadow
moved
under
the
arches
,
round
the
whiteand
-
silver
table
.
It
was
like
a
stage
setting
,
and
I
had
the
sharp
realization
that
this
was
presumably
the
last
dinner
Conchis
and
I
should
have
together
.
I
wanted
desperately
to
have
Julie
at
my
side
,
to
have
that
situation
solved
;
but
I
found
myself
wishing
that
the
masque
,
despite
all
its
asperities
and
shocks
and
uglinesses
,
could
have
also
continued
.
Almost
as
soon
as
we
had
started
eating
I
heard
the
footsteps
of
two
or
three
people
on
the
gravel
round
by
Maria
’
s
cottage
.
I
glanced
back
from
my
soup
,
but
the
table
had
been
,
no
doubt
deliberately
,
placed
where
it
was
impossible
to
see
.
"
Tonight
I
wish
to
illustrate
my
story
,
"
said
Conchis
.
"
I
thought
you
’
d
done
that
already
.
And
only
too
vividly
.
"
"
These
are
real
documents
.
"
He
indicated
that
I
should
go
on
eating
,
he
would
say
nothing
more
.
I
heard
footsteps
on
the
terrace
outside
his
bedroom
,
above
our
heads
.
There
was
a
tiny
squeal
,
the
scrape
of
metal
.
I
tried
to
get
a
conversation
going
while
we
ate
the
kid
Maria
had
cooked
for
us
,
but
he
did
not
bother
to
keep
up
the
host
-
guest
fiction
anymore
.
He
did
not
want
to
talk
,
and
that
was
that
.
At
last
Maria
brought
the
coffee
,
which
she
placed
on
the
table
by
the
front
steps
.
Conchis
stood
up
,
excused
himself
for
a
moment
,
and
disappeared
upstairs
.
I
looked
back
from
the
edge
of
the
colonnade
towards
the
cottage
;
nothing
unusual
.
I
strolled
a
few
steps
out
on
the
gravel
and
peered
up
,
but
once
again
there
was
nothing
to
be
seen
.
Conchis
returned
very
shortly
with
a
large
cardboard
file
,
and
gestured
to
me
to
bring
the
chairs
to
the
front
steps
.
We
sat
,
facing
the
sea
,
the
table
between
us
,
evidently
waiting
.
I
was
silent
,
on
my
guard
.
Then
I
heard
footsteps
again
on
the
gravel
and
my
heart
leapt
because
I
thought
it
was
Julie
,
that
we
had
been
waiting
for
her
.
But
it
was
a
man
,
the
black
-
dressed
Negro
,
carrying
a
long
bundle
.
He
crossed
to
in
front
of
us
and
then
,
at
the
edge
of
the
gravel
,
he
set
the
bundle
on
its
tripod
end
and
I
realized
what
it
was
—
a
small
cinema
screen
.
There
was
a
ratcheting
noise
and
he
unfurled
the
white
square
;
adjusted
it
.
Someone
called
in
a
low
voice
from
above
.
"
Entaxi
.
"
All
right
.
A
Greek
voice
I
didn
’
t
recognize
.
I
turned
to
Conchis
.
"
Isn
’
t
Lily
going
to
see
this
?
"
"
No
.
I
would
be
ashamed
to
present
this
to
her
.
"
"
Ashamed
?
"
"
Because
these
events
could
have
taken
place
only
in
a
world
where
man
considered
himself
superior
to
woman
.
In
what
the
Americans
call
a
’
man
’
s
world
’
That
is
,
a
world
governed
by
brute
force
,
humorless
arrogance
,
illusory
prestige
and
primeval
stupidity
.
"
He
stared
at
the
screen
.
"
Men
love
war
because
it
allows
them
to
look
serious
.
Because
it
is
the
one
thing
that
stops
women
laughing
at
them
.
In
it
they
can
reduce
women
to
the
status
of
objects
.
That
is
the
great
distinction
between
the
sexes
.
Men
see
objects
,
women
see
the
relationship
between
objects
.
Whether
the
objects
need
each
other
,
love
each
other
,
match
each
other
.
It
is
an
extra
dimension
of
feeling
that
we
men
are
without
and
one
that
makes
war
abhorrent
to
all
real
women
—
and
absurd
.
I
will
tell
you
what
war
is
.
War
is
a
psychosis
caused
by
an
inability
to
see
relationships
.
Our
relationship
with
our
fellowmen
.
Our
relationship
with
our
economic
and
historical
situation
.
And
above
all
our
relationship
to
nothingness
,
to
death
.
"
He
stopped
and
turned
down
the
lamp
to
the
faintest
glimmer
.
His
mask
face
looked
as
grim
as
I
could
remember
having
seen
it
.
Then
he
said
,
"
I
will
begin
.
"
Eleutheria
"
When
the
Italians
invaded
Greece
in
1940
,
I
had
already
decided
that
I
would
not
run
away
from
Europe
.
I
cannot
tell
you
why
.
Perhaps
it
was
curiosity
,
perhaps
it
was
guilt
,
perhaps
it
was
indifference
.
And
here
,
on
a
remote
corner
of
a
remote
island
,
it
did
not
require
great
courage
.
The
Germans
took
over
from
the
Italians
on
April
6th
,
1941
.
By
April
27th
they
were
in
Athens
.
In
June
they
started
the
invasion
of
Crete
and
for
a
time
we
were
in
the
thick
of
the
war
.
Transport
airplanes
passed
over
all
day
long
,
German
landing
craft
filled
the
harbors
.
But
after
that
peace
soon
alighted
back
on
the
island
.
It
had
no
strategic
value
,
either
to
the
Axis
or
to
the
Resistance
.
The
garrison
here
was
very
small
.
Forty
Austrians
—
the
Nazis
gave
the
Austrians
and
the
Italians
all
the
easy
Occupation
posts
—
commanded
by
a
lieutenant
who
had
been
wounded
during
the
invasion
of
France
.
"
Already
,
during
the
invasion
of
Crete
,
I
had
been
ordered
out
of
Bourani
.
A
permanent
lookout
section
was
posted
here
,
and
the
maintenance
of
this
observation
point
was
the
real
reason
we
had
a
garrison
at
all
.
Fortunately
I
had
a
house
in
the
village
.
The
Germans
were
not
unpleasant
.
They
carried
all
my
portable
possessions
over
there
for
me
.
And
even
paid
me
a
small
billeting
rent
for
Bourani
.
Then
just
when
things
were
settling
down
,
it
happened
that
the
proedros
,
the
mayor
of
the
village
that
year
,
had
a
fatal
thrombosis
.
Two
days
later
I
was
summoned
to
meet
the
newly
arrived
commandant
of
the
island
.
He
and
his
men
were
installed
in
your
school
,
which
had
been
closed
since
Christmas
.
I
was
expecting
to
meet
some
promoted
quartermaster
type
of
officer
.
Instead
I
found
myself
with
a
very
handsome
young
man
of
twenty
-
seven
or
twenty
-
eight
,
who
said
,
in
excellent
French
,
that
he
understood
I
could
speak
the
language
fluently
.
He
was
extremely
polite
,
more
than
a
little
apologetic
,
and
inasmuch
as
one
can
in
such
circumstances
we
took
to
each
other
.
He
soon
came
to
the
point
.
He
wanted
me
to
be
the
new
mayor
of
the
village
.
I
refused
at
once
:
I
wanted
no
involvement
in
the
war
.
He
then
sent
out
for
two
or
three
of
the
leading
villagers
.
When
they
came
he
left
me
alone
with
them
,
and
I
discovered
that
it
was
they
who
had
proposed
my
name
.
Of
course
the
fact
was
that
none
of
them
wanted
the
job
,
the
odium
of
collaboration
,
and
I
was
the
ideal
bouc
émissaire
.
They
put
the
matter
to
me
in
highly
moral
and
complimentary
terms
,
and
I
still
refused
.
Then
they
were
frank
—
promised
their
tacit
support
…
in
short
,
in
the
end
I
said
,
very
well
,
I
will
do
it
.
"
My
new
but
dubious
glory
meant
that
I
came
into
frequent
contact
with
Lieutenant
Kiuber
.
Five
or
six
weeks
after
our
first
meeting
he
said
one
evening
that
he
would
like
me
to
call
him
Anton
when
we
were
alone
.
That
will
tell
you
that
we
often
were
alone
and
that
we
had
confirmed
our
liking
of
each
other
.
Our
first
link
was
through
music
.
He
had
a
fine
tenor
voice
.
Like
many
really
gifted
amateurs
,
he
sang
Schubert
and
Wolf
better
—
in
some
way
more
feelingly
—
than
any
but
the
very
greatest
professional
lieder
singers
.
