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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Стр. 203/317
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London
buttoned
the
collar
of
his
blue
shirt
and
turned
up
the
flaps
against
his
throat
.
He
buttoned
his
old
black
serge
coat
over
his
stomach
and
patted
it
down
.
His
hand
went
up
to
the
tonsured
hair
and
brushed
it
down
,
back
and
sides
;
and
then
he
seemed
to
shake
himself
down
to
a
tight
,
heavy
solemnity
.
The
lean
-
faced
Sam
came
in
and
stood
beside
him
.
London
stepped
out
of
the
tent
,
great
with
authority
.
Mac
and
Jim
and
Sam
fell
in
behind
him
,
but
London
walked
alone
,
down
the
muddy
street
,
and
his
little
procession
followed
him
.
The
heads
of
the
people
turned
as
he
approached
.
The
tissue
of
soft
speech
stopped
.
A
new
aisle
opened
to
allow
the
leader
to
pass
,
and
the
heads
turned
with
him
as
he
passed
.
London
climbed
up
on
the
platform
.
He
was
alone
,
over
the
heads
of
the
people
.
The
faces
pointed
up
at
him
,
the
eyes
expressionless
as
glass
.
For
a
moment
London
looked
down
at
the
pine
coffin
,
and
then
his
shoulders
squared
.
He
seemed
reluctant
to
break
the
breathing
silence
.
His
voice
was
remote
and
dignified
.
"
I
come
up
here
to
make
some
kind
of
speech
,
"
he
said
.
"
And
I
don
’
t
know
no
speeches
.
"
He
paused
and
looked
out
over
the
upturned
faces
.
"
This
little
guy
got
killed
yesterday
.
You
all
seen
it
.
He
was
comin
’
over
to
our
side
,
an
’
somebody
plugged
him
.
He
wasn
’
t
doin
’
no
harm
to
nobody
.
"
Again
he
stopped
,
and
his
face
grew
puzzled
.
"
Well
,
what
can
a
guy
say
?
We
’
re
goin
’
to
bury
him
.
He
’
s
one
of
our
own
guys
,
an
’
he
got
shot
.
What
can
I
say
?
We
’
re
goin
’
to
march
out
and
bury
him
—
all
of
us
.
Because
he
was
one
of
us
.
He
was
kind
of
like
all
of
us
.
What
happened
to
him
is
like
to
happen
to
any
guy
here
.
"
He
stopped
,
and
his
mouth
stayed
open
.
"
I
—
I
don
’
t
know
no
speeches
,
"
he
said
uneasily
.
"
There
’
s
a
guy
here
that
knowed
this
little
fellow
.
I
’
m
goin
’
to
let
him
talk
.
"
His
head
turned
slowly
to
where
Mac
stood
.
"
Come
on
up
,
Mac
.
Tell
’
em
about
the
little
guy
.
"
Mac
broke
out
of
his
stiffness
and
almost
threw
himself
on
the
platform
.
His
shoulders
weaved
like
a
boxer
’
s
.
"
Sure
I
’
ll
tell
’
em
,
"
he
cried
passionately
.
"
The
guy
’
s
name
was
Joy
.
He
was
a
radical
!
Get
it
?
A
radical
.
He
wanted
guys
like
you
to
have
enough
to
eat
and
a
place
to
sleep
where
you
wouldn
’
t
get
wet
.
He
didn
’
t
want
nothing
for
himself
.
He
was
a
radical
!
"
Mac
cried
.
"
D
’
ye
see
what
he
was
?
A
dirty
bastard
,
a
danger
to
the
government
.
I
don
’
t
know
if
you
saw
his
face
,
all
beat
to
rags
.
The
cops
done
that
because
he
was
a
radical
.
His
hands
were
broke
,
an
’
his
jaw
was
broke
.
One
time
he
got
that
jaw
broke
in
a
picket
line
.
They
put
him
in
the
can
.
Then
a
doctor
come
an
’
looked
at
him
.
‘
I
won
’
t
treat
a
Goddamn
red
,
’
the
doctor
says
.
So
Joy
lies
there
with
a
busted
jaw
.
He
was
dangerous
—
he
wanted
guys
like
you
to
get
enough
to
eat
.
"
His
voice
was
growing
softer
and
softer
,
and
his
eyes
watched
expertly
,
saw
faces
becoming
tense
,
trying
to
catch
the
words
of
his
softening
tone
,
saw
the
people
leaning
forward
.
"
I
knew
him
.
"
Suddenly
he
shouted
,
"
What
are
you
going
to
do
about
it
?
Dump
him
in
a
mud
-
hole
,
cover
him
with
slush
.
Forget
him
.
"
A
woman
in
the
crowd
began
to
sob
hysterically
.
"
He
was
fightin
’
for
you
,
"
Mac
shouted
.
"
You
goin
’
to
forget
it
?
"
A
man
in
the
crowd
yelled
,
"
No
,
by
Christ
!
"
Mac
hammered
on
,
"
Goin
’
to
let
him
get
killed
,
while
you
lie
down
and
take
it
?
"
A
chorus
this
time
,
"
No
-
o
-
o
!
"
Mac
’
s
voice
dropped
into
a
sing
-
song
.
"
Goin
’
to
dump
him
in
the
mud
?
"
"
No
-
oo
.
"
The
bodies
swayed
a
little
bit
.
