Голод/Hunger (Кнут Гамсун). Страница 37 из 143

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I

was

hungry

--

very

hungry

.

The

ten

shillings

had

,

worse

luck

,

lasted

all

too

short

.

It

was

now

two

,

ay

,

nearly

three

days

since

I

had

eaten

anything

,

and

I

felt

somewhat

faint

;

holding

the

pencil

even

had

taxed

me

a

little

.

I

had

half

a

penknife

and

a

bunch

of

keys

in

my

pocket

,

but

not

a

farthing

.

When

the

churchyard

gate

shut

I

meant

to

have

gone

straight

home

,

but

,

from

an

instinctive

dread

of

my

room

--

a

vacant

tinker

's

workshop

,

where

all

was

dark

and

barren

,

and

which

,

in

fact

,

I

had

got

permission

to

occupy

for

the

present

--

I

stumbled

on

,

passed

,

not

caring

where

I

went

,

the

Town

Hall

,

right

to

the

sea

,

and

over

to

a

seat

near

the

railway

bridge

.

At

this

moment

not

a

sad

thought

troubled

me

.

I

forgot

my

distress

,

and

felt

calmed

by

the

view

of

the

sea

,

which

lay

peaceful

and

lovely

in

the

murkiness

.

For

old

habit

's

sake

I

would

please

myself

by

reading

through

the

bit

I

had

just

written

,

and

which

seemed

to

my

suffering

head

the

best

thing

I

had

ever

done

.

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I

took

my

manuscript

out

of

my

pocket

to

try

and

decipher

it

,

held

it

close

up

to

my

eyes

,

and

ran

through

it

,

one

line

after

the

other

.

At

last

I

got

tired

,

and

put

the

papers

back

in

my

pocket

.

Everything

was

still

.

The

sea

stretched

away

in

pearly

blueness

,

and

little

birds

flitted

noiselessly

by

me

from

place

to

place

.

A

policeman

patrols

in

the

distance

;

otherwise

there

is

not

a

soul

visible

,

and

the

whole

harbour

is

hushed

in

quiet

.

I

count

my

belongings

once

more

--

half

a

penknife

,

a

bunch

of

keys

,

but

not

a

farthing

.

Suddenly

I

dive

into

my

pocket

and

take

the

papers

out

again

.

It

was

a

mechanical

movement

,

an

unconscious

nervous

twitch

.

I

selected

a

white

unwritten

page

,

and

--

God

knows

where

I

got

the

notion

from

--

but

I

made

a

cornet

,

closed

it

carefully

,

so

that

it

looked

as

if

it

were

filled

with

something

,

and

threw

it

far

out

on

to

the

pavement

.

The

breeze

blew

it

onward

a

little

,

and

then

it

lay

still

.

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By

this

time

hunger

had

begun

to

assail

me

in

earnest

.

I

sat

and

looked

at

the

white

paper

cornet

,

which

seemed

as

if

it

might

be

bursting

with

shining

silver

pieces

,

and

incited

myself

to

believe

that

it

really

did

contain

something

.

I

sat

and

coaxed

myself

quite

audibly

to

guess

the

sum

;

if

I

guessed

aright

,

it

was

to

be

mine

.

I

imagined

the

tiny

,

pretty

penny

bits

at

the

bottom

and

the

thick

fluted

shillings

on

top

--

a

whole

paper

cornet

full

of

money

!

I

sat

and

gazed

at

it

with

wide

opened

eyes

,

and

urged

myself

to

go

and

steal

it

.

Then

I

hear

the

constable

cough

.

What

puts

it

into

my

head

to

do

the

same

?

I

rise

up

from

the

seat

and

repeat

the

cough

three

times

so

that

he

may

hear

it

.

Wo

n't

he

jump

at

the

corner

when

he

comes

.

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