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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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The Slayer of Souls
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And all the while life remained unreal for him; his marriage seemed utterly unbelievable; he could not realise it, could not reconcile himself to conditions so incomprehensible.
Also, ever latent in his mind, was knowledge that made him restless – the knowledge that the young girl he had married had been in love with another man: Sanang.
And there were other thoughts – thoughts which had scarcely even taken the shape of questions.
One morning he came from his room and found Tressa on the veranda in her hammock. She had her moon-lute in her lap.
"You feel better – much better!" he said gaily, saluting her extended hand.
"Yes. Isn't this heavenly? I begin to believe it is life to me, this pearl-tinted world, and the scent of orange bloom and the stillness of paradise itself."
She gazed out over the ghostly river. Not a wing stirred its glassy surface.
"Is this dull for you?" she asked in a low voice.
"Not if you are contented, Tressa."
"You're so nice about it. Don't you think you might venture a day's real shooting?"
"No, I think I won't," he replied.
"On my account?"
"Well – yes."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's all right as long as you're getting rested. What is that instrument?"
"My moon-lute."
"Oh, is that what it's called?"
She nodded, touched the strings. He watched her exquisite hands.
"Shall I?" she inquired a little shyly.
"Go ahead. I'd like to hear it!"
"I haven't touched it in months – not since I was on the steamer." She sat up in her hammock and began to swing there; and played and sang while swinging in the flecked shadow of the orange bloom:
"Little Isle of Cispangou,
Isle of iris, isle of cherry,
Tell your tiny maidens merry
Clouds are looming over you!
La-ē-la!
La-ē-la!
All your ocean's but a ferry;
Ships are bringing death to you!
La-ē-lou!
La-ē-lou!
"Little Isle of Cispangou,
Half a thousand ships are sailing;
Captain Death commands each crew;
Lo! the ruddy moon is paling!
La-ē-la!
La-ē-la!
Clouds the dying moon are veiling,
Every cloud a shroud for you!
La-ē-lou!
La-ē-lou!"
"Cispangou," she explained, "is the very, very ancient name, among the Mongols, for Japan."
"It's not exactly a gay song," he said. "What's it about?"
"Oh, it's a very ancient song about the Mongol invasion of Japan. I know scores and scores of such songs."
She sang some other songs. Afterward she descended from the hammock and came and sat down beside him on the veranda steps.
"I wish I could amuse you," she said wistfully.
"Why do you think I'm bored, Tressa? I'm not at all."
But she only sighed, lightly, and gathered her knees in both arms.
"I don't know how young men in the Western world are entertained," she remarked presently.
"You don't have to entertain me," he said, smiling.
"I should be happy to, if I knew how."
"How are young men entertained in the Orient?"
"Oh, they like songs and stories. But I don't think you do."
He laughed in spite of himself.
"Do you really wish to entertain me?"
"I do," she said seriously.
"Then please perform some of those tricks of magic which you can do so amazingly well."
Her dawning smile faded a trifle. "I don't – I haven't – " She hesitated.
"You haven't your professional paraphernalia with you," he suggested.
Also, ever latent in his mind, was knowledge that made him restless – the knowledge that the young girl he had married had been in love with another man: Sanang.
And there were other thoughts – thoughts which had scarcely even taken the shape of questions.
One morning he came from his room and found Tressa on the veranda in her hammock. She had her moon-lute in her lap.
"You feel better – much better!" he said gaily, saluting her extended hand.
"Yes. Isn't this heavenly? I begin to believe it is life to me, this pearl-tinted world, and the scent of orange bloom and the stillness of paradise itself."
She gazed out over the ghostly river. Not a wing stirred its glassy surface.
"Is this dull for you?" she asked in a low voice.
"Not if you are contented, Tressa."
"You're so nice about it. Don't you think you might venture a day's real shooting?"
"No, I think I won't," he replied.
"On my account?"
"Well – yes."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's all right as long as you're getting rested. What is that instrument?"
"My moon-lute."
"Oh, is that what it's called?"
She nodded, touched the strings. He watched her exquisite hands.
"Shall I?" she inquired a little shyly.
"Go ahead. I'd like to hear it!"
"I haven't touched it in months – not since I was on the steamer." She sat up in her hammock and began to swing there; and played and sang while swinging in the flecked shadow of the orange bloom:
"Little Isle of Cispangou,
Isle of iris, isle of cherry,
Tell your tiny maidens merry
Clouds are looming over you!
La-ē-la!
La-ē-la!
All your ocean's but a ferry;
Ships are bringing death to you!
La-ē-lou!
La-ē-lou!
"Little Isle of Cispangou,
Half a thousand ships are sailing;
Captain Death commands each crew;
Lo! the ruddy moon is paling!
La-ē-la!
La-ē-la!
Clouds the dying moon are veiling,
Every cloud a shroud for you!
La-ē-lou!
La-ē-lou!"
"Cispangou," she explained, "is the very, very ancient name, among the Mongols, for Japan."
"It's not exactly a gay song," he said. "What's it about?"
"Oh, it's a very ancient song about the Mongol invasion of Japan. I know scores and scores of such songs."
She sang some other songs. Afterward she descended from the hammock and came and sat down beside him on the veranda steps.
"I wish I could amuse you," she said wistfully.
"Why do you think I'm bored, Tressa? I'm not at all."
But she only sighed, lightly, and gathered her knees in both arms.
"I don't know how young men in the Western world are entertained," she remarked presently.
"You don't have to entertain me," he said, smiling.
"I should be happy to, if I knew how."
"How are young men entertained in the Orient?"
"Oh, they like songs and stories. But I don't think you do."
He laughed in spite of himself.
"Do you really wish to entertain me?"
"I do," she said seriously.
"Then please perform some of those tricks of magic which you can do so amazingly well."
Her dawning smile faded a trifle. "I don't – I haven't – " She hesitated.
"You haven't your professional paraphernalia with you," he suggested.
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Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее