Повелитель мух / Lord of the Flies

“You and your fire!”

The two boys trotted down the beach, and, turning at the water’s edge, looked back at the pink mountain. The trickle of smoke sketched a chalky line up the solid blue of the sky, wavered high up and faded. Ralph frowned.

“I wonder how far off you could see that.”

“Miles.”

“We don’t make enough smoke.”

The bottom part of the trickle, as though conscious of their gaze, thickened to a creamy blur which crept up the feeble column.

“They’ve put on green branches,” muttered Ralph. “I wonder!” He screwed up his eyes and swung round to search the horizon.

“Got it!”

Jack shouted so loudly that Ralph jumped.

“What? Where? Is it a ship?”

But Jack was pointing to the high declivities that led down from the mountain to the flatter part of the island.

“Of course! They’ll lie up there—they must, when the sun’s too hot—”

Ralph gazed bewildered at his rapt face.

“—they get up high. High up and in the shade, resting during the heat, like cows at home—”

“I thought you saw a ship!”

“We could steal up on one—paint our faces so they wouldn’t see—perhaps surround them and then—”

Indignation took away Ralph’s control.

“I was talking about smoke! Don’t you want to be rescued? All you can talk about is pig, pig, pig!”

“But we want meat!”

“And I work all day with nothing but Simon and you come back and don’t even notice the huts!”

“I was working too—”

“But you like it!” shouted Ralph. “You want to hunt! While I—”

They faced each other on the bright beach, astonished at the rub of feeling. Ralph looked away first, pretending interest in a group of littluns on the sand. From beyond the platform came the shouting of the hunters in the swimming pool. On the end of the platform, Piggy was lying flat, looking down into the brilliant water.

“People don’t help much.”

He wanted to explain how people were never quite what you thought they were.

“Simon. He helps.” He pointed at the shelters.

“All the rest rushed off. He’s done as much as I have. Only—”

“Simon’s always about.”

Ralph stared back to the shelters with Jack by his side.

“Do a bit for you[11 - Do a bit for you – Я помогу вам немного.],” muttered Jack, “before I have a bathe.”

“Don’t bother.”

But when they reached the shelters Simon was not to be seen. Ralph put his head in the hole, withdrew it, and turned to Jack.

“He’s buzzed off.”

“Got fed up[12 - Got fed up – Ему это все надоело],” said Jack, “and gone for a bathe.”

Ralph frowned.

“He’s queer. He’s funny.”

Jack nodded, as much for the sake of agreeing as anything, and by tacit consent they left the shelter and went toward the bathing pool.

“And then,” said Jack, “when I’ve had a bathe and something to eat, I’ll just trek over to the other side of the mountain and see if I can see any traces. Coming?”

“But the sun’s nearly set!”

“I might have time—”

They walked along, two continents of experience and feeling, unable to communicate.

“If I could only get a pig!”

“I’ll come back and go on with the shelter.”

They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate. All the warm salt water of the bathing pool and the shouting and splashing and laughing were only just sufficient to bring them together again.

* * *

Simon was not in the bathing pool as they had expected.

When the other two had trotted down the beach to look back at the mountain he had followed them for a few yards and then stopped. He had stood frowing down at a pile of sand on the beach where somebody had been trying to build a little house or hut. Then he turned his back on this and walked into the forest with an air of purpose. He was a small, skinny boy, his chin pointed, and his eyes so bright they had deceived Ralph into thinking him delightfully gay and wicked. The coarse mop of black hair was long and swung down, almost concealing a low, broad forehead. He wore the remains of shorts and his feet were bare like Jack’s. Always darkish in color, Simon was burned by the sun to a deep tan that glistened with sweat.

He picked his way up the scar, passed the great rock where Ralph had climbed on the first morning, then turned off to his right among the trees. He walked with an accustomed tread through the acres of fruit trees, where the least energetic could find an easy if unsatisfying meal. Flower and fruit grew together on the same tree and everywhere was the scent of ripeness and the booming of a million bees at pasture. Here the littluns who had run after him caught up with him. They talked, cried out unintelligibly, lugged him toward the trees. Then, amid the roar of bees in the afternoon sunlight, Simon found for them the fruit they could not reach, pulled off the choicest from up in the foliage, passed them back down to the endless, outstretched hands. When he had satisfied them he paused and looked round. The littluns watched him inscrutably over double handfuls of ripe fruit.