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Чивер, Джон - Чивер - Пловец (engl)

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дРЛК аСЮЕН. мИЛЮЕТ (engl)

John Cheever. The swimmer


     It was one of those midsummer Sundays when everyone sits around saying: "I drank too much last night." You might have heard it whispered by the parishioners leaving church, heard it from the lips of the priest himself, struggling with his cassock in the vestiarium* heard it from the gold links and the tennis courts, heard it from the wild- life preserve where the leader of the Audubon group* was suffering from a terrible hangover. "I drank too much," said Donald Westerhazy. "We all drank too much," said Lucinda Merrill. "It must have been the wine," said Helen Wester- hazy. "I drank too much of that claret." This was at the edge of the Westerhazys' pool. The pool, fed by an artesian well with a high iron content,* was a pale shade of green. It was a fine day. In the west there was a massive stand of cumulus cloud so like a city seen from a dis- tance-from the bow of an approaching ship-that it might have had a name. Lisbon.* Hackensack.* The sun was hot. Neddy Merrill sat by the green water, one hand in it, one around a glass of gin. He was a slender man-he seemed to have the especial slenderness of youth-and while he was far from young he liad slid down his banister that morning and given the bronze backside of Aphrodite on the hall table* a smack, as he jogged toward the smell of coffee in his dining room. He might have been compared to a sum- mer's day,* particularly the last hours of one, and while he lacked a tennis racket or a sail bag* the impression was definitely one of youth, sport, and clement weather. He had been swimming and now he was breathing deeply, stertorously as if he could gulp into his lungs the components of that moment, the heat of the sun, the intense- ness of his pleasure. It all seemed to flow into his chest. His own house stood in Bullet Park,* eight miles to the south, where his four beautiful daughters would have had their lunch and might be playing tennis. Then it occurred to him that by taking a dogleg* to the southwest he could reach his home by water. His life was not confining and the delight he took in this observation could not be explained by its suggestion of escape. He seemed to see, with a cartographer's eye, that string of swimming pools, that quasi-subterranean stream that curved across the county.* He had made a discovery, a contribution to modern geography; he would name the stream Lucinda after his wife. He was not a practical joker nor was he a fool, but he was determinedly original and had a vague and modest idea of himself as a legendary figure. The day was beautiful and it seemed to him that a long swim might enlarge and celebrate its beauty. He took off a sweater that was hung over his shoulders and dove in. He had an inexplicable contempt for men who did not hurl themselves into pools. He swam a choppy crawl, breathing either with every stroke or every fourth stroke and counting somewhere well in the back of his mind the one-two one-two of a nutter kick. It was not a serviceable stroke for long distances but the domestication of swimming had saddled the sport with some customs and in his part of the world a crawl was customary. To be embraced and sustained by the light green water was less a pleasure, it seemed, than the resumption of a natural condition, and he would have liked to swim without trunks, but this was not possible, considering his project. He hoisted himself up on the far curb-he never used the ladder-and started across the lawn. When Lucinda asked where he was going he said he was going to swim' home. The only maps and charts he had to go by were remembered or imaginary but these were clear enough. First there were the Grahams, the Hammers, the Lears, the Howlands, and the Crosscups. He would cross Ditmar Street to the Bunkers and come, after a short portage, to the Levys, the Welchers, and the public pool in Lan- caster.* Then there were the Hallorans, the Sachses, the Biswangers, Shirley Adams, the Gil- martins, and the Clydes. The day was lovely, and that he lived in a world so generously supplied with water seemed like a clemency, a beneficence. His heart was high and he ran across the grass. Making his way home by an uncommon route gave him the feeling that he was a pilgrim, an explorer, a man with a destiny, and he knew that he would find friends all along the way; friends would line the banks of the Lucinda River. He went through a hedge that separated the Westerhazys' land from the Grahams', walked under some flowering apple trees, passed the shed that housed their pump and filter, and came out at the Grahams' pool. "Why, Neddy," Mrs. Graham said, "what a marvelous surprise. I've been trying to get you on the phone all morning. Here, let me get you a drink." He saw then, like any explorer, that the hospitable customs and traditions of the natives would have to be handled with diplomacy if he was ever going to reach his destination. He did not want to mystify or seem rude to the Grahams nor did he have the time to linger there. He swam the length of their pool and joined them in the sun and was rescued, a few minutes later, by the arrival of two carloads of friends from Connecticut.* During the up- roarious reunions he was able to slip away. He went down by the front of the Grahams' house, stepped over a thorny hedge, and crossed a vacant lot to the Hammers'. Mrs. Hammer, looking up from her roses, saw him swim by although she wasn't quite sure who it was. The Lears heard him splashing past the open windows of their living room. The Howlands and the Crosscups were away. After leaving the Rowlands' he crossed Ditmar Street and started for the Bunkers', where he could hear, even at that distance, the noise of a party. The water refracted the sound of voices and laughter and seemed to suspend it in midair. The Bunkers' pool was on a rise and he climbed some stairs to a terrace where twenty-five or thirty men and women were drinking. The only person in the water was Rusty Towers, who floated there on a rubber raft. Oh how bonny and lush were the banks of the Lucinda River! Prosperous men and women gathered by the sapphire-colored waters while caterer's men in white coats passed them cold gin. Overhead a red de Haviland trainer* was circling around and around and around in the sky with something like the glee of a child in a swing. Ned felt a passing affec- tion for the scene, a tenderness for the gathering, as if it was something he might touch. In the distance he heard thunder. As soon as Enid Bunker saw him she began to scream: "Oh look who's here! What a marvelous surprise! When Lucinda said that you couldn't come I thought I'd die." She made her way to him through the crowd, and when they had finished kissing she led him to the bar, a progress that was slowed by the fact that he stopped to kiss eight or ten other women and shake the hands of as many men. A smiling bartender he had seen at a hundred parties gave him a gin and tonic and he stood by the bar for a moment, anxious not to get stuck in any conversation that would delay his voyage. When he seemed about to be surrounded he dove in and swam close to the side to avoid colliding with Rusty's raft. At the far end of the pool he bypassed the Tomlinsons with a broad smile and jogged up the garden path. The gravel cut his feet but this was the only unpleas- antness. The party was confined to the pool, and as he went toward the house he heard the bril- liant, watery sound of voices fade, heard the noise of a radio from the Bunkers' kitchen, where someone was listening to a ballgame. Sunday afternoon. He made his way through the parked cars and down the grassy border of their drive- way to Alewives' Lane.* He did not want to be seen on the road in his bathing trunks but there was no traffic and he made the short distance to the Levys' driveway, marked with a private property sign and ,a green tube* for the New York Times* All the doors and windows of the big house were open but there were no signs of life; not even a dog barked. He went around the side of the house to the pool and saw that the Levys had only recently left. Glasses and bottles and dishes of nuts were on a table at the deep end, where there was a bathhouse or gazebo,* hung with Japanese lanterns. After swimming the pool he got himself a glass and poured a drink. It was his fourth or fifth drink and he had swum nearly half the length of the Lucinda River. He felt tired, clean, and pleased at that moment to be alone; pleased with every- thing. It would storm. The stand of cumulus cloud- that city-had risen and darkened, and while he sat there he heard the percussiveness of thunder again. The de Haviland trainer was still circling overhead and it seemed to Ned that he could almost hear the pilot laugh with pleasure in the afternoon; but when there was another peal of thunder he took off for home. A train whistle blew and he wondered what time it had gotten to be. Four? Five? He thought of the provincial station at that hour, where a waiter, his tuxedo concealed by a raincoat, a dwarf with some flowers wrapped in newspaper, and a woman who had been crying would be waiting for the local. It was suddenly growing dark; it was that moment when the pin-headed birds seem to organize their song into some acute and knowledgeable recogni- tion of the storm's approach. Then there was a fine noise of rushing water from the crown of an oak at his back, as if a spigot there had been turned. Then the noise of fountains came from the crowns of all the tall trees. Why did he love storms, what was the meaning of his excitement when the door sprang open and the rain wind fled rudely up the stairs, why lead the simple task of shutting the windows of an old house seemed fitting and urgent, why did the first watery notes of a storm wind have for him the unmistakable sound of good news, cheer, glad tidings? Then there was an explosion, a smell of cordite, and rain lashed the Japanese lanterns that Mrs. Levy had bought in Kyoto* the year before last, or was it the year before that? He stayed in the Levys' gazebo until the storm had passed. The rain had cooled the air and he shivered. The force of the wind had stripped a maple of its red and yellow leaves and scattered them over the grass and the water. Since it was midsummer the tree must be blighted, and yet he felt a peculiar sadness at this sign of autumn. He braced his shoulders, emptied his glass, and started for the Welchers' pool. This meant cross- ing the Lindleys' riding ring and he was surprised to find it overgrown with grass and all the jumps* dismantled. He wondered if the Lindleys had sold their horses or gone away for the summer and put them out to board.* He seemed to remember having heard something about the Lindleys and their horses but the memory was unclear. On he went, barefoot through the wet grass, to the Wel- chers', where he found their pool was dry. This breach in his chain of water disappointed him absurdly, and he felt like some explorer who seeks a torrential headwater and finds a dead stream. He was disappointed and mystified. It was common enough to go away for the summer but no one ever drained his pool. The Welchers had definitely gone away. The pool furniture was folded, stacked, and covered with a tarpaulin.


    

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Анекдот 
Значицца так. Дело было, когда я учился в 9 классе. У нас в классе был парень один, назовем его Вася. Был этот Вася расп#$дяем в полном смысле этого слова. В школе появлялся изредка и то, когда класска радителям позвонит и скажет, что он уроки прогуливает. Это присказка, а сказка вот: Сидим мы на уроке биологии, кто не помнит в 9 классе проходят анатомию. И Вася этот от делать не#$й рассматривает картинки в учебнике, а нарисован там был плод, крепящийся за пуповину к мамкиной плаценте, кто не знает, что такое плацента в справочнике посмотрите J. А пуповина эта расположена где-то в нижней части живота ребеночка. А Вася принял ее своим извращенным взглядом за мужской половой орган, и давай к соседке приставать, типа «Смотри че это у него между ног», соседка: «Пуповина», Вася: «Не, это ХУЙ». И тут бдительная училка услышала так ласкающее сердце русское слово: «ЧТО-о-о!?! Ты что-то сказал или мне послышалось? », Вася: «Я сказал “пуповина”». Тут все и полегли такой хохот поднялся, что на шум прибежала директриса. Спрашивает: «Че это вы ржете, как ненормальные? », а Вася ей: «Да я сказал пуповина, а Мариванне послышалось х#й! ». После этого урок больше не мог продолжаться т. к. училка рыдала от смеха, мы тоже, а Васю директриса увела к себе. Кончилось все благополучно, правда Васе немного попало от родителей. Темыч
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