Kitobni o'qish: «The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Selected Tales of the Jazz Age Сollection. Адаптированная книга для чтения на английском языке. Уровень B1»
© Беспалова Н. В., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2018
© ООО «Издательство „Антология“», 2018
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Chapter 1
In 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, the first cries of the young are usually heard in a hospital, if possible, a fashionable one. So Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were fifty years ahead of style when they decided, in the summer of 1860, that their first baby should be born in a hospital. It will never be known whether this fact had any influence on the astonishing story I am going to present.
I shall tell you what happened, and let you decide for yourself.
The Buttons had a good social and financial position in pre-war1 Baltimore2. They were relatives to a number of famous Southern families, and this gave them a legal right to consider themselves the aristocracy of the Confederacy3. This was their first experience of having babies – Mr. Button was naturally nervous. He hoped it would be a boy who could be sent to Yale College in Connecticut4, which Mr. Button had graduated himself.
On the September morning, when the great event had to happen, he got up nervously at six o'clock, dressed himself, and hurried to the hospital, to know whether the darkness of the night had given a new life.
When he was about a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, going down the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement – a typical movement for people of his profession.
Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware5, began to run toward Doctor Keene with much less dignity than was expected from a Southern gentleman.
«Doctor Keene!» he called. «Oh, Doctor Keene!»
The doctor heard him, turned around, and stood waiting. His face had a curious expression.
«What happened?» demanded Mr. Button, as he came up, gasping. «What was it? How is she? A boy? Who is it? What…»
«Speak clearly!» said Doctor Keene sharply. He seemed irritated.
«Is the child born?» begged Mr. Button.
Doctor Keene frowned. «Why, yes, I suppose so…» He gave a curious glance at Mr. Button again.
«Is my wife all right?»
«Yes».
«Is it a boy or a girl?»
«I'll ask you to go and see for yourself. It's a scandal!» cried Doctor Keene, then he turned away saying: «Do you think a case like this will help my professional reputation? One more would ruin me – ruin anybody».
«What's the matter?» demanded Mr. Button. «Triplets?»
«No, not triplets!» answered the doctor. «What's more, you can go and see for yourself. And get another doctor. I brought you into the world, young man, and I've been physician to your family for forty years, but I'm through with you6! I don't want to see you or any of your relatives ever again! Good-bye!»
Then he turned sharply, and without another word left.
Mr. Button stood there upon the sidewalk, shocked and trembling from head to foot. What awful misfortune had happened? He had suddenly lost all desire to go into the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen – with the greatest difficulty he forced himself to go up the steps and enter the front door.
A nurse was sitting behind a desk in the hall. Hiding his shame, Mr. Button approached her.
«Good morning», she said, looking up at him pleasantly.
«Good morning. I am Mr. Button».
When she heard this, terror spread over the girl's face. She rose to her feet and it seemed as if she wanted to run away from the hall.
«I want to see my child», said Mr. Button.
The nurse gave a little scream. «Oh – of course!» she cried hysterically. «Upstairs. Right upstairs. Go… up!»
She pointed the direction, and Mr. Button, feeling a cold sweat, went to the second floor. In the upper hall he addressed another nurse who was carrying a basin in her hand. «I'm Mr. Button, I want to see my…»
Clank! The basin fell on the floor and rolled in the direction of the stairs. Clank! Clank! It was rolling down the stairs as if showing the general terror which this gentleman created.
«I want to see my child!» Mr. Button almost shouted. He was about to collapse7.
Clank! The basin reached the first floor. The nurse tried to control herself, and looked at Mr. Button with disgust.
«All right, Mr. Button», she agreed in a quiet voice. «Very well! But it's a scandal! The hospital will never have a reputation after…»
«Hurry!» he cried. «I can't stand this!»8
«Come this way, then, Mr. Button».
He followed her. At the end of a long hall they reached a room known as the «crying-room». They entered.
«Well», gasped Mr. Button, «which is mine?»
«There!» said the nurse and pointed her finger.
There sat an old man obviously about seventy years of age. He was wrapped in a large white blanket. His thin hair was almost white, and he had a long gray beard, which moved back and forth9 at the wind coming in from the window. He looked up at Mr. Button with empty eyes in which there was a puzzled question.
«Am I mad?» cried Mr. Button losing his control, his terror turned into anger. «Is this a hospital joke?»
«It doesn't seem like a joke to us», replied the nurse sharply. «And I don't know whether you're mad or not – but that is certainly your child».
The cold sweat covered Mr. Button's forehead. He closed his eyes, then opened them, and looked again. There was no mistake – he was staring at a seventy-year-old man – a seventy-year-old baby whose feet hung over the sides of the crib in which he was lying.
The old man looked quietly at Mr. Button and the nurse for a moment, and then suddenly spoke in a cracked and very old voice. «Are you my father?» he demanded. «Because if you are», went on the old man, «I wish you'd get me out of this place – or, at least, get me a comfortable chair in here».
«Where in God's name did you come from? Who are you?» burst out Mr. Button in anger.
«I can't tell you exactly who I am», replied the man, «because I was born only a few hours ago – but my last name is certainly Button».
«You lie! You're an impostor!»
The old man turned to the nurse. «Nice way to welcome a new-born child», he complained in a weak voice. «Tell him he's wrong, why don't you?»
«You're wrong. Mr. Button», said the nurse. «This is your child, and you'll have to make the best of it10. We're going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible».
«Home?» repeated Mr. Button refusing to believe.
«Yes, we can't have him here. We really can't, you know?»
«I'm glad of it», said the old man. «This is a fine place to keep babies who cry all the time. I couldn't sleep. I asked for something to eat», here his voice rose to a screaming note of protest, «and they brought me a bottle of milk!»
Mr. Button fell down upon a chair near his son and hid his face in his hands. «Good heavens!»11 he whispered in horror. «What will people say? What must I do?»
«You'll have to take him home», insisted the nurse, «immediately!»
A grotesque picture appeared before his eyes – a picture of himself walking through the crowded streets of the city with this strange terrible figure by his side. People would stop to speak to him, and what was he going to say? How would he introduce this aged man? «This is my son, born early this morning». And then they would walk slowly on, past the stores, the slave market – for a moment Mr. Button wished passionately that his son was black – and then past the rich houses, past the home for the aged…
«I can't. I can't», he whispered.
«Come on! Pull yourself together12», commanded the nurse.
«Look here»,13 the old man announced suddenly, «if you think I'm going to walk home in this blanket, you're mistaken».
«Babies always have blankets», said the nurse.
The old man showed a small white baby's shirt with indignation. «Look!» he said in a trembling voice. «This is what they gave me».
«Babies always wear those», insisted the nurse.
«Well», said the old man, «this baby is not going to wear it».
Mr. Button turned to the nurse. «What shall I do?»
«Go downtown and buy your son some clothes».
Mr. Button's son's voice followed him down into the hall: «And a cane, father. I want to have a cane».
Chapter 2
«Good morning», Mr. Button said nervously to the clerk in the store. «I want to buy some clothes for my child».
«How old is your child, sir?»
«About six hours», answered Mr. Button, without thinking.
«Babies' department is there».
«Why, I don't think – I'm not sure that's what I want. It's – he's an unusually large-size child. Extremely large».
«They have the largest child's sizes».
«Where is the boys' department?» asked Mr. Button. He felt that the clerk could see his shame. He felt that the clerk must know his shameful secret.
«Right here».
«Well…» He hesitated. He couldn't stand the idea of dressing his son in men's clothes. If, say, he could only find a very large boy's suit, he might cut off that long and awful beard, dye the white hair brown, then he would manage to hide the worst, and to keep his own self-respect – not to mention14his position in Baltimore society.
But there were no suits of his new-born son's size in the boys' department. He blamed the store, of course – in such cases one could blame only the store.
«How old did you say that boy of yours was?» demanded the clerk curiously.
«He's – sixteen».
«Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said six hours. You'll find the youths' department in the next room».
Mr. Button turned sadly away. Then he stopped, as he saw a dressed model in the window display. «There!» he pointed his finger toward the window display. «I'll take that suit, out there on the model».
The clerk stared. «Why», he protested, «that's not a child's suit. It's a fancy dress15. You could wear it yourself!»
«Wrap it up», insisted his customer nervously. «That's what I want».
The astonished clerk obeyed.
When Mr. Button came back to the hospital, he almost threw the package at his son. «Here are your clothes», he said angrily.
The old man opened the package and examined the dress with a puzzled look.
«It looks funny to me», he complained, «It will make a monkey of me…»
«You've made a monkey of me!» interrupted him Mr. Button. «Don't think how funny you look. Put them on – or I'll – or I'll spank you». He felt uneasy when he said the word but somehow he understood that it was the proper thing to say.
«All right, father, you've lived longer; you know best. Just as you say».
This sounded to Mr. Button as a grotesque respect from a son and the word «father» made him tremble.
«And hurry».
«I'm hurrying, father».
When his son was dressed Mr. Button examined him with depression. The costume consisted of pink pants and a blouse with a wide white collar. The long gray beard fell almost to the waist. The effect was not good.
«Wait!»
Mr. Button took hospital scissors and cut a large section of the beard. But even with this improvement the impression was far from perfect. The remaining part of the beard, the pale eyes, and the ancient teeth seemed strange in combination with the bright colors of the costume. Mr. Button, however, refused to change his plan – he held out his hand and said firmly. «Come along!»
His son took the hand. «What are you going to call me, dad?» he asked in a trembling voice as they walked from the hospital – «just ‘baby' for a while? till you think of a better name?»
«I don't know», grumbled Mr. Button. «I think we'll call you Methuselah16».
Chapter 3
Even after a baby had his hair cut short and then dyed to an unnatural black, and had his face shaved, and then was dressed in small-boy clothes, it was impossible for Button to ignore the fact that his son was a shame for the Button family. Despite his aged stoop, Benjamin Button – for they called him this name instead of the proper but humiliating name Methuselah – was five feet eight inches17 tall. His clothes did not hide this, his dyed black eyebrows did not hide the fact that the eyes were pale and tired. In fact, the baby-sitter, who was employed by the family, left the house after one look at him, in a state of indignation.
But Mr. Button was firm in his decision. Benjamin was a baby, and he should remain a baby. At first he declared that if Benjamin didn't like warm milk he could do without18 food at all, but he finally allowed his son to have bread and butter, and even oatmeal as a compromise. One day he brought home a rattle19 and, giving it to Benjamin, insisted that he should «play with it», so the old man obeyed and took it with a dull expression. He shook the rattle from time to time20 during the day.
There was no doubt, however, that the rattle bored him, and that he found other and more pleasant amusements when he was left alone. Mr. Button discovered one day that during the last week he had smoked more cigars than ever before – a phenomenon, which was explained a few days later when he entered his son's room and found it full of faint smoke. Benjamin, with a guilty expression on his face, was trying to hide the dark Havana cigar. Mr. Button, of course, had to spank the child, but he found that he could not make himself do it. He only said to his son that smoking would «stop his growth».
Mr. Button was still firm in his attitude. He brought home lead soldiers, he brought toy trains, he brought large pleasant animals made of cotton, and, to keep the illusion which he was creating – for himself at least – he passionately asked the clerk in the toy-store whether «the paint would come off the pink duck if the baby put it in his mouth». But, despite all his father's efforts, Benjamin refused to be interested. He often went down the back stairs secretly and returned to his room with a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica, which he could read through an afternoon, ignoring his cotton cows and his Noah's ark21, which were left on the floor. Mr. Button's efforts were useless against such stubbornness.
The sensation created in Baltimore was, at first, enormous. No-one can say what the misfortune it would cost the Button family socially, but the sudden start of the Civil War22 drew the city's attention to other things. A few people, who were always polite, tried their best to think of compliments for the parents – and finally decided to declare that the baby looked like his grandfather, a fact which seemed true, due to the state of decay typical for all men of seventy. Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were not pleased, and Benjamin's grandfather was extremely insulted.
Benjamin, after he left the hospital, took life as it was, without complaining. Once several small boys were brought to see him, and he spent a dull afternoon trying to show an interest in toys and games – he even managed to break a kitchen window with a stone, an incident which secretly delighted his father.
Since then Benjamin tried to break something every day, but he did these things only because he wanted to please his father and because he was by nature helpful.
When his grandfather's original dislike went away, Benjamin and that gentleman took enormous pleasure in one another's company. They could sit for hours, so different in age and experience, and, like old friends, discuss the slow events of the day. Benjamin felt much easier in his grandfather's company than in his parents' – they seemed always slightly afraid of him and often addressed him as «Mr».
He was puzzled himself at the age of his mind and body at birth. He read the medical journals, but found that no such case had ever been written about. Following his father's strong wish he made an honest attempt to play with other boys, but he often joined in the quiet games – football frightened him too much, because he feared that in case of a fracture his ancient bones would never knit23.
When he was five he was sent to kindergarten, where he learned a secret of the art of placing green paper on orange paper, and making colored maps. He sometimes fell to sleep in the middle of these tasks, a habit which both irritated and frightened his young teacher. To his relief she complained to his parents, and they took him from the school. The Buttons told their friends that they felt he was too young.
By the time he was twelve years old his parents had got used to him24. Indeed, the force of habit is so strong that they no longer felt that he was different from any other child – except when some curious event reminded them of the fact. But one day a few weeks after his twelfth birthday, while looking in the mirror, Benjamin made, or thought he made, an astonishing discovery. Did his hair turn darker? Were the wrinkles on his face becoming less obvious? Was his skin healthier and firmer, with even a touch of pink winter color? He could not tell. He knew that he no longer stooped, and that his physical condition had improved since the early days of his life.
«Can it be…?» he thought to himself.
He went to his father. «I am grown», he announced firmly. «I want to put on long trousers».
His father hesitated. «Well», he said finally, «I don't know. Fourteen is the age for putting on long trousers – and you are only twelve».
«But you'll have to admit», protested Benjamin, «that I'm big for my age».
His father looked at him.
«Oh, I'm not so sure of that», he said. «I was as big as you when I was twelve».
This was not true – it was a part of Roger Button's silent agreement with himself to believe in his son's normality.
Finally a compromise was reached. Benjamin had to continue to dye his hair. He had to make a better attempt to play with boys of his own age. He was not allowed to wear his spectacles or carry a cane in the street. In return he was allowed to put on his first suit of long trousers…
Chapter 4
I intend to say little of the life of Benjamin Button between his twelfth and twenty-first year. It is enough to say that they were years of normal antigrowth. When Benjamin was eighteen he stopped stooping and walked straight as a man of fifty; he had more hair and it was dark gray; his step was firm, his cracked voice turned to a healthy baritone. So his father sent him up to Connecticut to take examinations for entrance to Yale College. Benjamin passed his examination and became a member of the freshman class.
On the third day after he had officially become a student he received a letter from Mr. Hart, the college secretary, to come to his office and arrange his schedule. Benjamin glanced in the mirror and decided that his hair needed a new brown dye. He looked for the dye bottle in his desk but didn't find it. Then he remembered – he had used it the day before and thrown it away.
He hesitated. He had to come to the college office in five minutes. There seemed to be no choice – he must go as he was. He did.
«Good morning», said Mr. Hart politely. «You've come to speak about your son».
«Why, as a matter of fact, my name's Button…» began Benjamin, but Mr. Hart interrupted him.
«I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Button. I'm expecting your son here any minute».
«That's me!» shouted Benjamin. «I'm a freshman».
«What!»
«I'm a freshman».
«Surely you're joking».
«Not at all».
The secretary frowned and glanced at a card before him. «Why, I have Mr. Benjamin Button's age down here as eighteen».
«That's my age», announced Benjamin, turning slightly red in the face.
Mr. Hart looked at him. «Surely, Mr. Button, you don't expect me to believe that».
«I am eighteen», he repeated.
The secretary pointed to the door. «Get out», he said. «Get out of college and get out of town. You are a dangerous madman».
«I am eighteen».
Mr. Hart opened the door and shouted. «A man of your age is trying to enter here as a freshman. Eighteen years old, are you? Well, I'll give you eighteen minutes to get out of town».
Benjamin Button walked with dignity from the room, and half a dozen undergraduates, who were waiting in the hall, followed him curiously with their eyes. When he had gone a little way he turned around, looked at the angry secretary, who was still standing in the doorway, and repeated in a firm voice: «I am eighteen years old».
Benjamin walked away followed by a laugh, which went up from the group of undergraduates.
But he didn't escape so easily. On his sad walk to the railroad station he found that he was followed by a group, then by a crowd, and finally by a large mass of undergraduates. The news had spread around that a madman had passed the entrance examinations for Yale and attempted to present himself as a youth of eighteen. The college was in a fever of excitement. Men ran out of classes, the football team left its match and ran shouting after the crowd. Their remarks were insulting the tender feelings of Benjamin Button.
«He ought to go to prep school25 at his age!»
«Look at the infant prodigy26!»
«He thought this was the aged men's home».
«Go up to Harvard27!»
Benjamin walked faster, and soon he was running. He would show them! He would go to Harvard, and then they would regret these insulting remarks!
When he finally got on the train for Baltimore and felt safe, he put his head from the window. «You'll regret this!» he shouted.
«Ha-ha!» the undergraduates laughed. «Ha-ha-ha!»
It was the biggest mistake that Yale College had ever made…
Bepul matn qismi tugad.
