Повелитель мух / Lord of the Flies
Уильям Голдинг

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“It’s hot!”

“What did you expect?”

“I didn’t expect nothing. My auntie—”

“Sucks to your auntie[3 - Sucks to your auntie! – На фиг твою тетушку!]!”

Ralph did a surface dive and swam under water with his eyes open; the sandy edge of the pool loomed up like a hillside. He turned over, holding his nose, and a golden light danced and shattered just over his face. Piggy was looking determined and began to take off his shorts. Presently he was palely and fatly naked. He tiptoed down the sandy side of the pool, and sat there up to his neck in water smiling proudly at Ralph.

“Aren’t you going to swim?”

Piggy shook his head.

“I can’t swim. I wasn’t allowed. My asthma—”

“Sucks to your ass-mar!”

Piggy bore this with a sort of humble patience. “You can’t half swim well.”

Ralph paddled backwards down the slope, immersed his mouth and blew a jet of water into the air. Then he lifted his chin and spoke.

“I could swim when I was five. Daddy taught me. He’s a commander in the Navy. When he gets leave he’ll come and rescue us. What’s your father?”

Piggy flushed suddenly.

“My dad’s dead,” he said quickly, “and my mum—”

He took off his glasses and looked vainly for something with which to clean them.

“I used to live with my auntie. She kept a candy store. I used to get ever so many candies. As many as I liked. When’ll your dad rescue us?”

“Soon as he can.”

Piggy rose dripping from the water and stood naked, cleaning his glasses with a sock. The only sound that reached them now through the heat of the morning was the long, grinding roar of the breakers on the reef.

“How does he know we’re here?”

Ralph lolled in the water. Sleep enveloped him like the swathing mirages that were wrestling with the brilliance of the lagoon.

“How does he know we’re here?”

Because, thought Ralph, because, because. The roar from the reef became very distant.

“They’d tell him at the airport.”

Piggy shook his head, put on his flashing glasses and looked down at Ralph.

“Not them. Didn’t you hear what the pilot said? About the atom bomb? They’re all dead.”

Ralph pulled himself out of the water, stood facing Piggy, and considered this unusual problem.

Piggy persisted.

“This an island, isn’t it?”

“I climbed a rock,” said Ralph slowly, “and I think this is an island.”

“They’re all dead,” said Piggy, “an’ this is an island. Nobody don’t know we’re here. Your dad don’t know, nobody don’t know—”

His lips quivered and the spectacles were dimmed with mist.

“We may stay here till we die.”

With that word the heat seemed to increase till it became a threatening weight and the lagoon attacked them with a blinding effulgence.

“Get my clothes,” muttered Ralph. “Along there.”

He trotted through the sand, enduring the sun’s enmity, crossed the platform and found his scattered clothes. To put on a grey shirt once more was strangely pleasing. Then he climbed the edge of the platform and sat in the green shade on a convenient trunk. Piggy hauled himself up, carrying most of his clothes under his arms. Then he sat carefully on a fallen trunk near the little cliff that fronted the lagoon; and the tangled reflections quivered over him.

Presently he spoke.

“We got to find the others. We got to do something.”

Ralph said nothing. Here was a coral island. Protected from the sun, ignoring Piggy’s ill-omened talk, he dreamed pleasantly.

Piggy insisted.

“How many of us are there?”

Ralph came forward and stood by Piggy.

“I don’t know.”

Here and there, little breezes crept over the polished waters beneath the haze of heat. When these breezes reached the platform the palm fronds would whisper, so that spots of blurred sunlight slid over their bodies or moved like bright, winged things in the shade. Piggy looked up at Ralph. All the shadows on Ralph’s face were reversed; green above, bright below from the lagoon. A blur of sunlight was crawling across his hair.

“We got to do something.”

Ralph looked through him. Here at last was the imagined but never fully realized place leaping into real life. Ralph’s lips parted in a delighted smile and Piggy, taking this smile to himself as a mark of recognition, laughed with pleasure.

“If it really is an island—”

“What’s that?”

Ralph had stopped smiling and was pointing into the lagoon. Something creamy lay among the ferny weeds.

“A stone.”

“No. A shell.”

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