Saturday has arrived. Summer nature shone - fresh, seething with life. A song rang in every heart, and if the heart was young, the song poured out from the lips. Joy was on every face, everyone walked elastically and cheerfully. White acacias were in bloom and filled the air with fragrance. Cardiff Mountain, overlooking the city, was covered in greenery. From a distance it seemed like the Promised Land - wonderful, serene, tempting.
Tom went outside with a bucket of lime and a long brush. He glanced around the fence, and in an instant the joy fled from his soul, and melancholy reigned there. Thirty yards of wooden fence, nine feet high! Life seemed meaningless to him, existence a heavy burden. With a sigh, he dipped his brush in the lime, ran it along the top board, then did the same thing again and stopped: how insignificant the white stripe is compared to the huge expanse of unpainted fence! In despair, he sank to the ground under the tree. Jim came skipping out of the gate. He had a tin bucket in his hand.
He hummed the song “Buffalo Girls.” Tom had always considered going to the city pump to fetch water an unpleasant task, but now he looked at the matter differently. I remembered that a lot of people always gather at the pump: whites, mulattoes, blacks; Boys and girls, waiting for their turn, sit, relax, barter toys, quarrel, fight, play around. He also remembered that although the pump was no more than a hundred and fifty steps away, Jim never returned home before an hour later, and even then he almost always had to run after him.
Listen, Jim,” said Tom, “if you want, whiten it up a little, and I’ll run for water.”
Jim shook his head and said:
I can’t, mass Tom! The old mistress told me to go straight to the pump and not stop with anyone along the way. She says: “I already know, he says that Tom will call you to whitewash the fence, so don’t listen to him, but go your way.” She says: “I myself, she says, will go and watch him whitewash.”
Don't listen to her! You never know what she says, Jim! Give me the bucket, I'll run right away. She won't even know.
Oh, I'm afraid, massa Tom, I'm afraid of old missus! She'll rip my head off, by God, she'll rip it off!
She! Yes, she won’t lay a finger on anyone, unless she hits them on the head with a thimble - that’s all! Who pays attention to this? True, she says very angry words, well, but words don’t hurt, unless she cries. Jim, I'll give you a ball. I'll give you my white alabaster ball.
Jim began to hesitate.
White ball, Jim, great white ball!
That's right, it's a great thing! But still, Tom, I’m really afraid of old missus.
And besides, if you want, I will show you my blister on my foot.
Jim was only human and could not help but succumb to such temptation. He put the bucket on the ground, took the alabaster ball and, burning with curiosity, watched as Tom unbandaged his toe, but a minute later he was rushing down the street with the bucket in his hand and an excruciating pain in the back of his head, while Tom began to actively paint the fence, and Aunt leaving the battlefield with a shoe in her hand and triumph in her eyes.
But Tom didn’t have enough energy for long. He remembered how much fun he had planned to spend this day, and his heart became even heavier. Soon other boys, free from all work, will run out into the street to walk and frolic. They will, of course, have all sorts of fun games going on, and they will all mock him for having to work so hard. The very thought of it burned him like fire. He took his treasures out of his pockets and began to examine them: fragments of toys, balls and similar junk; All this rubbish is probably enough to pay for three or four minutes of someone else’s labor, but, of course, it can’t buy even half an hour of freedom! He put his pitiful possessions back into his pocket and abandoned the idea of bribery. None of the boys would work for such meager wages. And suddenly, in this dark moment of despair, inspiration descended on Tom! It is inspiration, no less - a brilliant, ingenious idea.
He took the brush and calmly got to work. Ben Rogers appeared in the distance, the same boy whose ridicule he feared most. Ben did not walk, but jumped, galloped and danced - a sure sign that his soul was light and that he expected a lot from the coming day. He was gnawing on an apple and from time to time he uttered a long melodic whistle, followed by sounds on the lowest notes: “ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong,” as Ben imitated a steamboat. As he got closer, he slowed down, stood in the middle of the street and began to slowly turn, carefully, with due importance, because he represented the “Big Missouri” sitting in nine feet of water. He was the ship, the captain, and the signal bell at the same time, so that he had to imagine that he was standing on his own bridge, giving himself a command and carrying it out himself.
Stop the car, sir! Ding-diling, ding-diling-ding!
The steamer slowly left the middle of the road and began to approach the sidewalk.
Reverse! Dilin-dilin-ding!
Both of his arms stretched out and pressed tightly to his sides.
Reverse! Right steering wheel! Shh, dilin-ling! Chsh-chsh-chsh!
The right hand moved majestically in large circles because it was a forty-foot wheel.
Left aboard! Left hand drive! Ding-ding-ding! Chsh-chsh-chsh!
Now the left hand began to describe the same circles.
Stop, starboard! Ding-ding-ding! Stop, left side! Forward and right! Stop! - Small move! Ding dilin! Chuu-chuuuu! Give it up! Come on, get moving! Hey, you, on the shore! What are you worth? Take the rope! Bow moorings! Throw a noose around the pole! Rear moorings! Now let go! The car is stopped, sir! Ding-ding-ding! PC! PC! PC! (The machine was releasing steam.)
Tom continued to work, not paying any attention to the ship. Ben stared at him and after a minute said:
Yeah! Gotcha!
There was no answer. Tom contemplated his last stroke with the eyes of an artist, then carefully brushed the brush again and leaned back again to admire it. Ben came and stood next to him. Tom's mouth watered at the sight of the apple, but he stubbornly continued his work as if nothing had happened. Ben provided:
Why, brother, are they forced to work?
Tom turned sharply to him:
Oh, it's you, Ben! I didn't even notice.
Listen, I'm going for a swim... yes, a swim! Probably you want it too, huh? But of course you can’t, you’ll have to work. Well, of course, of course!
Tom looked at him and said:
What do you call work?
Isn't that work?
Tom began whitewashing the fence again and answered casually:
Maybe it's work, maybe it's not. All I know is that Tom Sawyer likes her.
What are you talking about? Would you like to show that this activity is pleasant for you?
The brush continued to walk along the fence.
Pleasant? What's so unpleasant about it? Do boys get to whitewash fences every day?
The matter appeared in a new light. Ben stopped gnawing on the apple. Tom, with the ecstasy of an artist, moved his brush back and forth, stepped back a few steps to admire the effect, added a touch here and there and again critically examined what he had done, and Ben watched his every movement, getting more and more carried away. Finally he said:
Listen, Tom, let me whiten it a little too!
Tom thought for a moment and seemed ready to agree, but at the last minute he changed his mind:
No, no, Ben... It won't work anyway. You see, Aunt Polly is terribly picky about this fence: it goes out onto the street. Whether it was the side facing the yard is a different matter, but here it is terribly strict - you have to whitewash it very, very diligently. Out of a thousand... even, perhaps, out of two thousand boys, there is only one who could whiten him properly.
What are you talking about? I never would have thought that. Just let me try... well, at least a little. If I were you, I would give it to you. Eh, Tom?
Ben, I would love to, honestly, but Aunt Polly... Jim wanted it too, but she didn’t allow it. Sid also asked, but she didn’t let me in. Now do you understand how difficult it is for me to entrust this work to you? If you start whitewashing and suddenly something goes wrong...
Nonsense! I will try as hard as you. I just wish I could try it! Listen: I'll give you the middle of this apple.
OK! However, no, Ben, it’s better not to... I’m afraid...
I'll give you the whole apple - all that's left.
Tom handed him the brush with visible reluctance, but with secret delight in his soul. And while the former steamship “Big Missouri” worked and sweated in the hot sun, the retired artist sat nearby in the cold on some barrel, dangled his legs, gnawed on an apple and set up nets for other simpletons. There was no shortage of simpletons: the boys kept coming up to the fence - they came up to sneer, but stayed to whitewash. By the time Ben was exhausted, Tom had already sold the second line to Billy Fisher for a brand new kite; and when Fisher was tired, Johnny Miller replaced him, bringing in as payment a dead rat on a long rope, so that it would be easier to twirl this rat - and so on, and so on, hour after hour. By noon, Tom, from the pitiful poor man he had been in the morning, had turned into a rich man, literally drowning in luxury. In addition to the things we just talked about, he had twelve alabaster balls, a piece of a dental buzzer, a fragment of a blue bottle to look through, a cannon made from a spool of thread, a key that would not unlock anything, a piece of chalk, a glass stopper from a decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six firecrackers, a one-eyed kitten, a brass doorknob, a dog collar - without the dog - a knife handle, four orange peels and an old, broken window frame.
Tom had a pleasant and fun time in a big company, doing nothing, and there were three layers of lime on the fence! If the lime had not run out, he would have ruined all the boys in this city.
Tom showed himself that, in essence, life was not so empty and insignificant. Without knowing it, he discovered a great law that governs the actions of people, namely: in order for a man or a boy to passionately want to possess some thing, let this thing be as difficult for him to get it as possible. If he were as great a sage as the author of this book, he would understand that Work is what we are obliged to do, and Play is what we are not obliged to do. And this would help him understand why making paper flowers or, for example, turning a mill is work, but knocking down pins and climbing Mont Blanc is pleasure. There are rich gentlemen in England who, on summer days, drive a four-horse omnibus for twenty or thirty miles, only because this noble occupation costs them considerable money; but if they were offered a salary for the same hard work, entertainment would become work, and they would immediately refuse it.
Tom did not move for some time; he reflected on the significant change that had taken place in his life, and then headed to the main headquarters to report the end of work.
Notes
Yard is an English unit of length, equal to 0.91 meters; There are 0.3 meters in a foot.
Mulattoes are descendants of mixed marriages between whites and blacks.
Massa is a corrupted English word “master”, that is, barchuk, young master. This is what the servants call the master's children.
Mooring rope is a rope that moors ships to the pier pilings.
“Gudelka” is a tiny musical instrument with a steel tongue; it is held with the teeth; they play it by hitting the end of the tongue with their finger.
Mont Blanc is a mountain in Switzerland.
In summer the evenings are long. It was still light. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling. A stranger stood in front of him, a boy slightly larger than him. Any new face of any gender or age always attracted the attention of the residents of the wretched town of St. Petersburg. In addition, the boy was wearing a smart suit - a smart suit on a weekday! It was absolutely amazing. A very elegant hat; a neatly buttoned blue cloth jacket, new and clean, and exactly the same trousers. He had shoes on his feet, even though it was only Friday. He even had a tie - a very bright ribbon. In general, he had the appearance of a city dandy, and this infuriated Tom. The more Tom looked at this wondrous marvel, the more shabby his own miserable suit seemed to him and the higher he lifted his nose, showing how disgusted he was with such smart outfits. Both boys met in complete silence. As soon as one took a step, the other took a step, but only to the side, to the side, in a circle. Face to face and eye to eye - they moved like this for a very long time. Finally Tom said:
If you want, I'll blow you up!
Try!
And here I go!
But you won’t get blown up!
I want it and I'll swell!
No, you won't blow it!
No, I'm bloating!
No, you won't blow it!
You won't blow it!
Painful silence. Finally Tom says:
What is your name?
What do you care?
Here I will show you what I care!
Well, show me. Why don't you show it?
Say two more words and I’ll show you.
Two words! Two words! Two words! It is for you! Well!
Look how clever! Yes, if I wanted, I could give you pepper with one hand, and let them tie the other - I’ll describe it to me.
Why don't you ask? After all, you say that you can.
And I will ask you if you pester me!
Oh no no no! We've seen these!
You think how dressed up he is, he’s such an important bird! Oh, what a hat!
I do not like? Knock it off my head, and you'll get your money's worth from me.
You yourself are lying!
He only intimidates, but he himself is a coward!
Okay, get lost!
Hey, listen: if you don’t calm down, I’ll break your head!
Why, you'll break it! Oh oh oh!
And I'll break it!
So what are you waiting for? You scare, scare, but in reality there is nothing? Are you afraid, then?
I don't think so.
No, you're afraid!
No I'm not afraid!
No, you're afraid!
Silence again. They devour each other with their eyes, mark time and make a new circle. Finally they stand shoulder to shoulder. Tom says:
Get out of here!
Get out yourself!
I don't want to.
And I don't want to.
So they stand face to face, each with one foot forward at the same angle. Looking at each other with hatred, they begin to push as hard as they can. But victory is not given to either one or the other. They push for a long time. Hot and red, they gradually weaken their onslaught, although everyone still remains on guard... And then Tom says:
You are a coward and a puppy! So I’ll tell my older brother - he’ll beat you off with one little finger. I'll tell him - he'll beat him!
I'm very afraid of your older brother! I myself have a brother, even older, and he could throw yours over that fence. (Both brothers are pure fiction.)
You never know what you say!
Tom draws a line in the dust with his big toe and says:
Just dare to step over this line! I'll give you such a beating that you won't get up! Woe to those who cross this line!
The strange boy immediately hurries to cross the line:
Well, let's see how you blow me up.
Leave me alone! I'm telling you: you better leave me alone!
Why, you said you would beat me up. Why don't you hit?
I'll be damned if I don't beat you up for two cents!
The strange boy takes two large coppers out of his pocket and hands them to Tom with a grin.
Tom hits him on the hand, and the coppers fly to the ground. A minute later both boys are rolling around in the dust, clinging together like two cats. They pull each other's hair, jackets, pants, they pinch and scratch each other's noses, covering themselves in dust and glory. Finally, the indefinite mass takes on a distinct shape, and in the smoke of the battle it becomes clear that Tom is sitting astride the enemy and hammering him with his fists.
Beg for mercy! - he demands.
But the boy tries to free himself and roars loudly - more from anger.
Beg for mercy! - And the threshing continues.
Finally, the strange boy mutters indistinctly: “That’s enough!” - and Tom, releasing him, says:
This is science for you. Next time, watch who you mess with.
The strange boy wandered away, shaking the dust off his suit, sobbing, sniffling, turning around from time to time, shaking his head and threatening to brutally deal with Tom “the next time he catches him.” Tom responded with ridicule and headed towards the house, proud of his victory. But as soon as he turned his back to the stranger, he threw a stone at him and hit him between the shoulder blades, and he began to run like an antelope. Tom chased the traitor all the way to the house and thus found out where he lived. He stood at the gate for a while, challenging the enemy to fight, but the enemy only made faces at him at the window and did not want to come out. Finally, the enemy’s mother appeared, called Tom a nasty, spoiled, rude boy and ordered him to get away.
Tom left, but as he left, he threatened that he would wander around and give her son a hard time.
He returned home late and, carefully climbing through the window, discovered that he had been ambushed: his aunt was standing in front of him; and when she saw what had become of his jacket and trousers, her determination to turn his holiday into hard labor became as hard as a diamond.
Chapter II
GREAT PAINTER
Saturday has arrived. Summer nature shone - fresh, seething with life. A song rang in every heart, and if the heart was young, the song poured out from the lips. Joy was on every face, everyone walked elastically and cheerfully. White acacias were in bloom and filled the air with fragrance. Cardiff Mountain, overlooking the city, was covered in greenery. From a distance it seemed like the Promised Land - wonderful, serene, tempting.
Tom went outside with a bucket of lime and a long brush. He glanced around the fence, and in an instant the joy fled from his soul, and melancholy reigned there. Thirty yards of wooden fence, nine feet high! Life seemed meaningless to him, existence a heavy burden. With a sigh, he dipped his brush in the lime, ran it along the top board, then did the same thing again and stopped: how insignificant the white stripe is compared to the huge expanse of unpainted fence! In despair, he sank to the ground under the tree. Jim came skipping out of the gate. He had a tin bucket in his hand.
He hummed the "Buffalo Girls" song. Tom had always considered going to the city pump to fetch water an unpleasant task, but now he looked at the matter differently. I remembered that a lot of people always gather at the pump: whites, mulattoes, blacks; Boys and girls, waiting for their turn, sit, relax, barter toys, quarrel, fight, play around. He also remembered that although the pump was no more than a hundred and fifty steps away, Jim never returned home before an hour later, and even then he almost always had to run after him.
Listen, Jim,” said Tom, “if you want, whiten it up a little, and I’ll run for water.”
Jim shook his head and said:
I can’t, mass Tom! The old mistress told me to go straight to the pump and not stop with anyone along the way. She says: “I already know, he says that Tom will call you to whitewash the fence, so don’t listen to him, but go your way.” She says: “I myself, she says, will go and watch him whitewash.”
Saturday has arrived. Summer nature shone - fresh, seething with life. A song rang in every heart, and if the heart was young, the song poured out from the lips. Joy was on every face, everyone walked elastically and cheerfully. White acacias were in bloom and filled the air with fragrance. Cardiff Mountain, overlooking the city, was covered in greenery. From a distance it seemed like the Promised Land - wonderful, serene, tempting.
Tom went outside with a bucket of lime and a long brush. He glanced around the fence, and in an instant the joy fled from his soul, and melancholy reigned there. Thirty yards of wooden fence, nine feet high! Life seemed meaningless to him, existence a heavy burden. With a sigh, he dipped his brush in the lime, ran it along the top board, then did the same thing again and stopped: how insignificant the white stripe is compared to the huge expanse of unpainted fence! In despair, he sank to the ground under the tree. Jim came skipping out of the gate. He had a tin bucket in his hand.
He hummed the song “Buffalo Girls.” Tom had always considered going to the city pump to fetch water an unpleasant task, but now he looked at the matter differently. I remembered that a lot of people always gather at the pump: whites, mulattoes, blacks; Boys and girls, waiting for their turn, sit, relax, barter toys, quarrel, fight, play around. He also remembered that although the pump was no more than a hundred and fifty steps away, Jim never returned home before an hour later, and even then he almost always had to run after him.
Listen, Jim,” said Tom, “if you want, whiten it up a little, and I’ll run for water.”
Jim shook his head and said:
I can’t, mass Tom! The old mistress told me to go straight to the pump and not stop with anyone along the way. She says: “I already know, he says that Tom will call you to whitewash the fence, so don’t listen to him, but go your way.” She says: “I myself, she says, will go and watch him whitewash.”
Don't listen to her! You never know what she says, Jim! Give me the bucket, I'll run right away. She won't even know.
Oh, I'm afraid, massa Tom, I'm afraid of old missus! She'll rip my head off, by God, she'll rip it off!
She! Yes, she won’t lay a finger on anyone, unless she hits them on the head with a thimble - that’s all! Who pays attention to this? True, she says very angry words, well, but words don’t hurt, unless she cries. Jim, I'll give you a ball. I'll give you my white alabaster ball.
Jim began to hesitate.
White ball, Jim, great white ball!
That's right, it's a great thing! But still, Tom, I’m really afraid of old missus.
And besides, if you want, I will show you my blister on my foot.
Jim was only human and could not help but succumb to such temptation. He put the bucket on the ground, took the alabaster ball and, burning with curiosity, watched as Tom unbandaged his toe, but a minute later he was rushing down the street with the bucket in his hand and an excruciating pain in the back of his head, while Tom began to actively paint the fence, and Aunt leaving the battlefield with a shoe in her hand and triumph in her eyes.
But Tom didn’t have enough energy for long. He remembered how much fun he had planned to spend this day, and his heart became even heavier. Soon other boys, free from all work, will run out into the street to walk and frolic. They will, of course, have all sorts of fun games going on, and they will all mock him for having to work so hard. The very thought of it burned him like fire. He took his treasures out of his pockets and began to examine them: fragments of toys, balls and similar junk; All this rubbish is probably enough to pay for three or four minutes of someone else’s labor, but, of course, it can’t buy even half an hour of freedom! He put his pitiful possessions back into his pocket and abandoned the idea of bribery. None of the boys would work for such meager wages. And suddenly, in this dark moment of despair, inspiration descended on Tom! It is inspiration, no less - a brilliant, ingenious idea.
He took the brush and calmly got to work. Ben Rogers appeared in the distance, the same boy whose ridicule he feared most. Ben did not walk, but jumped, galloped and danced - a sure sign that his soul was light and that he expected a lot from the coming day. He was gnawing on an apple and from time to time he uttered a long melodic whistle, followed by sounds on the lowest notes: “ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong,” as Ben imitated a steamboat. As he got closer, he slowed down, stood in the middle of the street and began to slowly turn, carefully, with due importance, because he represented the “Big Missouri” sitting in nine feet of water. He was the ship, the captain, and the signal bell at the same time, so that he had to imagine that he was standing on his own bridge, giving himself a command and carrying it out himself.
Stop the car, sir! Ding-diling, ding-diling-ding!
The steamer slowly left the middle of the road and began to approach the sidewalk.
Reverse! Dilin-dilin-ding!
Both of his arms stretched out and pressed tightly to his sides.
Reverse! Right steering wheel! Shh, dilin-ling! Chsh-chsh-chsh!
The right hand moved majestically in large circles because it was a forty-foot wheel.
Left aboard! Left hand drive! Ding-ding-ding! Chsh-chsh-chsh!
Now the left hand began to describe the same circles.
Stop, starboard! Ding-ding-ding! Stop, left side! Forward and right! Stop! - Small move! Ding dilin! Chuu-chuuuu! Give it up! Come on, get moving! Hey, you, on the shore! What are you worth? Take the rope! Bow moorings! Throw a noose around the pole! Rear moorings! Now let go! The car is stopped, sir! Ding-ding-ding! PC! PC! PC! (The machine was releasing steam.)
Tom continued to work, not paying any attention to the ship. Ben stared at him and after a minute said:
Yeah! Gotcha!
There was no answer. Tom contemplated his last stroke with the eyes of an artist, then carefully brushed the brush again and leaned back again to admire it. Ben came and stood next to him. Tom's mouth watered at the sight of the apple, but he stubbornly continued his work as if nothing had happened. Ben provided:
Why, brother, are they forced to work?
Tom turned sharply to him:
Oh, it's you, Ben! I didn't even notice.
Listen, I'm going for a swim... yes, a swim! Probably you want it too, huh? But of course you can’t, you’ll have to work. Well, of course, of course!
Tom looked at him and said:
What do you call work?
Isn't that work?
Tom began whitewashing the fence again and answered casually:
Maybe it's work, maybe it's not. All I know is that Tom Sawyer likes her.
What are you talking about? Would you like to show that this activity is pleasant for you?
The brush continued to walk along the fence.
Pleasant? What's so unpleasant about it? Do boys get to whitewash fences every day?
The matter appeared in a new light. Ben stopped gnawing on the apple. Tom, with the ecstasy of an artist, moved his brush back and forth, stepped back a few steps to admire the effect, added a touch here and there and again critically examined what he had done, and Ben watched his every movement, getting more and more carried away. Finally rendered:
Listen, Tom, let me whiten it a little too!
Tom thought for a moment and seemed ready to agree, but at the last minute he changed his mind:
No, no, Ben... It won't work anyway. You see, Aunt Polly is terribly picky about this fence: it goes out onto the street. Whether it was the side facing the yard is a different matter, but here it is terribly strict - you have to whitewash it very, very diligently. Out of a thousand... even, perhaps, out of two thousand boys, there is only one who could whiten him properly.
What are you talking about? I never would have thought that. Just let me try... well, at least a little. If I were you, I would give it to you. Eh, Tom?
Ben, I would love to, honestly, but Aunt Polly... Jim wanted it too, but she didn’t allow it. Sid also asked, but she didn’t let me in. Now do you understand how difficult it is for me to entrust this work to you? If you start whitewashing and suddenly something goes wrong...
Nonsense! I will try as hard as you. I just wish I could try it! Listen: I'll give you the middle of this apple.
OK! However, no, Ben, it’s better not to... I’m afraid...
I'll give you the whole apple - all that's left.
Tom handed him the brush with visible reluctance, but with secret delight in his soul. And while the former steamship “Big Missouri” worked and sweated in the hot sun, the retired artist sat nearby in the cold on some barrel, dangled his legs, gnawed on an apple and set up nets for other simpletons. There was no shortage of simpletons: the boys kept coming up to the fence - they came up to sneer, but stayed to whitewash. By the time Ben was exhausted, Tom had already sold the second line to Billy Fisher for a brand new kite; and when Fisher was tired, Johnny Miller replaced him, bringing in as payment a dead rat on a long rope, so that it would be easier to twirl this rat - and so on, and so on, hour after hour. By noon, Tom, from the pitiful poor man he had been in the morning, had turned into a rich man, literally drowning in luxury. In addition to the things we just talked about, he had twelve alabaster balls, a piece of a dental buzzer, a fragment of a blue bottle to look through, a cannon made from a spool of thread, a key that would not unlock anything, a piece of chalk, a glass stopper from a decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six firecrackers, a one-eyed kitten, a brass doorknob, a dog collar - without the dog - a knife handle, four orange peels and an old, broken window frame.
Tom had a pleasant and fun time in a big company, doing nothing, and there were three layers of lime on the fence! If the lime had not run out, he would have ruined all the boys in this city.
Tom showed himself that, in essence, life was not so empty and insignificant. Without knowing it, he discovered a great law that governs the actions of people, namely: in order for a man or a boy to passionately want to possess some thing, let this thing be as difficult for him to get it as possible. If he were as great a sage as the author of this book, he would understand that Work is what we are obliged to do, and Play is what we are not obliged to do. And this would help him understand why making paper flowers or, for example, turning a mill is work, but knocking down pins and climbing Mont Blanc is pleasure. There are rich gentlemen in England who, on summer days, drive a four-horse omnibus for twenty or thirty miles, only because this noble occupation costs them considerable money; but if they were offered a salary for the same hard work, entertainment would become work, and they would immediately refuse it.
Tom did not move for some time; he reflected on the significant change that had taken place in his life, and then headed to the main headquarters to report the end of work.
Note
Yard is an English unit of length, equal to 0.91 meters; There are 0.3 meters in a foot.
Mulattoes are descendants of mixed marriages between whites and blacks.
Massa is a corrupted English word “master”, that is, barchuk, young master. This is what the servants call the master's children.
7
Mooring rope is a rope that moors ships to the pier pilings.
8
“Gudelka” is a tiny musical instrument with a steel tongue; it is held with the teeth; they play it by hitting the end of the tongue with their finger.
9
Mont Blanc is a mountain in Switzerland.
Saturday has arrived. Summer nature shone - fresh, seething with life. A song rang in every heart, and if the heart was young, the song poured out from the lips. There was joy on every face, every Chagall was resilient and cheerful. White acacias were in bloom and filled the air with fragrance. Cardiff Mountain, overlooking the city, was covered in greenery. From a distance it seemed like the Promised Land - wonderful, serene, tempting.
Tom went outside with a bucket of lime in his hands and a long brush. He glanced around the fence, and in an instant the joy fled from his soul, and melancholy reigned there. Thirty yards of wooden fence, nine feet high! Life seemed meaningless to him, existence a heavy burden. With a sigh, he dipped his brush into the lime, ran it along the top board, then did the same with the fence and stopped: how insignificant the white stripe is compared to the huge expanse of unpainted fence! In despair, he sank to the ground under the tree. Jim came skipping out of the gate. He had a tin bucket in his hand. He hummed the "Buffalo Girls" song. Tom had always considered going to the city pump to fetch water an unpleasant task, but now he looked at the matter differently. He remembered that a lot of people always gather at the pump: whites, mulattoes, blacks; Boys and girls, waiting for their turn, sit, relax, barter toys, quarrel, fight, play around. He also remembered that, although the pump was no more than a hundred and fifty steps away, Jim never returned home before an hour later, and even then he almost always had to run after him.
“Listen, Jim,” said Tom, “if you want, whiten it up a little, and I’ll run for water.”
Jim shook his head and said:
- I can’t, Mister Tom! The old mistress told me to go straight to the pump and not stop with anyone along the way. She says: “I already know,” she says, “that Mr. Tom will call you to whitewash the fence, so don’t listen to him, but go your way.” She says: “I myself,” she says, “will go and watch him whitewash.”
- Don’t listen to her! You never know what she says, Jim! Give me the bucket, I'll run right away. She won't even know.
- Oh, I'm afraid, Mr. Tom, I'm afraid of old Mrs.! She'll rip my head off, by God, she'll rip it off!
- She! Yes, she won’t lay a finger on anyone, unless she hits them on the head with a thimble - that’s all! Who pays attention to this? True, she says very angry words, well, but words don’t hurt if she doesn’t cry. Jim, I'll give you a ball. I'll give you my white alabaster ball.
Jim began to hesitate.
- White ball, Jim, great white ball!
- That’s right, it’s a great thing! But still, Mr. Tom, I’m very afraid of old Mrs.
“And besides, if you want, I’ll show you my blister on my foot.”
Jim was only human and could not help but succumb to such temptation. He put the bucket on the ground, took the alabaster ball and, burning with curiosity, watched as Tom unbandaged his toe, but a minute later he was rushing down the street with the bucket in his hand and an excruciating pain in the back of his head, while Tom began to actively paint the fence, and Aunt leaving the battlefield with a shoe in her hand and triumph in her eyes.
But Tom didn’t have enough energy for long. He remembered how much fun he had planned to spend this day, and his heart became even heavier. Soon other boys, free from all work, will run out into the street to walk and frolic. They will, of course, have all sorts of fun games going on, and they will all mock him for having to work so hard. The very thought of it burned him like fire. He took his treasures out of his pockets and examined them: fragments of toys, balls and similar junk; all this rubbish is perhaps enough to pay for three or four minutes of someone else’s labor, but, of course, it cannot buy even half an hour of freedom. He put his pitiful possessions back into his pocket and abandoned the idea of bribery. None of the boys would work for such meager wages. And suddenly, in this dark moment of despair, inspiration descended on Tom! It is inspiration, no less – a brilliant, ingenious idea.
He took the brush and calmly got to work. Ben Rogers appeared in the distance, the same boy whose ridicule he feared most. Ben did not walk, but jumped, galloped and danced - a sure sign that his soul was light and that he expected a lot from the coming day. He was gnawing on an apple and from time to time he uttered a long melodic whistle, followed by sounds at the lowest notes: “Ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong,” as Ben imitated a steamboat. As he got closer, he slowed down, stood in the middle of the street and began to slowly turn, carefully, with due importance, because he imagined the Big Missouri sitting in nine feet of water. He was a steamship, a captain, and a signal bell at the same time, so he had to imagine that he was standing on his own bridge, giving himself a command and carrying it out himself.
- Stop the car, sir! Ding-diling, ding-diling-ding!
The steamer slowly left the middle of the road and began to approach the sidewalk.
- Reverse! Dilin-dilin-ding!
Both of his arms stretched out and pressed tightly to his sides.
- Reverse! Right steering wheel! Shh, dilin-ling! Chsh-chsh-chsh!
The right hand moved majestically in large circles because it was a forty-foot wheel.
- Left on board! Left hand drive! Ding-ding-ding! Chsh-chsh-chsh!
Now the left hand began to describe the same circles.
- Stop, starboard! Ding-ding-ding! Stop, left side! Forward and right! Stop! Small move! Ding-ding! Chuu-chuuuu! Give it up! Come on, get moving! Hey, you, on the shore! What are you worth? Take the rope! Bow moorings! Throw a noose around the pole! Rear moorings! Now let go! The car is stopped, sir! Ding-ding-ding! PC! PC! PC! (The machine was releasing steam.)
Toma continued to work, not paying any attention to the ship. Ben stared at him and after a minute said:
- Yeah! Gotcha!
There was no answer. Tom contemplated his last stroke with the eyes of an artist, then carefully stroked the brush again and leaned back again to admire. Ben came and stood next to him. Tom's mouth watered at the sight of the apple, but he stubbornly continued his work as if nothing had happened. Ben said:
- Why, brother, are they forced to work?
Tom turned sharply to him:
- Oh, it's you, Ben! I didn't even notice.
- Listen, I'm going for a swim... yes, a swim! Probably you want it too, huh? But of course you can’t, you’ll have to work. Well, of course, of course!
Tom looked at him and said:
-What do you call work?
– Isn’t this work?
Tom began whitewashing the fence again and answered casually:
“Maybe it’s work, maybe it’s not.” All I know is that Tom Sawyer likes her.
- What are you talking about? Do you really want to say that this activity is pleasant for you?
The brush continued to walk along the fence.
- Is it pleasant? What's so unpleasant about it? Do boys get to whitewash fences every day?
The matter appeared in a new light. Ben stopped gnawing on the apple. Tom, with the ecstasy of an artist, moved his brush back and forth, stepped back a few steps to admire the effect, added a touch here and there and again critically examined what he had done, and Ben watched his every movement, getting more and more carried away. Finally he said:
- Listen, Tom, let me whiten it a little too!
Tom thought for a moment and seemed ready to agree, but at the last minute he changed his mind:
– No, no, Ben... It won’t work anyway. You see, Aunt Polly is terribly picky about this fence: it goes out onto the street. Whether it was the side facing the yard would be a different matter, but here it is terribly strict - you have to whitewash it very, very diligently. Out of a thousand... even, perhaps, out of two thousand boys, there will be only one who could whiten him properly.
- What are you talking about? I never would have thought that. Just let me try... well, at least a little. If I were you, I would give it to you. Eh, Tom?
“Ben, I would love to, honestly, but Aunt Polly... Jim wanted it too, but she didn’t allow it.” Sid also asked, but she didn’t let me in. Now do you understand how difficult it is for me to entrust this work to you? If you start whitewashing and suddenly something goes wrong...
- Nonsense! I will try as hard as you. I just wish I could try it! Listen: I'll give you the middle of this apple.
- OK! However, no, Ben, it’s better not to... I’m afraid...
“I’ll give you the whole apple—all that’s left.”
Tom handed him the brush with visible reluctance, but secret delight in his soul. And while the former steamship "Big Missouri" worked and sweated in the hot sun, the retired artist sat in the cold on some barrel, dangled his legs, gnawed on an apple and set up nets for other simpletons. There was no shortage of simpletons: the boys kept coming up to the fence - they came up to sneer, but stayed to whitewash. By the time Ben was exhausted, Tom had already sold the second line to Billy Fisher for a brand new kite; and when Fisher was tired, Johnny Miller replaced him, bringing in as payment a dead rat on a long rope, so that it would be easier to twirl this rat - and so on, and so on, hour after hour. By noon, Tom, from the pitiful poor man he had been in the morning, had turned into a rich man, literally drowning in luxury. In addition to the things we just talked about, he had twelve alabaster balls, a piece of a dental buzzer, a fragment of a blue bottle to look through, a cannon made from a spool of thread, a key that would not unlock anything, a piece of chalk, a glass stopper from a decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six firecrackers, a one-eyed kitten, a brass doorknob, a dog collar - without the dog - a knife handle, four orange peels and an old, broken window frame.
Tom had a pleasant and fun time in a big company, doing nothing, and there were three layers of lime on the fence! If the lime had not run out, he would have ruined all the boys in this city.
Tom told himself that, in essence, life was not so empty and insignificant. Without knowing it, he discovered a great law that governs the actions of people, namely: in order for a man or a boy to passionately want to possess some thing, let this thing be as difficult for him to get it as possible. If he were as great a sage as the author of this book, he would understand that work is what we are obliged to do, and play is what we are not obliged to do. And this would help him understand why making paper flowers or, for example, turning a mill is work, but knocking down pins and climbing Mont Blanc is pleasure. There are rich gentlemen in England who, on summer days, drive a four-horse omnibus for twenty or thirty miles, only because this noble occupation costs them considerable money; but if they were offered a salary for the same hard work, entertainment would become work, and they would immediately refuse it.
Tom did not move for some time; he reflected on the significant change that had occurred in his life, and then headed to headquarters to report the end of work.
Ben stopped gnawing on the apple. Tom, with the ecstasy of an artist, moved his brush back and forth, stepped back a few steps to admire the effect, added a touch here and there and again critically examined what he had done, and Ben watched his every movement, getting more and more carried away.
Finally he said:
Listen, Tom, let me whiten it a little too!
Tom thought for a moment and seemed ready to agree, but at the last minute he changed his mind:
No, no, Ben... It won't work anyway. You see, Aunt Polly is terribly picky about this fence: it goes out onto the street. Whether it was the side facing the yard is a different matter, but here it is terribly strict - you have to whitewash it very, very diligently. Out of a thousand... even, perhaps, out of two thousand boys, there is only one who could whiten him properly.
What are you talking about? I never would have thought that. Just let me try... well, at least a little. If I were you, I would give it to you. Eh, Tom?
Ben, I would love to, honestly, but Aunt Polly... Jim wanted it too, but she didn’t allow it. Sid also asked, but she didn’t let me in. Now do you understand how difficult it is for me to entrust this work to you? If you start whitewashing and suddenly something goes wrong...
Nonsense! I will try as hard as you. I just wish I could try it! Listen: I'll give you the middle of this apple.
OK! However, no, Ben, it’s better not to... I’m afraid...
I'll give you the whole apple - all that's left.
Tom handed him the brush with visible reluctance, but with secret delight in his soul. And while the former steamship "Big Missouri" worked and sweated in the hot sun, the retired artist sat nearby in the cold on some barrel, dangling his legs, gnawing on an apple and setting up nets for other simpletons. There was no shortage of simpletons: the boys kept coming up to the fence - they came up to sneer, but stayed to whitewash. By the time Ben was exhausted, Tom had already sold the second line to Billy Fisher for a brand new kite; and when Fisher was tired, Johnny Miller replaced him, bringing in as payment a dead rat on a long rope, so that it would be easier to twirl this rat - and so on, and so on, hour after hour. By noon, Tom, from the pitiful poor man he had been in the morning, had turned into a rich man, literally drowning in luxury. In addition to the things we just talked about, he had twelve alabaster balls, a piece of a dental buzzer, a fragment of a blue bottle to look through, a cannon made from a spool of thread, a key that would not unlock anything, a piece of chalk, a glass stopper from a decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six firecrackers, a one-eyed kitten, a brass doorknob, a dog collar without a dog, a knife handle, four orange peels and an old, broken window frame.
Tom had a pleasant and fun time in a big company, doing nothing, and there were three layers of lime on the fence! If the lime had not run out, he would have ruined all the boys in this city.