The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain (Illustrated). Mark Twain
Читать онлайн книгу.
mount into Angelo’s face, betraying the wound that had been inflicted. The sting of the slight had gone deep, but the apology was so prompt, and so evidently sincere, that the hurt was almost immediately healed, and a forgiving smile testified to the kindly judge that all was well again.
Concealed behind Angelo’s modest and unassuming exterior, and unsuspected by any but his intimates, was a lofty pride, a pride of almost abnormal proportions, indeed, and this rendered him ever the prey of slights; and although they were almost always imaginary ones, they hurt none the less on that account. By ill fortune judge Driscoll had happened to touch his sorest point, i.e., his conviction that his brother’s presence was welcomer everywhere than his own; that he was often invited, out of mere courtesy, where only his brother was wanted, and that in a majority of cases he would not be included in an invitation if he could be left out without offense. A sensitive nature like this is necessarily subject to moods; moods which traverse the whole gamut of feeling; moods which know all the climes of emotion, from the sunny heights of joy to the black abysses of despair. At times, in his seasons of deepest depressions, Angelo almost wished that he and his brother might become segregated from each other and be separate individuals, like other men. But of course as soon as his mind cleared and these diseased imaginings passed away, he shuddered at the repulsive thought, and earnestly prayed that it might visit him no more. To be separate, and as other men are! How awkward it would seem; how unendurable. What would he do with his hands, his arms? How would his legs feel? How odd, and strange, and grotesque every action, attitude, movement, gesture would be. To sleep by himself, eat by himself, walk by himself—how lonely, how unspeakably lonely! No, no, any fate but that. In every way and from every point, the idea was revolting.
This was of course natural; to have felt otherwise would have been unnatural. He had known no life but a combined one; he had been familiar with it from his birth; he was not able to conceive of any other as being agreeable, or even bearable. To him, in the privacy of his secret thoughts, all other men were monsters, deformities: and during three-fourths of his life their aspect had filled him with what promised to be an unconquerable aversion. But at eighteen his eye began to take note of female beauty; and little by little, undefined longings grew up in his heart, under whose softening influences the old stubborn aversion gradually diminished, and finally disappeared. Men were still monstrosities to him, still deformities, and in his sober moments he had no desire to be like them, but their strange and unsocial and uncanny construction was no longer offensive to him.
This had been a hard day for him, physically and mentally. He had been called in the morning before he had quite slept off the effects of the liquor which Luigi had drunk; and so, for the first half-hour had had the seedy feeling, and languor, the brooding depression, the cobwebby mouth and druggy taste that come of dissipation and are so ill a preparation for bodily or intellectual activities; the long violent strain of the reception had followed; and this had been followed, in turn, by the dreary sight-seeing, the judge’s wearying explanations and laudations of the sights, and the stupefying clamor of the dogs. As a congruous conclusion, a fitting end, his feelings had been hurt, a slight had been put upon him. He would have been glad to forego dinner and betake himself to rest and sleep, but he held his peace and said no word, for he knew his brother, Luigi, was fresh, unweary, full of life, spirit, energy; he would have scoffed at the idea of wasting valuable time on a bed or a sofa, and would have refused permission.
Chapter IV.
Supernatural Chronometry
Rowena was dining out, Joe and Harry were belated at play, there were but three chairs and four persons that noon at the home dinner-table—the twins, the widow, and her chum, Aunt Betsy Hale. The widow soon perceived that Angelo’s spirits were as low as Luigi’s were high, and also that he had a jaded look. Her motherly solicitude was aroused, and she tried to get him interested in the talk and win him to a happier frame of mind, but the cloud of sadness remained on his countenance. Luigi lent his help, too. He used a form and a phrase which he was always accustomed to employ in these circumstances. He gave his brother an affectionate slap on the shoulder and said, encouragingly:
“Cheer up, the worst is yet to come!”
But this did no good. It never did. If anything, it made the matter worse, as a rule, because it irritated Angelo. This made it a favorite with Luigi. By and by the widow said:
“Angelo, you are tired, you’ve overdone yourself; you go right to bed after dinner, and get a good nap and a rest, then you’ll be all right.”
“Indeed, I would give anything if I could do that, madam.”
“And what’s to hender, I’d like to know? Land, the room’s yours to do what you please with! The idea that you can’t do what you like with your own!”
“But, you see, there’s one prime essential—an essential of the very first importance—which isn’t my own.”
“What is that?”
“My body.”
The old ladies looked puzzled, and Aunt Betsy Hale said:
“Why bless your heart, how is that?”
“It’s my brother’s.”
“Your brother’s! I don’t quite understand. I supposed it belonged to both of you.”
“So it does. But not to both at the same time.”
“That is mighty curious; I don’t see how it can be. I shouldn’t think it could be managed that way.”
“Oh, it’s a good enough arrangement, and goes very well; in fact, it wouldn’t do to have it otherwise. I find that the teetotalers and the anti-teetotalers hire the use of the same hall for their meetings. Both parties don’t use it at the same time, do they?”
“You bet they don’t!” said both old ladies in a breath.
“And, moreover,” said Aunt Betsy, “the Freethinkers and the Baptist Bible class use the same room over the Market house, but you can take my word for it they don’t mush up together and use it at the same time.’
“Very well,” said Angelo, “you understand it now. And it stands to reason that the arrangement couldn’t be improved. I’ll prove it to you. If our legs tried to obey two wills, how could we ever get anywhere? I would start one way, Luigi would start another, at the same moment—the result would be a standstill, wouldn’t it?”
“As sure as you are born! Now ain’t that wonderful! A body would never have thought of it.”
“We should always be arguing and fussing and disputing over the merest trifles. We should lose worlds of time, for we couldn’t go down-stairs or up, couldn’t go to bed, couldn’t rise, couldn’t wash, couldn’t dress, couldn’t stand up, couldn’t sit down, couldn’t even cross our legs, without calling a meeting first and explaining the case and passing resolutions, and getting consent. It wouldn’t ever do—now would it?”
“Do? Why, it would wear a person out in a week! Did you ever hear anything like it, Patsy Cooper?”
“Oh, you’ll find there’s more than one thing about them that ain’t commonplace,” said the widow, with the complacent air of a person with a property right in a novelty that is under admiring scrutiny.
“Well, now, how ever do you manage it? I don’t mind saying I’m suffering to know.”
“He who made us,” said Angelo reverently, “and with us this difficulty, also provided a way out of it. By a mysterious law of our being, each of us has utter and indisputable command of our body a week at a time, turn and turn about.”
“Well, I never! Now ain’t that beautiful!”
“Yes, it is beautiful and infinitely wise and just. The week ends every Saturday at midnight to the minute, to the second, to the last shade of a fraction of a second,