After Frank Hardy

Date: 2015-10-07; view: 800.

The sign outside the factory read: NO HANDS WANTED. A tall shabby man stood there and looked at the sign He wore an old overcoat which was once black but now dirty green with the years. There were no buttons on it. He held the coat around him with one hand. His other hand was in its pocket'. His dirty shirt was collarless. His grey trousers were dirty and old too. He had cheap shoes on his feet.

He turned and walked slowly away. He had seen such a sign many times before. He wanted work and could not find it.

I told Mary it was no use, he thought; no use to look any more. Yet she was right; I must work. To pay the rent, to get some good food and clothes. I understand those reasons but I can't understand the main reason.

He walked on aimlessly. He passed many factories. All of them had the signs "NO HANDS WANTED." At last he saw a large factory without such a sign. He went in, found the office and rang the bell.

A pretty young woman opened the window, and said: "Yes?"

He said: "Work. Any kind of work."

"We have no vacancies," said the woman.

He wanted to say more, to ask to see the manager, but changed his mind,¹ turned slowly and walked away.

Outside he stood and could not decide in which direction to turn, then crossed the road and walked to the opposite side of the street.

He walked a long way, passed many factories with the signs "NO HANDS WANTED", and at last he came to an­other factory without a sign. A machine shop! That was his own trade, and there was no sign outside. He entered quickly. The familiar sound of the machines was as music to his ears. He walked quickly to the office.

The man who came to the window wore a navy blue² suit.

"Can I do anything for you?" asked the man.

"I am looking for work. This is my trade. I am a turner. I have good references."

"I am sorry.³ I can't help you."

"But you have no sign outside. You must need a good man. I have good references."

"We only give work to returned soldiers," said the man.

"I am a returned soldier."

"Can you prove that?"

"Yes, I can prove that I am a returned soldier, but it means nothing now," answered the shabby man.

"Well, we have no vacancies at the moment, but if you can prove that you are a returned soldier, I'll write your name down. Then perhaps later on..."

¹ after all — в конце концов

² returned soldier — бывший солдат

³ no hands wanted — рабочие не нужны

¹ changed his mind — передумал

² navy blue — темно-синий (цвет формы военно-морского флота)

³ I am sorry. — Простите,

"Don't trouble... Don't trouble..." the shabby man an­swered.

He turned and slowly went out of the shop. . Again he walked aimlessly on, away from the city until he came to a wide bridge. He stood on the bridge and looked into the water. He looked back and saw the grey houses, the factories, the shops. Then he turned his head and looked across the river at the lawns and the houses on the opposite side. He crossed the bridge, walked up the hill and entered a wide street. There were beautiful trees on either side of the street.

He stopped in front of the first house, then walked on. He came up to the second gate and entered slowly. He walked up the path and saw a good garden near the house. He rang the bell. Nobody answered. He rang again. At last a well-dressed woman opened the door.

She started a little when she saw him and said sharply: "Why do you come to the front door?"

"I am sorry, madam, I didn't think... You see, I thought perhaps you wanted a gardener."

"We have a gardener.. In future, learn your place and go to the back door."

The man clenched his fists. Suddenly he threw his over­coat wide open¹ and drew his shirt up.

"Do you see that? Do you see that scar? A. bullet went through there and out the other side. I fought for people like you!"

The woman gave a loud cry. The man turned and ran out the gate, down the hill across the bridge. There he stopped for a moment and walked back towards the city. He was tired.

He walked on along the street until he reached the city, near a park.

From the lawns nearby he heard loud voices. He looked and saw three shabby men who were sitting on the lawn; one of them was drinking from a bottle.

"Hallo, Collins, have a drink²," one of them called out.

Collins crossed the lawn and came up to them.

"How are you,³ Sam?"

He took the bottle and had a drink. Then he gave the bottle back.

"Thank you."

Sam and these other two have the solution, Collins thought. They have decided to drink and forget their troubles. No use to look for work. Sam does not look for it any longer. He turned and walked away from them.

As he walked into the city, black clouds came up suddenly and heavy rain began to fall. He put his hands in his over­coat pockets and drew the coat around him. Soon he got wet. He was hungry and tired. What is the use? How long now? Since thirty-one; three years without work. My pension is only ten shillings a week. No good food, no good clothes. My children are at school without shoes.

Night fell suddenly. The rain was still falling and the cold wind was-blowing. He did not know where he was go­ing. He turned into a narrow street. He felt hunger. Better go home for tea. Now he could smell food. He thought that he was not far from a cafe. He had not eaten since morning.

He walked slowly up the dark street. He heard voices. He saw about ten men near two large scrap boxes. Suddenly a door opened and it became light for a moment. The other men were even shabbier than he. A man in a white coat came out and threw scraps into one of the boxes. The men were taking the scraps from the box. Collins joined them for a moment; then got control of himself.¹ No! Not this! Like a dog! Never. He ran from the place and continued to walk in the rain. His feet carried him to a wide bridge. He started to cross to the other side. As he reached the middle of the road a car suddenly changed direction, but by some mira­cle² it did not knock him down. He did not notice it. The car stopped. The driver cried: "What's wrong with you?³ Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The shabby man did not hear him. He stepped on to the pavement and came up to the side of the bridge. He stood there for some minutes. Then he drew a small purse from his pocket, opened it and drew out a small thing which he threw into the water. The thing gleamed in the dull light. It was a small bronze cross. There was a plop as it reached

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¹ he threw his overcoat wide open — он широко распахнул пальто

² have a drink — выпей

³ How are you? — Как живешь⁰

¹ got control of himself — взял себя в руки

² by some miracle — каким-то чудом

³ What's wrong with you? — Что с тобой?

the water. He stood still for some minutes, sighed, then turned and went away.

The heavy rain was still falling. He walked on slowly, through the city into an industrial district. He felt cold, his clothes got wet. He entered a dark street. A ray of light was coming from a doorway. He stooped. It was the door of a hall. There was a sign near the door: MEETING TO­NIGHT. THE SOCIETY AGAINST WAR. He came nearer the sign. The Society against war. Against war. He entered the hall and saw a man on the platform. The man was speak­ing. There were not .many people in the hall. Collins sat down in a chair. He could hardly hear the speaker. The speak­er said: "Danger of war. A second world war will be ter­rible." The shabby man listened to every word of the speak­er. The speaker continued: "We must tell the people of the horrors of war. We must tell them of the danger of war. We must tell the people that many of the heroes of the war are now walking the streets, war is not heroic, but terrible. Our Society will hold meetings everywhere. We shall tell the people the facts."

The speaker took his seat. The chairman stood up.

Suddenly Collins jumped to his feet and cried: "Listen, mister!"

The chairman looked in his direction in surprise. All the people in the hall turned their heads and looked at Collins too.

"Yes?" said the chairman.

"Listen, mister," the shabby man said again. "Here is something you can tell the people. Tell them that a man won the Victoria Cross¹ and threw it in the river!"

Voices became louder. The people could not believe him.

"It is true, I tell you. I won the Victoria Cross. I can prove it." He took a purse out of his pocket and held it up.

"See that. That is the purse in which I carried the cross for seventeen years. I won the Victoria Cross and threw it in the river this night, because there is no work for heroes. I have been out of work for three years. Tell the people that!" A great sob broke from him. He went out of the hall into the cold, rainy night. Collins walked toward home. He held his head high. It seemed that he did not think of the bad weather, his tired feet and hunger.

¹ the Victoria Cross — крест ордена Виктории (высшая военная
награда в Англии)