Рассказ Правдивого Джеймса
В общем, думаю так:
Говоря без прикрас,
Затемнить был мастак,
Да и кинуть на раз
Мог бы запросто вас узкоглазый,
О котором толкую сейчас.
По имени Син —
Не попасть ему в рай.
В общем, чей там он сын —
Ты хоть как понимай,
Улыбался же чисто по-детски —
Тут не даст мне соврать Билли Най.
Август, третье число,
Безмятежная синь.
Ей под стать, как назло,
Заявляется Син.
Короче, меня и Вильяма
Обоих обул он один.
Ну, по маленькой кон,
И китаец присел.
В юкер, стало быть, он
Вообще не умел,
Но уж ласково как строил глазки
За столом узкоглазый пострел.
Только начали круг,
Удивил меня Билл
Редкой ловкостью рук:
Весь рукав он набил —
По валету с тузом в каждой масти.
За такое бы я удавил.
Но китаец каков!
Сам пройдоха вдвойне:
Столько взял он очков —
Не увидишь во сне.
Побивает козырным валетом —
Но ведь сдал его Най сразу мне!
Ну и вид у нас был!
Я смотрел как дурак.
Приподнялся тут Билл
И сказал: «Ах, вот так?
Оборзел азиат на халяву!» —
И китайцу заехал в пятак.
В этот новый расклад
Я встревать не хотел,
Но, точь-в-точь листопад,
Долго на пол летел
Веер Синовых карт из заначки —
Так он, значит, «не знать этих дел».
Вон, колод целых шесть
В рукавах разлеглось.
Излагаю как есть —
Наводить ли тут лоск?
А на длинных ногтях — типа свечки —
Мы нашли, как положено, воск.
В общем, думаю так:
Говоря без прикрас,
Затемнить был мастак,
Да и кинуть на раз
Мог бы запросто вас узкоглазый.
Вот такой вот правдивый рассказ.
Francis Bret Harte
The Heathen Chinee
(Plain Language from Truthful James)
Which I wish to remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.
Ah Sin was his name;
And I shall not deny,
In regard to the same,
What that name might imply;
But his smile it was pensive and childlike,
As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.
It was August the third,
And quite soft was the skies;
Which it might be inferred
That Ah Sin was likewise;
Yet he played it that day upon William
And me in a way I despise.
Which we had a small game,
And Ah Sin took a hand:
It was Euchre. The same
He did not understand;
But he smiled as he sat by the table,
With the smile that was childlike and bland.
Yet the cards they were stocked
In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked
At the state of Nye's sleeve,
Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
And the same with intent to deceive.
But the hands that were played
By that heathen Chinee,
And the points that he made,
Were quite frightful to see, --
Till at last he put down a right bower,
Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.
Then I looked up at Nye,
And he gazed upon me;
And he rose with a sigh,
And said, "Can this be?
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor," --
And he went for that heathen Chinee.
In the scene that ensued
I did not take a hand,
But the floor it was strewed
Like the leaves on the strand
With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,
In the game "he did not understand."
In his sleeves, which were long,
He had twenty-four packs, --
Which was coming it strong,
Yet I state but the facts;
And we found on his nails, which were taper,
What is frequent in tapers, -- that's wax.
Which is why I remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar, --
Which the same I am free to maintain.