O. Henry
 
                       The Marionettes


Файл с книжной полки Несененко Алексея
OCR: Несененко Алексей июнь 2002



   THE POLICEMAN WAS STANDING at the comer of Twenty-fourth Street and 
a prodigiously dark alley near where the elevated railroad crosses the 
street. The time was two o'clock in the morning;
the outlook a stretch of cold, drizzling, unsociable blackness until 
the dawn.
   A man, wearing a long overcoat, with his hat tilted down in front, 
and carrying something in one hand, walked softly but rapidly out of 
the black alley. The policeman accosted him civilly, but with the 
assured air that is linked with conscious authority. The hour, the 
alley's musty reputation, the pedestrian's haste, the burden he 
carried - these easily combined into the 'suspicious circumstances' 
that required illumination at the officer's hands.
   The 'suspect' halted readily and tilted back his hat, exposing, in 
the flicker of the electric lights an emotionless, smooth countenance 
with a rather long nose and steady dark eyes. Thrusting his gloved 
hand into a side-pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a card and handed 
it to the policeman. Holding it to catch the uncertain light, the 
officer read the name 'Charles Spencer James, M.D.' The street and 
number of the address were of a neighbourhood so solid and respectable 
as to subdue even curiosity. The policeman's downward glance at the 
article carried in the doctor's hand - a handsome medicine case of 
black leather, with small silver mountings - further endorsed the 
guarantee of the card.
   'All right, doctor,' said the officer, stepping aside, with an air 
of bulky affability. 'Orders are to be extra careful. Good many 
burglars and hold-ups lately. Bad night to be out. Not so cold, but -
clammy."
   With a formal inclination of his head, and a word or two 
corroborative of the officer's estimate of the weather, Doctor James 
continued his somewhat rapid progress. Three times that night had a 
patrolman accepted his professional card and the sight of his paragon 
of a medicine case as vouchers for his honesty of person and purpose. 
Had any one of those officers seen fit, on the morrow, to test the 
evidence of that card he would have found it bome out by the doctor's 
name on a handsome door-plate, his presence, calm and well dressed, in 
his well-equipped office - provided it were not too early, Doctor 
James being a late riser - and the testimony of the neighbourhood to 
his good citizenship, his devotion to his family, and his success as a 
practitioner the two years he had lived among them.
   Therefore, it would have much surprised any one of those zealous 
guardians of the peace could they have taken a peep into that 
immaculate medicine case. Upon opening it, the first article to be 
seen would have been an elegant set of the latest conceived tools used 
by the 'box man,' as the ingenious safe burglar now denominates 
himself. Specially designed and constructed were the implements - the 
short but powerful 'jemmy,' the collection of curiously fashioned 
keys, the blued drills and punches of the finest temper - capable of 
eating their way into chilled steel as a mouse eats into a cheese, and 
the clamps that fasten like a leech to the polished door of a safe and 
pull out the combination knob as a dentist extracts a tooth. In a 
little pouch in the inner side of the 'medicine' case was a four-ounce 
vial of nitroglycerine, now half empty. Underneath the tools was a 
mass of crumpled bank-notes and a few handfuls of gold coin, the 
money, altogether, amounting to eight hundred and thirty dollars.
   To a very limited circle of friends Doctor James was known as 'The 
Swell "Greek." ' Half of the mysterious term was a tribute to his cool 
and gentleman-like manners; the other half denoted, in the argot of 
the brotherhood, the leader, the planner, the one who by the power and 
prestige of his address and position, secured the information upon 
which they based their plans and desperate enterprises.
   Of this elect circle the other members were Skitsie Morgan and Gum 
Decker, expert 'box men,' and Leopold Pretzfelder, a jeweller 
downtown, who manipulated the 'sparklers' and other ornaments 
collected by the working trio. All good and loyal men, as loose-
tongued as Memnon and as fickle as the North Star.
   That night's work had not been considered by the firm to have 
yielded more than a moderate repayal for their pains. An old-style, 
two-story, side-bolt safe in the dingy office of a very wealthy, old-
style dry-goods firm on a Saturday night should have excreted more 
than twenty-five hundred dollars. But that was all they found, and 
they had divided it, the three of them, into equal shares upon the 
spot, as was their custom. Ten or twelve thousand was what they 
expected. But one of the proprietors had proved to be just a trifle 
too old-style. Just after dark he had carried home in a shirt box most 
of the funds on hand.
   Doctor James proceeded up Twenty-fourth Street, which was, to all 
appearance, depopulated. Even the theatrical folk - who affect this 
district as a place of residence, were long since abed. The drizzle 
had accumulated upon the street; puddles of it among the stones 
received the fire of the arclights, and returned it, shattered into a 
myriad liquid spangles. A captious wind, shower-soaked and chilling, 
coughed from the laryngeal flues between the houses.
   As the practitioner's foot struck even with the comer of a tall 
brick residence of more pretensions than its fellows, the front door 
popped open, and a bawling negress clattered down the steps to the 
pavement. Some medley of words came from her mouth, addressed, like as 
not, to herself - the recourse of her race when alone and beset by 
evil. She looked to be one of that old vassal class of the South - 
voluble, familiar, loyal, irrepressible; her person pictured it - fat, 
neat, aproned, kerchiefed.
   This sudden apparition, spewed from the silent house, reached the 
bottom of the steps as Doctor James came opposite. Her brain 
transferring its energies from sound to sight, she ceased her clamour 
and fixed her pop-eyes upon the case the doctor carried.
   'Bress de Lawd!' was the benison the sight drew from her. 'Is you a 
doctor, suh?'
   'Yes, I am a physician,' said Doctor James, pausing
   'Den fo' God's sake come and see Mister Chandler, suh. He done had 
a fit or sump'n. He layin' jist like he wuz dead. Miss Amy sont me to 
git a doctor. Lawd knows whar old Cindy'd a skeared one up from, if 
you, suh, hadn't come along. Ef old Mars' knowed one ten-hundredth 
part of dese doin's dey'd be shootin' gwine on, suh - pistol shootin' 
- leb'm feet marked off on de ground, and ev'ybody a-duellin'. And dat 
po' lamb, Miss Amy -'
   'Lead the way,' said Doctor James, setting his foot upon the step, 
'if you want me as a doctor. As an auditor I'm not open to 
engagements.'
   The negress preceded him into the house and up a flight of thickly 
carpeted stairs. Twice they came to dimly lighted branching hallways. 
At the second one the now panting conductress turned down a hall, 
stopping at a door and opening it.
   'I done brought de doctor, Miss Amy.'
   Doctor James entered the room, and bowed slightly to a young lady 
standing by the side of a bed. He set his medicine case upon a chair 
removed his overcoat, throwing it over the case and the back of the 
chair, and advanced with quiet self-possession to the bedside.
   There lay a man, sprawling as he had fallen - a man dressed richly 
in the prevailing mode, with only his shoes removed; lying relaxed, 
and as still as the dead.
   There emanated from Doctor James an aura of calm force and reserve 
strength that was as manna in the desert to the weak and desolate 
among his patrons. Always had women, especially, been attracted by 
something in his sick-room manner. It was not the indulgent suavity of 
the fashionable healer but a manner of poise, of sureness, of ability 
to overcome fate, of deference and protection and devotion. There was 
an exploring magnetism in his steadfast, luminous brown eyes a latent 
authority in the impassive, even priestly, tranquillity of his smooth 
countenance that outwardly fitted him for the part of confidant and 
consoler. Sometimes, at his first professional visit, women would tell 
him where they hid their diamonds at night from the burglars.
   With the ease of much practice. Doctor James's unroving eyes 
estimated the order and quality of the room's furnishings. The 
appointments were rich and costly. The same glance had secured 
cognizance of the lady's appearance. She was small and scarcely past 
twenty. Her face possessed the title to a winsome prettiness, now 
obscured by (you would say) rather a fixed melancholy than the more 
violent imprint of a sudden sorrow. Upon her forehead, above one 
eyebrow, was a livid bruise, suffered, the physician's eye told him, 
within the past six hours.
Doctor James's fingers went to the man's wrist. His almost vocal eyes 
questioned the lady.
   'I am Mrs. Chandler,' she responded, speaking with the plaintive 
Southern slur and intonation. 'My husband was taken suddenly ill about 
ten minutes before you came. He has had attacks of heart trouble 
before - some of them were very bad.' His clothed state and the late 
hour seemed to prompt her to further explanation. 'He had been out 
late; to - a supper, I believe.'
   Doctor James now turned his attention to his patient. In whichever 
of his 'professions' he happened to be engaged, he was wont to honour 
the 'case' or the 'job' with his whole interest.
   The sick man appeared to be about thirty. His countenance bore a 
look of boldness and dissipation, but was not without a symmetry of 
feature and the fine lines drawn by a taste and indulgence in humour 
that gave the redeeming touch. There was an odour of spilled wine 
about his clothes.
   The physician laid back his outer garments, and then, with a 
penknife, slit the shirt-front from collar to waist. The obstacles 
cleared, he laid his ear to the heart and listened intently
   'Mitral regurgitation?' he said softly, when he rose. The words 
ended with the rising inflection of uncertainty. Again he listened 
long; and this time he said, 'Mitral insufficiency,' with the accent 
of an assured diagnosis.
   'Madam,' he began, in the reassuring tones that had so often 
allayed anxiety, 'there is a probability -' As he slowly turned his 
head to face the lady, he saw her fall, white and swooning, into the 
arms of the old negress.
   'Po' lamb! po' lamb! Has dey done killed Aunt Cindy's own blessed 
child? May de Lawd 'stroy wid His wrath dem what stole her away, what 
break dat angel heart; what left -'
   'Lift her feet,' said Doctor James, assisting to support the 
drooping form. 'Where is her room? She must be put to bed.'
   'In here, suh.' The woman nodded her kerchiefed head towards a 
door. 'Dat's Miss Amy's room.'
   They carried her in there, and laid her on the bed. Her pulse was 
faint, but regular. She passed from the swoon, without recovering 
consciousness, into a profound slumber.
   'She is quite exhausted,' said the physician. 'Sleep is a good 
remedy. When she wakes, give her a toddy - with an egg in it, if she 
can take it. How did she get that bruise upon her forehead?'
   'She done got a lick there, suh. De po' lamb fell - No, suh' - the 
old woman's racial mutability swept her into a sudden flare of 
indignation - 'old Cindy ain't gwineter lie for dat debble. He done 
it, suh. May de Lawd wither de hand what - dar now! Cindy promise her 
sweet lamb she ain't gwine tell. Miss Amy got hurt, suh, on de head.'
   Doctor James stepped to a stand where a handsome lamp burned, and 
turned the flame low.
   'Stay here with your mistress,' he ordered, 'and keep quiet so she 
will sleep. If she wakes, give her the toddy. If she grows any weaker, 
let me know. There is something strange about it.'
   'Dar's mo' strange t'ings dan dat' round here,' began the negress, 
but the physician hushed her in a seldom-employed peremptory 
concentrated voice with which he had often allayed hysteria itself. He 
returned to the other room, closing the door softly behind him. The 
man on the bed had not moved, but his eyes were open. His lips seemed 
to form words. Doctor James bent his head to listen. 'The money! the 
money!' was what they were whispering.
   'Can you understand what I say?' asked the doctor, speaking low, 
but distinctly. 
   The head nodded slightly.
   'I am a physician, sent for by your wife. You are Mr. Chandler, I 
am told. You are quite ill. You must not excite or distress yourself 
at all.'
   The patient's eye seemed to beckon to him. The doctor stooped to 
catch the same faint words. 
   'The money - the twenty thousand dollars.'   
   'Where is this money? - in the bank?'
   The eyes expressed a negative. 'Tell her' - the whisper was growing 
fainter - 'the twenty thousand dollars - her money' - his eyes 
wandered about the room.
   'You have placed this money somewhere?' - Doctor James's voice was 
toiling like a siren's to conjure the secret from the man's failing 
intelligence - Is it in this room?'
   He thought he saw a fluttering assent in the dimming eyes. The 
pulse under his fingers was as fine and small as a silk thread.
   There arose in Doctor James's brain and heart the instincts of his 
other profession. Promptly, as he acted in everything, he decided to 
learn the whereabouts of this money and at the calculated and certain 
cost of a human life.
   Drawing from his pocket a little pad of prescription blanks, he 
scribbled upon one of them a formula suited, according to the best 
practice, to the needs of the sufferer. Going to the door of the inner 
room, he softly called the old woman, gave her the prescription, and 
bade her take it to some drug store and fetch the medicine.
   When she had gone, muttering to herself, the doctor stepped to the 
bedside of the lady. She still slept soundly; her pulse was a little 
stronger; her forehead was cool, save where the inflammation of the 
bruise extended, and a slight moisture covered it. Unless disturbed, 
she would yet sleep for hours. He found the key in the door, and 
locked it after him when he returned.
   Doctor James looked at his watch. He could call half an hour his 
own, since before that time the old woman could scarcely return from 
her mission. Then he sought and found water in a pitcher and a glass 
tumbler. Opening his medicine case, he took out the vial containing 
the nitro-glycerine - 'the oil,' as his brethren of the brace-and-bit 
term it.
   One drop of the faint yellow thickish liquid he let fall in the 
tumbler. He took out his silver hypodermic syringe case, and screwed 
the needle into its place. Carefully measuring each modicum of water 
in the graduated glass barrel of the syringe, he diluted the one drop 
with nearly half a tumbler of water.
   Two hours earlier that night Doctor James had, with that syringe, 
injected the undiluted liquid into a hole drilled in the lock of a 
safe, and had destroyed, with one dull explosion, the machinery that 
controlled the movement of the bolts. He now purposed, with the same 
means, to shiver the prime machinery of a human being - to rend its 
heart - and each shock was for the sake of the money to follow.
   The same means, but in a different guise. Whereas, that was the 
giant in its rude primary dynamic strength, this was the courtier, 
whose no less deadly arms were concealed by velvet and lace. For the 
liquid in the tumbler and in the syringe that the physician carefully 
filled was now a solution of glonoin, the most powerful heart 
stimulant known to medical science. Two ounces had riven the solid 
door of the iron safe; with one-fiftieth part of a minim he was now 
about to still for ever the intricate mechanism of a human life.
   But not immediately. It was not so intended. First there would be a 
quick increase of vitality; a powerful impetus given to every organ 
and faculty. The heart would respond bravely to the fatal spur; the 
blood in the veins return more rapidly to its source.
   But, as Doctor James well knew, over-stimulation in this form of 
heart disease means death, as sure as by a rifle shot. When the 
clogged arteries should suffer congestion from the increased flow of 
blood pumped into them by the power of the burglar's 'oil,' they would 
rapidly become 'No thoroughfare,' and the fountain of life would cease 
to flow.
   The physician bared the chest of the unconscious Chandler. Easily 
and skilfully he injected, subcutaneously, the contents of the syringe 
into the muscles of the region over the heart. True to his neat habits 
in both professions, he next carefully dried his needle and re-
inserted the fine wire that threaded it when not in use.
   In three minutes Chandler opened his eyes, and spoke, in a voice 
faint but audible, inquiring who attended upon him. Doctor James again 
explained his presence there.
   'Where is my wife?' asked the patient.
   'She is asleep - from exhaustion and worry,' said the doctor. 'I 
would not awaken her, unless
   'It isn't - necessary.' Chandler spoke with spaces between his 
words caused by his short breath that some demon was driving too fast. 
'She wouldn't - thank you to disturb her - on my - account.'
   Doctor James drew a chair to the bedside. Conversation must not be 
squandered.
   'A few minutes ago,' he began, in the grave, candid tones of his 
other profession, 'you were trying to tell me something regarding some 
money. I do not seek your confidence, but it is my duty to advise you 
that anxiety and worry will work against your recovery. If you have 
any communication to make about this - to relieve your mind about this 
- twenty thousand dollars, I think was the amount you mentioned - you 
would better do so.'
   Chandler could not turn his head, but he rolled his eyes in the 
direction of the speaker.
   'Did I - say where this - money is?'
   'No,' answered the physician. 'I only inferred, from your scarcely 
intelligible words, that you felt a solicitude concerning its safety. 
If it is in this room -'
   Doctor James paused. Did he only seem to perceive a flicker of 
understanding, a gleam of suspicion upon the ironical features of his 
patient? Had he seemed too eager? Had he said too much? Chandler's 
next words restored his confidence.
   'Where - should it be,' he gasped, 'but in - the safe - there?'
   With his eyes he indicated a comer of the room, where now, for the 
first time, the doctor perceived a small iron safe, half concealed by 
the trailing end of a window curtain.
   Rising, he took the sick man's wrist. His pulse was beating in 
great throbs, with ominous intervals between.
   'Lift your arm,' said Doctor James.
   'You know -1 can't move, doctor.' 
   The physician stepped swiftly to the hall door, opened it, and 
listened. All was still. Without further circumvention he went to the 
safe, and examined it. Of a primitive make and simple design, it 
afforded little more security than protection against light-fingered 
servants. To his skill it was a mere toy, a thing of straw and 
pasteboard. The money was as good as in his hands. With his clamps he 
could draw the knob, punch the tumblers and open the door in two 
minutes. Perhaps, in another way, he might open it in one.
   Kneeling upon the floor, he laid his ear to the combination plate, 
and slowly turned the knob. As he had surmised, it was locked at only 
a 'day corn.' - upon one number. His keen ear caught the faint warning 
click as the tumbler was disturbed he; used the clue - the handle 
turned. He swung the door wide open.
   The interior of the safe was bare - not even a scrap of paper 
rested within the hollow iron cube.
   Doctor James rose to his feet and walked back to the bed.
   A thick dew had formed upon the dying man's brow, but there was a 
mocking, grim smile on his lips and in his eyes.
   'I never - saw it before,' he said painfully, 'medicine and - 
burglary wedded! Do you - make the - combination pay - dear doctor?'
   Than that situation afforded, there was never a more rigorous test 
of Doctor James's greatness. Trapped by the diabolic humour of his 
victim into a position both ridiculous and unsafe, he maintained his 
dignity as well as his presence of mind. Taking out his watch, he 
waited for the man to die.
   'You were - just a shade - too - anxious - about that money. But it 
never was - in any danger - from you, dear doctor. It's safe. 
Perfectly safe. It's all-in the hands - of the bookmakers. Twenty -
thousand - Amy's money. I played it at the races lost every - cent of 
it. I've been a pretty bad boy, Burglar - excuse me - Doctor, but I've 
been a square sport. I don't think -1 ever met - such an - eighteen-
carat rascal as you are, Doctor - excuse me - Burglar, in all my 
rounds. Is it contrary - to the ethics - of your - gang, Burglar, to 
give a victim - excuse me - patient, a drink of water?
   Doctor James brought him a drink. He could scarcely swallow it. The 
reaction from the powerful drug was coming in regular, intensifying 
waves. But his moribund fancy must have one more grating fling.
   'Gambler - drunkard - spendthrift - I've been those, but - a 
doctor-burglar!'
   The physician indulged himself to but one reply to the other's 
caustic taunts. Bending low to catch Chandler's fast crystallizing 
gaze, he pointed to the sleeping lady's door with a gesture so stem 
and significant that the prostrate man half-lifted his head, with his 
remaining strength, to see. He saw nothing; but he caught the cold 
words of the doctor - the last sounds he was to hear:
   'I never yet - struck a woman.'
   It were vain to attempt to con such men. There is no curriculum 
that can reckon with them in its ken. They are offshoots from the 
types whereof men say, 'He will do this,' or 'He will do that.' We 
only know that they exist; and that we can observe them, and tell one 
another of their bare performances, as children watch and speak of the 
marionettes.
   Yet, it were a droll study in egoism to consider these two - one an 
assassin and a robber, standing above his victim; the other baser in 
his offences, if a lesser law-breaker, lying, abhorred, in the house 
of the wife he had persecuted, spoiled, and smitten, one a tiger, the 
other a dog-wolf- to consider each of them sickening at the foulness 
of the other; and each flourishing out of die mire of his manifest 
guilt his own immaculate standard - of conduct, if not of honour.
   The one retort of Doctor James must have struck home to the other's 
remaining shreds of shame and manhood, for it proved the coup de grace 
A deep blush suffused his face - an ignominious rosa mortis; the 
respiration ceased, and, with scarcely a tremor, Chandler expired.
   Close following upon his last breath came the negress, bringing the 
medicine. With a hand gently pressing upon the closed eyelids, Doctor 
James told her of the end. Not grief, but an hereditary rapprochement 
with death in the abstract, moved her to a dismal, watery snuffling, 
accompanied by her jeremiad.
   'Dar now! It's in de Lawd's hands. He am de jedge ob de 
transgressor, and de suppo't of dem in distress. He gwine hab suppo't 
us now. Cindy done paid out de last quarter fer dis bottle of physic 
and it nebber come to no use.'
   'Do I understand,' asked Doctor James, 'that Mrs. Chandler has no 
money?'
   'Money, suh? You know what make Miss Amy fall down, and so weak? 
Stahvation, suh Nothin' to eat in dis house but some crumbly crackers 
in three days. Dat angel sell her finger rings and watch mont's ago. 
Dis fine house, suh, wid de red cyarpets and shiny bureaus, it's all 
hired; and de man talkin' scan'lous about de rent. Dat debble - 'scuse 
me, Lawd - he done in Yo' hands fer jedgment, now - he made way wid 
everything.'
   The physician's silence encouraged her to continue. The history 
that he gleaned from Cindy's disordered monologue was an old one, of 
illusion, wilfulness, disaster, cruelty and pride. Standing out from 
the blurred panorama of her gabble were little clear pictures - an
ideal home in the far South; a quickly repented marriage; an unhappy 
season, full of wrongs and abuse, and, of late, an inheritance of 
money that promised deliverance; its seizure and waste by the dog-wolf 
during a two months' absence, and his return in the midst of a 
scandalous carouse. Unobtruded, but visible between every line, ran a 
pure white thread through the smudged warp of the story - the simple, 
all-enduring, sublime love of the old negress, following her mistress 
unswervingly through everything to the end.
   When at last she paused, the physician spoke, asking if the house 
contained whisky or liquor of any sort. There was, the old woman 
informed him, half a bottle of brandy left in the sideboard by the 
dog-wolf.
   'Prepare a toddy as I told you,' said Doctor James. 'Wake your 
mistress; have her drink it, and tell her what has happened.'
   Some ten minutes afterward, Mrs. Chandler entered, supported by old 
Cindy's arm. She appeared to be a little stronger since her sleep and 
the stimulant she had taken. Doctor James had covered with a sheet the 
form upon the bed.
   The lady turned her mournful eyes once, with a half-frightened 
look, toward it, and pressed closer to her loyal protector. Her eyes 
were dry and bright. Sorrow seemed to have done its utmost with her. 
The fount of tears was dried; feeling itself paralysed.
   Doctor James was standing near the table, his overcoat donned, his 
hat and medicine case in his hand. His face was calm and impassive - 
practice had inured him to the sight of human suffering. His lambent 
brown eyes alone expressed a discreet professional sympathy.
   He spoke kindly and briefly, stating that, as the hour was late, 
and assistance, no doubt, difficult to procure, he would himself send 
the proper persons to attend to the necessary finalities.
   'One matter, in conclusion,' said the doctor, pointing to the safe 
with its still wide-open door 'Your husband, Mrs. Chandler, toward the 
end; felt that he could not live; and directed me to open that safe, 
giving me the number upon which the combination is set. In case you 
may need to use it, you will remember that the number is forty-one. 
Turn several times to the right; then to the left once; stop at forty-
one. He would not permit me to waken you, though he knew the end was 
near.
   'In that safe he said he had placed a sum of money - not large -but 
enough to enable you to carry out his last request. That was that you 
should return to your old home, and, in after days, when time shall 
have made it easier, forgive his many sins against you.'
   He pointed to the table, where lay an orderly pile of banknotes, 
surmounted by two stacks of gold coins.
   'The money is there - as he described it - eight hundred and thirty 
dollars. I beg to leave my card with you, in case I can be of any 
service later you.'
   So; he had thought other - and kindly - at the last! So late! And 
yet the lie fanned into life one last spark of tenderness where she 
had thought all was turned to ashes and dust. She cried aloud 'Rob! 
Rob!' She turned, and, upon the ready bosom of her true servitor, 
diluted her grief in relieving tears. It is well to think, also, that 
in the years to follow, the murderer's falsehood shone like a little 
star above the grave of love, comforting her, and gaining the 
forgiveness that is good in itself, whether asked for or no.
   Hushed and soothed upon the dark bosom, like a child, by crooning, 
babbling sympathy, at last she raised her head - but the doctor was 
gone.