O. Henry
The Whirligig Of Life
Файл с книжной полки Несененко Алексея
JUSTICE-OF-THE-PEACE Benaja Widdup sat in
the door of his office smoking his elder-stem pipe. Half-
way to the zenith the Cumberland range rose blue-gray
in the afternoon haze. A speckled hen swaggered down
the main street of the "settlement," cackling foolishly.
Up the road came a sound of creaking axles, and then
a slow cloud of dust, and then a bull-cart bearing Ransie
Bilbro and his wife. The cart stopped at the Justice's
door, and the two climbed down. Ransie was a narrow
six feet of sallow brown skin and yellow hair. The
imperturbability of the mountains hung upon him like
a suit of armour. The woman was calicoed, angled,
snuff-brushed, and weary with unknown desires. Through
it all gleamed a faint protest of cheated youth unconscious
of its loss.
The Justice of the Peace slipped his feet into his shoes,
for the sake of dignity, and moved to let them enter.
"We-all," said the woman, in a voice like the wind
blowing through pine boughs, "wants a divo'ce." She
looked at Ransie to see if he noted any flaw or ambiguity
or evasion or partiality or self-partisanship in her state-
ment of their business.
"A divo'ce," repeated Ransie, with a solemn Dod.
"We-all can't git along together nohow. It's lonesome
enough fur to live in the mount'ins when a man and a
woman keers fur one another. But when she's a-spittin'
like a wildcat or a-sullenin' like a hoot-owl in the cabin,
a man ain't got no call to live with her."
"When he's a no-'count varmint," said the woman,
"without any especial warmth, a-traipsin' along of
scalawags and moonshiners and a-layin' on his back
pizen 'ith co'n whiskey, and a-pesterin' folks with a pack
o' hungry, triflin' houn's to feed!"
"When she keeps a-throwin' skillet lids," came Ransie's
antiphony, "and slings b'ilin' water on the best coon-dog
in the Cumberlands, and sets herself agin' cookin' a man's
victuals, and keeps him awake o' nights accusin' him
of a sight of doin's!"
"When he's al'ays a-fightin' the revenues, and gits a
hard name in the mount'ins fur a mean man, who's
gwine to be able fur to sleep o' nights?"
The Justice of the Peace stirred deliberately to his
duties. He placed his one chair and a wooden stool
for his petitioners. He opened his book of statutes on
the table and scanned the index. Presently he wiped his
spectacles and shifted his inkstand.
"The law and the statutes," said he, "air silent on the
subjeck of divo'ce as fur as the jurisdiction of this co't
air concerned. But, accordin' to equity and the Con-
stitution and the golden rule, it's a bad barg'in that can't
run both ways. If a justice of the peace can marry a
couple, it's plain that he is bound to be able to divo'ce
'em. This here office will issue a decree of divo'ce
and abide by the decision of the Supreme Co't to hold it
good."
Ransie Bilbro drew a small tobacco-bag from his
trousers pocket. Out of this he shook upon the table
a five-dollar note. "Sold a b'arskin and two foxes fur
that," he remarked. "It's all the money we got."
"The regular price of a divo'ce in this co't," said the
Justice, "air five dollars." He stuffed the bill into the
pocket of his homespun vest with a deceptive air of indiffer-
ence. With much bodily toil and mental travail he wrote
the decree upon half a sheet of foolscap, and then copied
it upon the other. Ransie Bilbro and his wife listened to his
reading of the document that was to give them freedom:
"Know all men by these presents that Ransie Bilbro
and his wife, Ariela Bilbro, this day personally appeared
before me and promises that hereinafter they will neither
love, honour, nor obey each other, neither for better nor
worse, being of sound mind and body, and accept summons
for divorce according to the peace and dignity of the State.
Herein fail not, so help you God. Benaja Widdup,
justice of the peace in and for the county of Piedmont,
State of Tennessee."
The Justice was about to hand one of the documents
to Ransie. The voice of Ariela delayed the transfer.
Both men looked at her. Their dull masculinity was
confronted by something sudden and unexpected in the
woman.
"Judge, don't you give him that air paper yit. 'Tain't
all settled, nohow. I got to have my rights first. I
got to have my ali-money. 'Tain't no kind of a way to do
fur a man to divo'ce his wife 'thout her havin' a cent fur
to do with. I'm a-layin' off to be a-goin' up to brother
Ed's up on Hogback Mount'in. I'm bound fur to hev
a pa'r of shoes and some snuff and things besides. Ef
Rance kin affo'd a divo'ce, let him pay me ali-money."
Ransie Bilbro was stricken to dumb perplexity. There
had been no previous hint of alimony. Women were
always bringing up startling and unlooked-for issues.
Justice Benaja Widdup felt that the point demanded
judicial decision. The authorities were also silent on the
subject of alimony. But the woman's feet were bare.
The trail to Hogback Mountain was steep and flinty.
"Ariela Bilbro," he asked, in official tones, "how
much did you 'low would be good and sufficient ali-money
in the case befo' the co't."
"I 'lowed," she answered, "fur the shoes and all, to
say five dollars. That ain't much fur ali-money, but
I reckon that'll git me to up brother Ed's."
"The amount," said the Justice, "air not onreasonable.
Ransie Bilbro, you air ordered by the co't to pay the plain-
tiff the sum of five dollars befo' the decree of divo'ce air
issued."
"I hain't no mo' money," breathed Ransie, heavily.
"I done paid you all I had."
"Otherwise," said the Justice, looking severely over
his spectacles, "you air in contempt of co't."
"I reckon if you gimme till to-morrow," pleaded the
husband, "I mout be able to rake or scrape it up
somewhars. I never looked for to be a-payin' no ali-
money."
"The case air adjourned," said Benaja Widdup, "till
to-morrow, when you-all will present yo'selves and obey
the order of the co't. Followin' of which the decrees
of divo'ce will be delivered." He sat down in the door
and began to loosen a shoestring.
"We mout as well go down to Uncle Ziah's," decided
Ransie, "and spend the night." He climbed into the
cart on one side, and Ariela climbed in on the other.
Obeying the flap of his rope, the little red bull slowly
came around on a tack, and the cart crawled away in the
nimbus arising from its wheels.
Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup smoked his elder-
stem pipe. Late in the afternoon he got his weekly paper,
and read it until the twilight dimmed its lines. Then
he lit the tallow candle on his table, and read until the
moon rose, marking the time for supper. He lived in
the double log cabin on the slope near the girdled poplar.
Going home to supper he crossed a little branch darkened
by a laurel thicket. The dark figure of a man stepped
from the laurels and pointed a rifle at his breast. His
hat was pulled down low, and something covered most of
his face.
"I want yo' money," said the figure, "'thout any talk.
I'm gettin' nervous, and my finger's a-wabblin' on this
here trigger."
"I've only got f-f-five dollars," said the Justice, pro-
ducing it from his vest pocket.
"Roll it up," came the order, "and stick it in the end
of this here gun-bar'l."
The bill was crisp and new. Even fingers that were
clumsy and trembling found little difficulty in making
a spill of it and inserting it (this with less ease) into the
muzzle of the rifle.
"Now I reckon you kin be goin' along," said the robber.
The Justice lingered not on his way.
The next day came the little red bull, drawing the cart
to the office door. Justice Benaja Widdup had his shoes
on, for he was expecting the visit. In his presence Ransie
Bilbro handed to his wife a five-dollar bill. The official's
eye sharply viewed it. It seemed to curl up as though it
had been rolled and inserted into the end of a gun-barrel.
But the Justice refrained from comment. It is true that
other bills might be inclined to curl. He handed each
one a decree of divorce. Each stood awkwardly silent,
slowly folding the guarantee of freedom. The woman
cast a shy glance full of constraint at Ransie.
"I reckon you'll be goin' back up to the cabin," she said,
along 'ith the bull-cart. There's bread in the tin box
settin' on the shelf. I put the bacon in the b'ilin'-pot
to keep the hounds from gittin' it. Don't forget to wind
the clock to-night."
"You air a-goin' to your brother Ed's?" asked Ransie,
with fine unconcern.
"I was 'lowin' to get along up thar afore night. I
ain't sayin' as they'll pester theyselves any to make me
welcome, but I hain't nowhar else fur to go. It's a right
smart ways, and I reckon I better be goin'. I'll be a-sayin'
good-bye, Ranse - that is, if you keer fur to say so."
"I don't know as anybody's a hound dog," said Ransie,
in a martyr's voice, "fur to not want to say good-bye --
'less you air so anxious to git away that you don't want
me to say it."
Ariela was silent. She folded the five-dollar bill and
her decree carefully, and placed them in the bosom of
her dress. Benaja Widdup watched the money disappear
with mournful eyes behind his spectacles.
And then with his next words he achieved rank (as
his thoughts ran) with either the great crowd of the world's
sympathizers or the little crowd of its great financiers.
"Be kind o' lonesome in the old cabin to-night, Ranse,"
he said.
Ransie Bilbro stared out at the Cumberlands, clear
blue now in the sunlight. He did not look at Ariela.
"I 'low it might be lonesome," he said; "but when
folks gits mad and wants a divo'ce, you can't make folks
stay."
"There's others wanted a divo'ce," said Ariela, speaking
to the wooden stool. "Besides, nobody don't want no-
body to stay."
"Nobody never said they didn't."
"Nobody never said they did. I reckon I better
start on now to brother Ed's."
"Nobody can't wind that old clock."
"Want me to go back along 'ith you in the cart and
wind it fur you, Ranse?"
The mountaineer's countenance was proof against
emotion. But he reached out a big hand and enclosed
Ariela's thin brown one. Her soul peeped out once
through her impassive face, hallowing it.
"Them hounds shan't pester you no more," said
Ransie. "I reckon I been mean and low down. You
wind that clock, Ariela."
"My heart hit's in that cabin, Ranse," she whispered,
"along 'ith you. I ai'nt a-goin' to git mad no more. Le's
be startin', Ranse, so's we kin git home by sundown."
Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup interposed as they
started for the door, forgetting his presence.
"In the name of the State of Tennessee," he said, "I
forbid you-all to be a-defyin' of its laws and statutes.
This co't is mo' than willin' and full of joy to see the
clouds of discord and misunderstandin' rollin' away
from two lovin' hearts, but it air the duty of the co't to
p'eserve the morals and integrity of the State. The co't
reminds you that you air no longer man and wife, but air
divo'ced by regular decree, and as such air not entitled
to the benefits and 'purtenances of the mattermonal
estate."
Ariela caught Ransie's arm. Did those words mean
that she must lose him now when they had just learned
the lesson of life?
"But the co't air prepared," went on the Justice, "fur
to remove the disabilities set up by the decree of divo'ce.
The co't air on hand to perform the solemn ceremony
of marri'ge, thus fixin' things up and enablin' the parties
in the case to resume the honour'ble and elevatin' state
of mattermony which they desires. The fee fur per-
formin' said ceremony will be, in this case, to wit, five
dollars."
Aricla caught the gleam of promise in his words.
Swiftly her hand went to her bosom. Freely as an
alighting dove the bill fluttered to the Justice's table.
Her sallow cheek coloured as she stood hand in hand
with Ransie and listened to the reuniting words.
Ransie helped her into the cart, and climbed in beside
her. The little red bull turned once more, and they
set out, hand-clasped, for the mountains.
Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup sat in his door
and took off his shoes. Once again he fingered the bill
tucked down in his vest pocket. Once again he smoked
his elder-stem pipe. Once again the speck-led hen swag-
gered down the main street of the "settlement," cackling
foolishly.