Королі та капуста
The Lotus and the Bottle
Hissenseswerecognizantofbrilliantscarletandochresamidthevertofthecoppice,ofodoursoffruitandbloomandthesmokefromChanca’sclayovenunderthecalabash-tree;ofthetreblelaughterofthenativewomenintheirhuts,thesongoftherobin,thesalttasteofthebreeze,thediminuendoofthefaintsurfrunningalongtheshore—and,gradually,ofawhitespeck,growingtoablur,thatintrudeditselfuponthedrabprospectofthesea.
Lazilyinterested,hewatchedthisblurincreaseuntilitbecametheIdaliasteamingatfullspeed,comingdownthecoast.Withoutchanginghispositionhekepthiseyesuponthebeautifulwhiteyachtasshedrewswiftlynear,andcameoppositetoCoralio.Then,sittingupright,hesawherfloatsteadilypastandon.Scarcelyamileofseahadseparatedherfromtheshore.Hehadseenthefrequentflashofherpolishedbrassworkandthestripesofherdeck-awnings—somuch,andnomore.LikeashiponamagiclanternslidetheIdaliahadcrossedtheilluminatedcircleoftheconsul’slittleworld,andwasgone.Saveforthetinycloudofsmokethatwaslefthangingoverthebrimofthesea,shemighthavebeenanimmaterialthing,achimeraofhisidlebrain.
Geddiewentintohisofficeandsatdowntodawdleoverhisreport.Ifthereadingofthearticleinthepaperhadlefthimunshaken,thissilentpassingoftheIdaliahaddoneforhimstillmore.Ithadbroughtthecalmandpeaceofasituationfromwhichalluncertaintyhadbeenerased.Heknewthatmensometimeshopewithoutbeingawareofit.
