The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn - 1
Preface
Most of the adventures described in this book are taken from life: one or two were experienced by myself, the rest by boys who studied with me at school. Huck Finn is copied from life, Tom Sawyer too, but not from one original - he is a combination of features taken from three boys I knew, and therefore belongs to a mixed architectural order.
The wild superstitions described below were common among the children and Negroes of the West at that time, that is, thirty or forty years ago.
Although my book is intended primarily for the amusement of boys and girls, I hope that grown men and women will not disdain it either, for it was my design to remind them of what they themselves were once like, how they felt, how they thought, how they spoke, and how they what strange adventures they sometimes got involved in.
No answer.
No answer.
It's amazing where this boy could have gone! Tom, where are you?
No answer.
Aunt Polly pulled her glasses down her nose and looked around the room over the glasses, then raised them onto her forehead and looked around the room from under the glasses. She very rarely, almost never, looked through her glasses at such a trifle as a boy; These were ceremonial glasses, her pride, purchased for beauty, not for use, and it was as difficult for her to see anything through them as through a pair of stove dampers. She was confused for a minute, then she said - not very loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:
Well, wait, just let me get to you...
Without finishing, she bent down and began poking under the bed with a brush, catching her breath after each poke. She didn't get anything out of it except the cat.
What a child, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!
Approaching the wide open door, she stopped on the threshold and looked around her garden - beds of tomatoes overgrown with dope. Tom wasn't here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard as far as possible, she shouted:
Sooo, where are you?
There was a slight rustle behind her, and she looked back - just in time to grab the boy by the arm before he slipped through the door.
Well it is! I forgot about the closet. What were you doing there?
Nothing? Look what you have in your hands. And the mouth too. What is it?
I don't know, aunt.
And I know. This is jam - that's what it is! Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam - I’ll tear it out! Give me the rod here.
The rod whistled in the air - it seemed that trouble was imminent.
Oh, auntie, what’s that behind your back?!
The old woman turned around, picking up her skirts to protect herself from danger. The boy jumped over the high fence in an instant and was gone.
Aunt Polly was taken aback at first, and then laughed good-naturedly:
So go with him! Am I really not going to learn anything? Does he play a lot of tricks on me? It's time for me to wise up, I think. But there is no worse fool than an old fool. No wonder they say: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But, my God, every day he comes up with something, where can he guess? And it’s as if he knows how long he can torment me; he knows that as soon as he makes me laugh or confuses me even for a minute, I give up and I can’t even spank him. I’m not fulfilling my duty, to be honest! After all, the Scripture says: whoever spares a child destroys him. Nothing good will come of this, it’s just a sin. He is a real devil, I know, but he, poor thing, is the son of my late sister, I somehow don’t have the heart to punish him.
Most of the adventures described in this book are taken from life: one or two were experienced by myself, the rest by boys who studied with me at school. Huck Finn is copied from life, Tom Sawyer too, but not from one original - he is a combination of features taken from three boys I knew, and therefore belongs to a mixed architectural order.
The wild superstitions described below were common among the children and Negroes of the West at that time, that is, thirty or forty years ago.
Although my book is intended primarily for the amusement of boys and girls, I hope that grown men and women will not disdain it either, for it was my design to remind them of what they themselves were once like, how they felt, how they thought, how they spoke, and how they what strange adventures they sometimes got involved in.
No answer.
No answer.
“It’s amazing where this boy could have gone!” Tom, where are you?
No answer.
Aunt Polly pulled her glasses down her nose and looked around the room over the top of her glasses, then lifted them onto her forehead and looked around the room from under her glasses. She very rarely, almost never, looked through her glasses at such a trifle as a boy; These were ceremonial glasses, her pride, purchased for beauty, not for use, and it was as difficult for her to see anything through them as through a pair of stove dampers. She was confused for a minute, then she said - not very loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:
- Well, wait, just let me get to you...
Without finishing, she bent down and began poking under the bed with a brush, catching her breath after each poke. She didn't get anything out of it except the cat.
- What a child, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!
Approaching the wide open door, she stopped on the threshold and looked around her garden - beds of tomatoes overgrown with dope. Tom wasn't here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard as far as possible, she shouted:
- Sooo, where are you?
There was a slight rustle behind her, and she looked back - just in time to grab the boy's arm before he slipped through the door.
- Well, it is! I forgot about the closet. What were you doing there?
- Nothing.
- Nothing? Look what you have in your hands. And the mouth too. What is it?
- I don’t know, aunt.
- I know. This jam is what it is! Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam - I’ll tear it out! Give me the rod here.
The rod whistled in the air - it seemed that trouble was imminent.
- Oh, auntie, what’s that behind your back?!
The old woman turned around, picking up her skirts to protect herself from danger. The boy jumped over the high fence in an instant and was gone.
Aunt Polly was taken aback at first, and then laughed good-naturedly:
- So go with him! Am I really not going to learn anything? Does he play a lot of tricks on me? It's time for me to wise up, I think. But there is no worse fool than an old fool. No wonder they say: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But, my God, every day he comes up with something, where can he guess? And it’s as if he knows how long he can torment me; he knows that as soon as he makes me laugh or confuses me even for a minute, I give up and I can’t even spank him. I’m not fulfilling my duty, to be honest! After all, the Scripture says: whoever spares a child destroys him. Nothing good will come of this, it’s just a sin. He is a real devil, I know, but he, poor thing, is the son of my late sister, I somehow don’t have the heart to punish him. If you indulge him, your conscience will torture you, but if you punish him, your heart will break. It is not for nothing that the Scripture says: the human age is short and full of sorrows; I think this is true. These days he's shirking school; I'll have to punish him tomorrow - I'll put him to work. It’s a pity to force a boy to work when all the children have a holiday, but it’s hardest for him to work, and I need to do my duty - otherwise I’ll ruin the child.
Tom didn't go to school and had a great time. He barely had time to return home in order to help Negro Jim cut wood for tomorrow and chop kindling for kindling before dinner. In any case, he managed to tell Jim about his adventures while he was three-quarters of the way through the work. Tom's younger (or rather half-brother), Sid, had already done everything he was supposed to (he picked up and carried wood chips): he was an obedient boy, not prone to pranks and pranks.
While Tom was having dinner, taking lumps of sugar from the sugar bowl at every opportunity, Aunt Polly asked him various tricky questions, very cunning and tricky - she wanted to catch Tom by surprise so that he would let it slip. Like many simple-minded people, she considered herself a great diplomat, capable of the most subtle and mysterious tricks, and believed that all her innocent tricks were a miracle of resourcefulness and cunning. She asked:
– Tom, wasn’t it very hot at school?
- No, aunt.
- Or maybe it’s very hot?
- Yes, aunt.
“Well, didn’t you really want to take a bath, Tom?”
Tom's soul sank to his feet - he sensed danger.
He looked incredulously into Aunt Polly’s face, but didn’t see anything special and so said:
- No, aunt, not really.
She reached out and felt Tom's shirt and said:
- Yes, perhaps you didn’t sweat at all. “She liked to think that she was able to check whether Tom’s shirt was dry without anyone understanding what she was getting at.
However, Tom immediately sensed which way the wind was blowing and warned the next move:
“At our school, boys poured water over their heads from the well. I still have it wet, look!
Aunt Polly was very upset that she had lost sight of such an important piece of evidence. But then I was inspired again.
“Tom, you didn’t have to rip your collar to get your head wet, right?” Unzip your jacket!
Tom's face lit up. He opened his jacket - the collar was tightly sewn.
- Come on! Go away! I must admit, I thought that you would run away from class to go swimming. So be it, this time I forgive you. You're not as bad as you seem.
She was both upset that her insight had deceived her this time, and she was glad that Tom had at least accidentally behaved well.
Then Sid intervened:
“It seemed to me as if you sewed up his collar with white thread, and now he has black thread.”
- Well, yes, I sewed it up with white! Volume!
But Tom did not wait for the continuation. Running out the door, he shouted:
“I’ll remember this for you, Siddy!”
In a secluded place, Tom examined two thick needles stuck into the lapels of his jacket and wrapped with thread: one needle had a white thread threaded into it, the other a black thread.
“She wouldn’t have noticed anything if it weren’t for Sid.” Damn it! Sometimes she sews it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. At least one thing, otherwise you won’t be able to keep track of it. Well, I’ll beat Sid. Will remember!
Tom was not the most exemplary boy in the city, but he knew the most exemplary boy very well - and could not stand him.
In two minutes, or even less, he forgot all his misfortunes. Not because these misfortunes were not as heavy and bitter as the misfortunes of an adult, but because a new, stronger interest supplanted them and expelled them from his soul for a while - in exactly the same way as adults forget their grief in excitement. starting some new business. Such a novelty was a special way of whistling, which he had just learned from a black man, and now he wanted to practice this art without interference.
It was a very special bird trill - something like a flooded twitter; and in order for it to work out, it was necessary to touch the palate with the tongue every now and then - the reader probably remembers how this is done if he was ever a boy. Having applied diligence and patience to the matter, Tom soon acquired the necessary dexterity and walked down the street even faster - music sounded on his lips, and his soul was filled with gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new planet - and, without a doubt, if we talk about strong, deep, unclouded joy, all the advantages were on the side of the boy, and not the astronomer.
TOM PLAYS, FIGHTS, HIDES
- Volume!
No answer.
- Volume!
No answer.
- Where did he go, this boy?.. Tom!
No answer.
The old woman lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked around the room over her glasses; then she pulled her glasses up onto her forehead and looked out from under them: she rarely looked through her glasses if she had to look for such a trifle as a boy, because these were her ceremonial glasses, the pride of her heart: she wore them only “for importance”; in fact, she didn’t need them at all; she might as well have been looking through the stove dampers. At first she seemed confused and said, not very angrily, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear her:
- Well, just get caught! I...
Without finishing her thought, the old woman bent down and began poking under the bed with a brush, stopping each time because she was short of breath. From under the bed she did not take anything out except the cat.
“I’ve never seen such a boy in my life!”
She approached open door and, standing on the threshold, peered vigilantly into her garden - tomatoes overgrown with weeds. Tom wasn't there either. Then she raised her voice so that it could be heard further and shouted:
- That's it!
A slight rustling sound was heard behind me. She looked around and at the same second grabbed the edge of the boy’s jacket, who was about to sneak away.
- Well, of course! And how could I forget about the closet! What did you do there?
- Nothing.
- Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What did you stain your lips with?
- I don’t know, aunt!
- I know. It's jam, that's what it is. Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam, otherwise I’ll skin you! Give me this rod here.
The rod flew into the air - the danger was imminent.
- Ay! Aunt! What's that behind your back?
The old woman turned on her heel in fear and hurried to pick up her skirts in order to protect herself from a terrible disaster, and the boy at that very second started running, climbed onto a high plank fence - and was gone!
Aunt Polly was dumbfounded for a moment, and then began to laugh good-naturedly.
- What a boy! It seemed like it was time for me to get used to his tricks. Or did he not play enough tricks with me? Could have been smarter this time. But, apparently, there is no worse fool than an old fool. It’s not without reason that they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, my God, this boy’s things are all different: every day, then another - can you guess what’s on his mind? It’s as if he knows how long he can torment me until I lose patience. He knows that if he confuses me for a minute or makes me laugh, then my hands give up, and I am unable to whip him with the rod. I am not fulfilling my duty, what is true is true, may God forgive me. “Whoever does without a rod destroys a child,” says the sacred. I, a sinner, spoil him, and for this we will get it in the next world - both me and him. I know that he is a real devil, but what should I do? After all, he is the son of my late sister, a poor fellow, and I don’t have the heart to flog an orphan. Every time I let him evade beatings, my conscience torments me so much that I don’t even know how to give it, but if I whip him, my old heart is literally torn to pieces. It is true, it is true in scripture: the human age is short and full of sorrows. The way it is! Today he did not go to school: he will be idle until the evening, and it is my duty to punish him, and I will fulfill my duty - I will make him work tomorrow. This, of course, is cruel, since tomorrow is a holiday for all the boys, but nothing can be done, more than anything in the world he hates working. I have no right to let him down this time, otherwise I will completely ruin the baby.
Tom really didn't go to school today and had a lot of fun. He barely had time to return home so that before dinner he could help Negro Jim cut wood and chop wood for tomorrow, or, more precisely, tell him about his adventures while he was doing three-quarters of the work. Tom's younger brother, Sid (not a brother, but a half-brother), by this time had already done everything that he was ordered (collected and carried all the chips), because he was an obedient quiet one: he did not play pranks and did not cause trouble for his elders.
While Tom was devouring his supper, taking every opportunity to steal a lump of sugar, Aunt Polly asked him various questions, full of deep slyness, hoping that he will fall into the traps set by her and spill the beans. Like all simple-minded people, she, not without pride, considered herself a subtle diplomat and saw in her most naive plans miracles of malicious cunning.
“Tom,” she said, “it must have been hot at school today?”
- Yes, .
- It's very hot, isn't it?
- Yes, 'm.
- And didn’t you really want to swim in the river, Tom?
It seemed to him that something evil was happening - a shadow of suspicion and fear touched his soul. He looked inquisitively into Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. And he answered:
- No, ’m... not particularly.
Aunt Polly reached out and touched Tom's shirt.
“I didn’t even break a sweat,” she said.
And she thought smugly how cleverly she had managed to discover that Tom’s shirt was dry; It never occurred to anyone what kind of trick she had in mind. Tom, however, had already managed to figure out which way the wind was blowing, and warned further questions:
“We put our heads under the pump to freshen up.” My hair is still wet. Do you see?
Aunt Polly felt offended: how could she miss such important indirect evidence! But immediately a new thought struck her.
- Tom, in order to put your head under the pump, you didn’t have to rip your shirt collar in the place where I sewed it up? Come on, unbutton your jacket!
The anxiety disappeared from Tom's face. He opened his jacket. The collar of the shirt was sewn tightly.
- Well, okay, okay. You will never understand. I was sure that you didn’t go to school and went swimming. Okay, I’m not angry with you: although you are a decent rogue, you still turned out to be better than you might think.
She was a little annoyed that her cunning had led to nothing, and at the same time pleased that Tom at least this time turned out to be a good boy.
But then Sid intervened.
“I remember something,” he said, “as if you were sewing up his collar with white thread, and here, look, it’s black!”
- Yes, of course, I sewed it up in white!.. Tom!..
But Tom did not wait for the conversation to continue. Running out of the room, he said quietly:
- Well, I’ll blow you up, Siddy!
Having taken refuge in a safe place, he examined two large needles, tucked into the lapel of his jacket and wrapped in thread. One had a white thread and the other had a black thread.
“She wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for Sid.” Damn it! Sometimes she sewed it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. I’d better sew by myself, otherwise you’ll inevitably get confused... But I’ll still piss Sid off - it’ll be a good lesson for him!
Tom was not a Model Boy that the whole town could be proud of. But he knew very well who was an exemplary boy, and he hated him.
However, after two minutes - and even sooner - he forgot all the troubles. Not because they were less difficult and bitter for him than the adversities that usually torment adults, but because at that moment a new powerful passion took possession of him and drove all worries out of his head. In the same way, adults are capable of forgetting their sorrows as soon as they are captivated by some new activity. Tom was currently fascinated by one precious novelty: he had adopted a special style of whistling from a negro friend, and he had long wanted to practice this art in the wild, so that no one would interfere. The black man whistled like a bird. He produced a melodious trill, interrupted by short pauses, for which he had to frequently touch the roof of his mouth with his tongue. The reader probably remembers how this is done - if he was ever a boy. Perseverance and diligence helped Tom quickly master all the techniques of this matter. He walked merrily down the street, his mouth full of sweet music and his soul full of gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new planet in the sky, only his joy was more immediate, fuller and deeper.
In summer the evenings are long. It was still light. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling. A stranger stood in front of him, a boy slightly larger than him. Any new face of any gender or age always attracted the attention of the residents of the wretched town. In addition, the boy was wearing a smart suit - a smart suit on a weekday! It was absolutely amazing. A very elegant hat; a neatly buttoned blue cloth jacket, new and clean, and exactly the same trousers. He had shoes on his feet, even though it was only Friday. He even had a tie - a very bright ribbon. In general, he had the appearance of a city dandy, and this infuriated Tom. The more Tom looked at this wondrous marvel, the more shabby his own miserable suit seemed to him and the higher he lifted his nose, showing how disgusted he was with such smart outfits. Both boys met in complete silence. As soon as one took a step, the other took a step, but only to the side, to the side, in a circle. Face to face and eye to eye - they moved like this for a very long time. Finally Tom said: 
- If you want, I'll blow you up!
- Try!
- And here I am, blowing it up!
- But you won’t blow it!
- I want to and I’ll swell!
- No, you won’t blow it!
- No, I'm bloating!
- No, you won’t blow it!
- I'll blow it up!
- You won’t blow it!
Painful silence. Finally Tom says:
- What is your name?
- What do you care?
- Here I will show you what I care!
- Well, show me. Why don't you show it?
- Say two more words and I’ll show you.
- Two words! Two words! Two words! It is for you! Well!
- Look how clever he is! Yes, if I wanted, I could give you pepper with one hand, and let them tie the other - I’ll describe it to me.
- Why don’t you ask? After all, you say that you can.
- And I will ask you if you pester me!
- Oh no no no! We've seen these!
- You think, how dressed up you are, that’s how it is important bird! Oh, what a hat!
- I do not like? Knock it off my head, and you'll get your money's worth from me.
- You're lying!
- You yourself are lying!
- He’s just intimidating, but he’s a coward himself!
- Okay, get out!
- Hey, listen: if you don’t calm down, I’ll break your head!
- Why, you’ll break it! Oh oh oh!
- And I’ll break it!
- So what are you waiting for? You scare, scare, but in reality there is nothing? Are you afraid, then?
- I don’t think so.
- No, you're afraid!
- No I'm not afraid!
- No, you're afraid!
Silence again. They devour each other with their eyes, mark time and make a new circle. Finally they stand shoulder to shoulder. Tom says:
- Get out of here!
- Get out yourself!
- I don’t want to.
- And I don't want to.
So they stand face to face, each with one foot forward at the same angle. Looking at each other with hatred, they begin to push as hard as they can. But victory is not given to either one or the other. They push for a long time. Hot and red, they gradually weaken their onslaught, although everyone still remains on guard... And then Tom says:
- You are a coward and a puppy! So I’ll tell my older brother - he’ll beat you off with one little finger. I'll tell him - he'll beat him!
- I'm very afraid of your older brother! I myself have a brother, even older, and he could throw yours over that fence. (Both brothers are pure fiction).
- You're lying!
- You never know what you say!
Tom draws a line in the dust with his big toe and says:
- Just dare to step over this line! I'll give you such a beating that you won't get up! Woe to those who cross this line!
The strange boy immediately hurries to cross the line:
- Well, let's see how you inflate me.
- Leave me alone! I'm telling you: you better leave me alone!
- Yes, you said that you would beat me. Why don't you hit?
- Damn me if I don't beat you up for two cents!
The strange boy takes two large coppers out of his pocket and hands them to Tom with a grin.
Tom hits him on the hand, and the coppers fly to the ground. A minute later both boys are rolling around in the dust, clinging together like two cats. They pull each other's hair, jackets, pants, they pinch and scratch each other's noses, covering themselves in dust and glory. Finally, the indefinite mass takes on a distinct shape, and in the smoke of the battle it becomes clear that Tom is sitting astride the enemy and hammering him with his fists.
- Beg for mercy! - he demands.
But the boy tries to free himself and roars loudly - more from anger.
- Beg for mercy! - And the threshing continues.
Finally, the strange boy mutters indistinctly: “That’s enough!” - and Tom, releasing him, says:
- This is science for you. Next time, watch who you mess with.
The strange boy wandered away, shaking the dust off his suit, sobbing, sniffling, turning around from time to time, shaking his head and threatening to brutally deal with Tom “the next time he catches him.” Tom responded with ridicule and headed towards the house, proud of his victory. But as soon as he turned his back to the stranger, he threw a stone at him and hit him between the shoulder blades, and he began to run like an antelope. Tom chased the traitor all the way to the house and thus found out where he lived. He stood at the gate for a while, challenging the enemy to fight, but the enemy only made faces at him at the window and did not want to come out. Finally, the enemy’s mother appeared, called Tom a nasty, spoiled, rude boy and ordered him to get away.
Tom left, but as he left, he threatened that he would wander around and give her son a hard time.
He returned home late and, carefully climbing through the window, discovered that he had been ambushed: his aunt was standing in front of him; and when she saw what had become of his jacket and trousers, her determination to turn his holiday into hard labor became as hard as a diamond.
Chapter first
No answer.
No answer.
“It’s amazing where this boy could have gone!” Tom, where are you?
No answer.
Aunt Polly pulled her glasses down her nose and looked around the room over the glasses, then raised them onto her forehead and looked around the room from under the glasses. She very rarely, almost never, looked through her glasses at such a trifle as a boy; These were ceremonial glasses, her pride, purchased for beauty, not for use, and it was as difficult for her to see anything through them as through a pair of stove dampers. She was confused for a minute, then she said - not very loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:
- Well, wait, just let me get to you...
Without finishing, she bent down and began poking under the bed with a brush, catching her breath after each poke. She didn't get anything out of it except the cat.
- What a child, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!
Approaching the wide open door, she stopped on the threshold and looked around her garden - beds of tomatoes overgrown with dope. Tom wasn't here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard as far as possible, she shouted:
- Sooo, where are you?
There was a slight rustle behind her, and she looked back - just in time to grab the boy by the arm before he slipped through the door.
- Well, it is! I forgot about the closet. What were you doing there?
- Nothing.
- Nothing? Look what you have in your hands. And the mouth too. What is it?
- I don’t know, aunt.
- I know. This jam is what it is! Forty times I told you: don’t you dare touch the jam - I’ll tear it out! Give me the rod here.
The rod whistled in the air - it seemed that trouble was imminent.
- Oh, auntie, what’s that behind your back?!
Aunt turned around, picking up her skirts to protect herself from danger. The boy jumped over the high fence in an instant and was gone.
Aunt Polly was taken aback at first, and then laughed good-naturedly:
- So go with him! Am I really not going to learn anything? Does he play a lot of tricks on me? It seems like it's time to wise up. But there is no worse fool than an old fool. No wonder they say: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But, my God, every day he comes up with something, where can I guess. And it’s as if he knows how long he can torment me; he knows that as soon as he makes me laugh or confuses me even for a minute, I give up and I can’t even spank him. I’m not fulfilling my duty, to be honest! After all, the scripture says: whoever spares a child destroys him. Nothing good will come of this, it’s just a sin. He is a real devil, I know, but he, poor thing, is the son of my late sister, somehow I don’t have the heart to punish him. If you indulge him, your conscience will torture you, but if you punish him, your heart will break. It is not for nothing that the scripture says: the human age is short and full of sorrows; and I think that's true. These days he's shirking school; I'll have to punish him tomorrow - I'll put him to work. It’s a pity to force the boy to work when all the children have a holiday, but he has the hardest time working, and I need to fulfill my duty to him, otherwise I will ruin the child.
Tom didn't go to school and had a great time. He barely had time to return home in order to help Negro Jim cut wood for tomorrow and chop kindling for kindling before dinner. In any case, he managed to tell Jim about his adventures while he was three-quarters of the way through the work. Tom's younger (or rather half-brother), Sid, had already done everything he was supposed to (he picked up and carried wood chips): he was an obedient boy, not prone to pranks and pranks.
While Tom was having dinner, taking lumps of sugar from the sugar bowl at every opportunity, Aunt Polly asked him various tricky questions, very cunning and tricky - she wanted to catch Tom by surprise so that he would let it slip. Like many simple-minded people, she considered herself a great diplomat, capable of the most subtle and mysterious tricks, and believed that all her innocent tricks were a miracle of resourcefulness and cunning. She asked:
– Tom, wasn’t it very hot at school?
- No, aunt.
- Or maybe it’s very hot?
- Yes, aunt.
“Well, didn’t you really want to take a bath, Tom?”
Tom's soul sank to his feet - he sensed something evil. He looked incredulously into Aunt Polly’s face, but didn’t see anything special and so said:
- No, aunt, not really.
She reached out and felt Tom's shirt and said:
- Yes, perhaps you didn’t sweat at all. “She liked to think that she was able to check whether Tom’s shirt was dry without anyone understanding what she was getting at.
However, Tom immediately sensed which way the wind was blowing and warned the next move:
“At our school, boys poured water over their heads from the well. I still have it wet, look!
Aunt Polly was very upset that she had lost sight of such an important piece of evidence. But then I was inspired again.
“Tom, you didn’t have to rip your collar to get your head wet, right?” Unzip your jacket!
Tom's face lit up. He opened his jacket - the collar was tightly sewn.
- Come on! Go away! I must admit, I thought that you would run away from class to go swimming. So be it, this time I forgive you. You're not as bad as you seem.
She was both upset that her insight had deceived her this time, and she was glad that Tom, at least by chance, behaved well.
Then Sid intervened:
“It seemed to me as if you sewed up his collar with white thread, and now he has black thread.”
- Well, yes, I sewed it up with white! Volume!
But Tom did not wait for the continuation. Running out the door, he shouted:
“I’ll remember this for you, Siddy!”
In a secluded place, Tom examined two thick needles, stuck into the lapels of his jacket and wrapped with thread: one needle had a white thread threaded into it, the other a black one.
“She wouldn’t have noticed anything if it weren’t for Sid.” Damn it! Sometimes she sews it up with white thread, sometimes with black thread. At least one thing, otherwise you won’t be able to follow it. Well, I’ll beat Sid. Will remember!
Tom was not the most exemplary boy in the city, but he knew the most exemplary boy very well - and could not stand him.
In two minutes, or even less, he forgot about all his misfortunes. Not because these misfortunes were not as heavy and bitter as the misfortunes of an adult, but because a new, stronger interest crowded them out and drove them out of his soul for a while - in exactly the same way as adults forget their grief in excitement. starting some new business. Such a novelty was a special way of whistling, which he had just learned from a black man, and now he wanted to practice this art without interference.
It was a very special bird trill - something like a flooded twitter; and in order for it to work out, it was necessary to touch the palate with the tongue every now and then - the reader probably remembers how this is done if he was ever a boy. Having applied diligence and patience to the matter, Tom soon acquired the necessary dexterity and walked down the street even faster - music sounded on his lips, and his soul was filled with gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who had discovered a new planet - and without a doubt, if we talk about strong, deep, unclouded joy, all the advantages were on the side of the boy, and not the astronomer.
Summer evenings drag on for a long time. It was still quite light. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling. In front of him stood an unfamiliar boy slightly larger than himself. A newcomer of any age or gender was a rarity in the seedy little town of St. Petersburg. And this boy was also well dressed - just think, well dressed on a weekday! Simply amazing. He was wearing a brand new smart hat and a smart cloth jacket, buttoned up with all the buttons, and the same new trousers. He was wearing shoes - it was Friday! He even had a tie - made of some kind of colorful ribbon. And in general he had a metropolitan look, which Tom could not stand. The longer Tom looked at this shining miracle, the higher he turned up his nose at the dandy stranger and the more pitiful his own suit seemed to him. Both boys were silent. If one moved, then the other moved too - but only sideways, in a circle; They stood face to face the entire time, never taking their eyes off each other. Finally Tom said:
- Do you want me to beat you?
- Come on, try it! Where are you!
“I said I’ll beat you, so I can.”
- But you can’t.
- Can not!
- Can not!
Painful silence. Then Tom began:
- What is your name?
- None of your business.
- If I want, it will be mine.
- Well, why don’t you fight?
– Talk to me again, you’ll get it.
- And I’ll talk and talk – here’s to you.
- Just think, what kind of guy he turned out to be! If I want, I can beat you with one left hand.
- Well, why don’t you hit? Just talking.
“If you play the fool, I’ll beat you.”
- Well, yes - we have seen such people.
- Look, you're all dressed up! Just think how important! Still wearing a hat!
– Take it and knock it down if you don’t like it. Try to knock it down - then you'll find out.
- You're lying!
“Where are you going to fight, you won’t dare.”
- Yah you!
“Talk to me again, I’ll break your head with a brick!”
- Well, it broke!
- And I’ll break it through.
-Are you standing? Only the master can talk. Why aren't you fighting? Are you afraid, then?
- No I'm not afraid.
- You're afraid!
- No I'm not afraid.
- You're afraid!
Again there is silence, again both begin to step sideways, looking sideways at each other. Finally they came together shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:
- Get out of here!
- Get out yourself!
- Don't want.
- And I do not want to.
They stood, each with one leg forward as a support, pushing with all their might and looking at each other with hatred. However, neither one nor the other could prevail. At last, heated by the struggle and flushed, they cautiously retreated from each other, and Tom said:
- You are a coward and a puppy. I’ll tell my older brother to give you a hard time, and he’ll beat you with just his little finger.
– I don’t care about your older brother! I also have a brother, even older. He'll take it and throw you over the fence! (There were no brothers in sight.)
- It's all lies.
- It’s not a lie, you never know what you say.
Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe and said:
“Just step over this line, I’ll beat you so hard that you won’t recognize your own people.” Just try it, you won't be happy.
The new boy quickly stepped over the line and said:
- Well, try it, touch it!
- Don’t push, otherwise I’ll give you a damn!
- Well, I’ll see how you give it to me! Why aren't you fighting?
- Give me two cents, I’ll give you a spanking.
The new boy took two large coppers out of his pocket and mockingly handed them to Tom. Tom hit him on the hand, and the coppers flew to the ground. At the same moment, both boys rolled into the mud, clutching like a cat. They pulled and tore each other's hair and clothes, scratched their noses, treated each other with blows - and covered themselves with dust and glory. The confusion soon cleared up, and through the smoke of the battle it became clear that Tom had mounted the new boy and was hammering him with his fists.
- Beg for mercy! - he said.
The boy just floundered, trying to free himself. He cried more out of anger.
- Beg for mercy! – And the fists started working again.
- This is science for you. Next time, watch who you mess with.
The dandy wandered away, brushing the dust off his suit, sobbing, sniffling and promising to give Tom a hard time “when he catches him again.”
Tom laughed at him and headed home in the most excellent mood, but as soon as Tom turned his back to him, the stranger grabbed a stone and threw it at him, hitting him between the shoulder blades, and then took off running, galloping like an antelope. Tom chased him all the way home and found out where he lived. For some time he stood guard at the gate, calling the enemy out into the street, but he only made faces at him from the window, rejecting the call. Finally, the enemy’s mother appeared, called Tom a nasty, rude, ill-mannered boy and told him to get away. And he left, warning her not to come across her son again.
He returned home very late and, carefully climbing through the window, discovered an ambush in the person of Aunt Polly; and when she saw the state of his suit, her determination to replace his Saturday rest with hard labor became harder than granite.
Chapter two
Saturday morning came, and everything in the summer world breathed freshness, shone and seethed with life. Music sounded in every heart, and if that heart was young, then the song burst from the lips. Joy was on every face, and spring was in everyone’s step. The white acacia was in full bloom, and its fragrance filled the air.
Cardiff Mountain, which could be seen from everywhere, was completely green and seemed from a distance to be a wonderful, alluring country, full of peace and tranquility.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of lime and a long brush in his hands. He looked around the fence, and all joy flew away from him, and his spirit plunged into the deepest melancholy. Thirty yards of board fence, nine feet high! Life seemed empty to him, and existence a heavy burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush into the bucket and ran it along the top board of the fence, repeated this operation, did it again, compared the insignificant whitewashed strip with the vast continent of the unpainted fence and sat down on the fence under the tree in complete despondency. Jim came skipping out of the gate with a tin bucket in his hand, singing “Buffalo Girls.” Carrying water from the city well had always seemed boring to Tom, but now he looked at it differently. He remembered that a group of people always gathered at the well. White and black boys and girls always hung around there, waiting for their turn, resting, exchanging toys, quarreling, fighting, playing around. And he also remembered that, although the well was only a hundred and fifty steps away from them, Jim never returned home before an hour later, and even then they had to send someone for him. Tom said:
“Listen, Jim, I’ll go get some water, and you whitewash here a little.”
- I can’t, Mister Tom. The old mistress told me to quickly go get water and not stop with anyone along the way. She said, Mr. Tom will probably call me to whitewash the fence, so that I go my own way and mind my own business, and she will take care of the fence herself.
– Don’t listen to her, Jim. You never know what she says. Give me a bucket, I'll run away in a minute. She won't even know.
- Oh, I'm afraid, Mister Tom. The old mistress will rip my head off for this. By God, it will tear you off.
- Is she? Yes, she never fights. He hits you on the head with a thimble, that’s all - just think, what importance! She says God knows what, but words won’t do anything unless she starts crying. Jim, I'll give you a balloon! I'll give you a white one with marble veins!
Jim began to hesitate.
- White marble, Jim! This is no small matter for you!
- Oh, how great it sparkles! But I’m really afraid of the old mistress, Mr. Tom...
– And if you want, I’ll show you my sore finger.
Jim was only a man - such a temptation was beyond his strength. He put the bucket on the ground, took the white ball and, filled with curiosity, bent over the sore finger while Tom unwound the bandage. The next minute he was already flying down the street, rattling his bucket and scratching his back, Tom was diligently whitewashing the fence, and Aunt Polly was leaving the theater of war with a shoe in her hand and triumph in her eyes.
But Tom's energy didn't last long. He began to think about how joyfully he expected to spend this day, and his sorrow increased. Soon other boys would leave home to various interesting places and make Tom laugh for being forced to work - this thought alone burned him like fire. He took all his treasures out of his pocket and inspected them: broken toys, marbles, all sorts of rubbish - perhaps suitable for exchange, but hardly suitable for buying himself at least one hour of complete freedom. And Tom again put his meager capital into his pocket, abandoning any thought of bribing the boys. But in this gloomy and hopeless moment, inspiration suddenly struck him. Nothing more and nothing less than a real dazzling inspiration!
He took up the brush and continued to work leisurely. Soon Ben Rogers appeared around the corner - the same boy whose ridicule Tom feared more than anything in the world. Ben's gait was light and bouncing - sure proof that his heart was light and he expected only the best from life. He was chewing an apple and from time to time he made a long melodic whistle, followed by: “ding-dong-dong”, “ding-dong-dong”, at the lowest notes, because Ben was imitating a steamboat. As she got closer, she slowed down, turned into the middle of the street, heeled to starboard and began to slowly turn towards the shore, carefully and with due importance, because she was representing the "Big Missouri" and had a draft of nine feet. He was the ship, and the captain, and the ship's bell - all together, and therefore he imagined that he was standing on the captain's bridge, he himself gave the command and carried it out himself.
- Stop, car! Ting-ling-ling! “The car stopped, and the steamer slowly approached the sidewalk. - Reverse! “Both arms dropped and stretched out to their sides.
- Right hand drive! Ting-ling-ling! Chu! ch-chu-u! Chu! - Meanwhile, the right hand solemnly described circles: it depicted a forty-foot wheel.
- Steer to the left! Ting-ling-ling! Chu-chu-chu-chu! – The left hand began to describe circles.
- Stop, starboard! Ting-ling-ling! Stop, port side! Small move! Stop, car! The smallest one! Ting-ling-ling! Chuuuuuuck! Give it up! Live! Well, where is your rope, why are you digging? Moor to the pile! Okay, okay, now let go! The car has stopped, sir! Ting-ling-ling! Sht-sht-sht! (He was the one letting off steam.)
Tom continued to whitewash the fence, not paying any attention to the steamer. Ben stared at him and said:
- Yeah, I got caught, they took me to the pier!
There was no answer. Tom examined his last stroke with the eyes of an artist, then carefully ran his brush over the fence again and stood back, admiring the results. Ben came and stood next to him. Tom swallowed his saliva - he wanted an apple so bad, but he worked hard. Ben said:
- Well, old man, you have to work, huh?
Tom turned around and said:
- Oh, is that you, Ben? I didn't even notice.
- Listen, I'm going for a swim. Don't you want to? No, of course you will work? Well, of course, the work is much more interesting.
Tom looked closely at Ben and asked:
-What do you call work?
– And this, in your opinion, is not work, or what?
Tom began to whitewash again and answered casually:
“Well, maybe it’s work, maybe it’s not work.” All I know is that Tom Sawyer likes her.
- Come on, it’s as if you like whitewashing so much?
The brush still moved evenly along the fence.
- Like? Why not? I suppose it’s not every day that our brother gets to whitewash the fence.
After this the whole matter appeared in a new light. Ben stopped chewing the apple. Tom carefully moved the brush back and forth, stopping from time to time to admire the result, adding a stroke, another, admiring the result again, and Ben watched his every movement, showing more and more interest in the matter. Suddenly he said:
- Listen, Tom, let me whiten it a little.
Tom thought for a moment and at first seemed ready to agree, and then suddenly changed his mind.
- No, Ben, it won’t work anyway. Aunt Polly is literally shaking over this fence; you see, he goes out into the street - if this was the side that goes into the yard, she wouldn’t say a word, and neither would I. She's just shaking over this fence. Do you know how to whiten it? In my opinion, perhaps one boy out of a whole thousand, or even out of two thousand, will be able to whiten it properly.
- What are you talking about? Listen, let me try, at least a little. Tom, I would let you in if you were me.
- Ben, I would love to, honest Indian! But what about Aunt Polly? Jim wanted to paint it too, but she wouldn’t allow it. Sid wanted it, but she didn’t let Sid either. Do you see how things are going? Well, you start whitewashing the fence, and what if something happens...
- Come on, Tom, I’ll try. Well, let me try. Listen, I'll give you the middle of an apple.
- Well, okay... Although no, Ben, it’s better not to. I'm afraid.
- I'll give you all the apples!
Tom released the brush from his hands not very willingly, but with glee in his soul. And while the former steamship "Big Missouri" worked hard in the sun, the retired artist, sitting in the shade on a barrel, dangled his legs, chewed an apple and pondered a further plan for beating the babies. It didn't matter to them. The boys ran along the street every minute; they came up to laugh at Tom - and stayed to whitewash the fence. When Ben was exhausted, Tom sold the next line to Billy Fisher for a used kite, and when he got tired of whitewashing, Johnny Miller bought the line for a dead rat with a string to make it easier to twirl, etc., etc., an hour after an hour. By the middle of the day, from a poor boy close to poverty, Tom became a rich man and literally drowned in luxury. In addition to the wealth already listed, he had: twelve marbles, a broken harmonica, a piece of blue bottle glass to look through, an empty reel, a key that did not unlock anything, a piece of chalk, a crystal stopper from a decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six firecrackers, a one-eyed kitten, a brass doorknob, a dog collar without a dog, a knife handle, four pieces of orange peel and an old window frame. Tom had a great time doing nothing and having fun, and the fence was covered with three layers of lime! If he hadn't run out of lime, he would have ruined all the boys in the city.
Tom thought that living in the world was not so bad. Without knowing it, he discovered the great law governing human actions, namely: in order for a boy or an adult to want something, only one thing is necessary - that it should not be easy to achieve. If Tom were a great and wise thinker, like the author of this book, he would conclude that Work is what a person is obliged to do, and Play is what he is not obliged to do. And this would help him understand why making artificial flowers or carrying water in a sieve is work, but knocking down pins or climbing Mont Blanc is fun. There are such rich people in England who like to drive a mail coach drawn by a four-wheeler in the summer, because it costs them a lot of money; and if they received a salary for this, the game would turn into work and would lose all interest for them.
Tom pondered for some time over the significant change that had occurred in his circumstances, and then went with a report to headquarters.
Warning
Any attempt to find the motive for the birth of this story will result in prosecution. An attempt to extract any moral from the novel is punishable by exile, and for attempting to find hidden meaning in it, the perpetrators will be shot by order of the author by the chief of his artillery.
Chapter I
They civilize Huck. - Moses and the reeds. - Miss Watson. - Tom Sawyer is waiting.
If you have not read the book entitled The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, then you know absolutely nothing about me. However, there is nothing particularly illegal here. The book was written by Mark Twain, generally speaking, quite truthfully. It is clear that the matter was not without some embellishments, but this, as they say, is where the light lies. Almost everyone I've ever met has told a little bit of a lie on one occasion or another. Exception from general rule consist only of: Aunt Polly, and the widow, and perhaps also the red-haired beauty Mary. Aunt Polly is the same one who is Tom's aunt. About her and the widow Douglas are told in the already mentioned book, generally speaking, truthful, if you do not pay attention to some embellishments in it. As for Mary, we will talk about her later.
Something is said about myself in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It tells how Tom and I found money hidden by robbers in a cave and thus became rich. Each of us received six thousand dollars in pure gold. It was strange even to look at such a lot of money, folded in regular columns. Judge Thatcher took all this money and gave it to interest, so that it brought each of us a dollar a day for a whole year, that is, much more than we were able to spend. Widow Douglas took me into her house, looked at your humble servant as if she were her own son, and set out to civilize him. Taking into account the widow’s murderously correct and decent lifestyle, it was extremely difficult for me to live with her, and when I had to become absolutely unbearable, I ran away from her. Finding myself again in rags and in a large barrel of granulated sugar, I felt free and contented again, but Tom Sawyer found me. He persuaded me to return to the widow and behave decently, promising, as a reward for this, to accept me into the gang of robbers that he was going to organize. In view of such a tempting promise, I immediately returned to the widow.
When she saw me, she burst into tears, called me a poor lost lamb and gave me many other similar nicknames, without, however, having the slightest desire to offend me. They put me on a new dress again, in which I was sweating all the time and felt as if my whole body was cramped. Everything went back to the old rut. The widow called the whole family to dinner by ringing a bell. Having heard the bell, one had to immediately appear in the dining room, and meanwhile, having got there, it was still impossible to immediately secure anything edible: one had to wait until the widow, bowing her head, mumbled a little over the dishes, although she was already with them. everything seemed to be going well. Everything was fried and cooked in moderation. It would be a different matter if they served a barrel of some kind of mixture on the table; then the spells might perhaps come in handy: the contents would mix better, release the juice and become tastier.
After dinner, the widow took out a large book and began to teach me about Moses and the reeds. I tried my best to find out all the ins and outs about him, and over time I got the widow to explain that this same Moses had died a long time ago. Then I completely stopped being interested in him, because I don’t speculate in such goods as dead people.
After a very short time I felt a desire to smoke and asked the widow to allow me to do so; she did not agree - she declared smoking an unclean, dirty habit and demanded that I give it up completely. People are often like this in general - they get carried away by things about which they know absolutely nothing. For example, Mrs. Douglas was fascinated by Moses and constantly talked about him, although, as far as I know, he was not related to her. Moreover, he could not have done the slightest good for anyone, since he had already died a long time ago. Despite all this, Mrs. Douglas attacked me terribly for smoking, which still had some benefit. Meanwhile, the widow herself took snuff and did not find anything wrong with it, no doubt because she did it herself.
Miss Watson, a rather thin old maid with glasses, has just arrived and taken up residence with Mrs. Douglas. Armed with the ABCs, she attacked me mercilessly for almost an hour, until the widow begged her to release my soul to repentance. I really could not bear such torture any longer. Then, for about an hour, there was mortal boredom. I kept fidgeting in my chair, and Miss Watson stopped me every minute. “Sit still, Huckleberry! - Don't swing your legs! – Why are you crouching like that?! - Stay straight! - Don't yawn or stretch, Huckleberry! “Can’t you behave more decently?” - she told me, and then began to explain that with such bad behavior it is not surprising to end up in a very bad place called hell. In the simplicity of my soul, I decided that it would not hurt me to visit there, and frankly told her about it. She was terribly furious, although there was not the slightest bad intention on my part. I actually wanted to go somewhere; where exactly was completely indifferent to me, since in essence I only longed for change. The old maid declared that it was very bad of me to say such things, that she herself would never say anything like that, and that she intended to live in such a way as to get to the green place, “where the righteous rest.” I personally did not see for myself the slightest benefit to being in the same place with her, and therefore I decided in my mind not to make the slightest attempt to do so. However, I did not tell her about my decision, since this would only anger her and would not bring me any benefit.
Miss Watson, feeling set in motion, could not stop soon and continued to tell me about the evil place. She assured that the man who fell there had a wonderful life: all day long, until the end of time, all he did was walk around with a harp and sing. This prospect did not particularly appeal to me, but I did not express my opinion to her, but only asked what she thought: would Tom Sawyer end up in a bad place or not? She sighed heavily and, after being silent for a while, answered in a negative sense. I was very happy about this, since I really wanted not to be separated from him.
Miss Watson continued to push me; I'm very tired and bored of it. In the end, however, they called the blacks into the room, began to read prayers and went to their bedrooms. I went into my room with a candle, which I put on the table, and then, sitting down on a chair near the window, I tried to think about something funnier, but nothing worthwhile came of it. I felt so sad that at that moment I even wanted to die. The stars sparkled, it seemed, somehow sadly; a sad rustling of leaves could be heard from the forest; somewhere in the distance an owl screeched, of course, over a dead man; you could hear the howling of a dog and the plaintive cry of “oww-poor-ville,” foreshadowing someone’s death; the wind began to whisper something, which I could not understand, but which made cold sweat break out all over my body. Then I heard from the forest the dull voice of a dead man who needs, but cannot, express what is in his soul. The poor fellow cannot lie quietly in his grave and must wander at night in inappropriate places. I completely lost heart and was especially upset that I did not have any comrade at hand. Soon, however, a spider descended on me and crawled along my shoulder.
I hastily shook him off, and he fell straight onto the candle and, before I had time to move, he was all wrinkled and burned. I myself knew that this was a terribly bad omen and that the death of the spider would bring me misfortune. This upset me to such an extent that I almost tore my clothes. It is true that I immediately got up and walked around the room three times in the same tracks, each time making the sign of the cross, and then tied a tuft of my hair with a thread in order to protect myself in this way from the witches. Nevertheless, I still could not feel completely calm. It helps when, instead of pinning a horse shoe you find over the door, you lose it, but I have never heard of a similar way to prevent misfortune after you happen to kill a spider.
Trembling all over, I sat down again on the chair and took out my pipe, intending to smoke. There was now dead silence in the house, and the widow could in no way find out about my trick. But then, after a long time, I heard a clock somewhere far away in the city begin to strike: boom, boom, boom... They struck twelve times, and then everything quieted down again and even seemed quieter than before. Soon after that, I heard a branch crunch below, in the darkness, in the thicket of trees, and, holding my breath, began to listen. Immediately after that, a cat’s meow was heard from there: “Meow-meow!..” “Well, that’s okay,” I said to myself and immediately answered in turn: “Meow-meow!..” - as soft and as possible in a gentle tone, put out the candle, climbed out of the window onto the roof of the barn, slowly rolled down it, jumped to the ground and made his way into the thicket of trees. There, indeed, I saw Tom Sawyer waiting for me.
Chapter II
Tom and I happily escape from Jim. - Jim. - Tom Sawyer's Gang. - Profound plans.
We tiptoed through the trees, heading towards the far end of the garden and ducking so that the branches did not catch our heads. Walking past the kitchen, I tripped over the root of a tree and fell, and, of course, made a little noise. We lay down on the ground and lay completely motionless. Jim, the tall Negro of the Watson girl, was sitting right in the doorway, on the threshold. We could distinguish him quite clearly, since a candle was burning in the kitchen. He stood up, craned his neck, listened silently for a minute and then asked:
- Who's there?!
Receiving no answer, he began to listen again, and then tiptoed out of the kitchen and stopped just in between me and Tom. We were so close to him that we almost touched him. For several minutes, which seemed very long to me, not a single sound was heard, and yet all three of us were almost touching each other. Just at this time, I started to itch near my ankle, but I didn’t dare scratch it. After that, I got a terrible itching near my ear, and then on my back, just between my shoulders. It seemed to me that I would simply die if I decided to hold out any longer. By the way, I had occasion to notice this quality in myself more than once: as soon as you are in decent society or at a funeral, you try to sleep without feeling any particular desire to do so - in short, every time itching is completely inappropriate, you certainly feel the urge to this in almost a thousand places. Soon, however, Jim broke the silence and asked:
-Who are you? Where are you?! Tear the dog of my cats if I haven't heard something like that here! OK! I already know what I'll do! I'll sit here and listen until I hear something again.
Having sat down on the path so that he was right between me and Tom, he leaned against a tree and spread his legs wide, as a result of which one of them almost touched my leg. Then my nose began to itch until tears came to my eyes, but I still didn’t dare itch; then something began to tickle me inside my nose and, finally, right under my nose, above my lip. I really don’t know how I managed to restrain myself and lie still. This unfortunate state lasted for six or seven minutes, but these minutes seemed like an eternity to me. I was itching at eleven different places; I felt that I could not stand one more minute, and therefore I clenched my teeth and decided to try my luck. Just at that moment Jim began to breathe heavily and immediately after that he began to snore. It didn’t take long for me to calm down and return to normal. Tom gave me a signal, lightly chewing his lips, and we crawled further on all fours. When we had crawled about ten feet away, Tom whispered to me that it would be a good idea to tie Jim to a tree for fun, but I categorically refused, explaining that the black man could wake up and raise such a cry that he would wake up the whole house, and then my absence would be revealed. It suddenly occurred to Tom that he had taken too few candles with him, and therefore he expressed a desire to go into the kitchen and borrow some from there. I advised him to refrain from such an attempt, since Jim might meanwhile wake up and go there too. Tom, however, wanted to accomplish some risky feat at all costs. The two of us, therefore, crept quietly into the kitchen and got hold of three candles, for which Tom put five cents on the table in payment. Then we left the kitchen, and I really wanted to get away from there, but I just couldn’t control my friend. He crawled again on all fours to the place where Jim was sleeping in order to play some joke on the black man. I was waiting for him impatiently, and it seemed to me that he was very slow, since there was dead silence all around.
Immediately after Tom's return we continued along the path, rounded the garden fence and gradually climbed the steep slope of the hill to the very top. Tom told me at the same time that he took Jim’s hat off his head and hung it on the branch of the very tree under which the black man was sleeping. Jim stirred slightly at this, but did not wake up. Subsequently, Jim claimed that the witches had bewitched him, driven him into a state of insanity and rode him all over the state, and then sat him down again under a tree and, to eliminate all doubts, hung his hat on a branch. The next day, repeating this story, Jim added that the witches traveled to New Orleans on it, and after that, with each new retelling, he increasingly expanded the area of his wanderings. In the end it turned out that the witches rode him all over the world, tortured him almost to death, and brutally crushed his back. It is clear that Jim was terribly proud of this. It got to the point where he hardly gave other blacks any attention. They sometimes came several miles away to listen to his adventures, and he began to enjoy extraordinary respect and honor among them. Completely alien blacks sometimes stood near the fence, their mouths open, and looked at Jim as if at some kind of miracle. When it gets dark, blacks, sitting near the fire in the kitchen, always talk among themselves about sorcerers and witches. If anyone started such a conversation and tried to show himself to be a knowledgeable person on this subject, Jim had only to come in and say: “Hm, do you know anything about magic?” - and the talkative black man, as if someone had blocked his throat with a cork, immediately fell silent, and then slowly faded into the back rows. Jim drilled a hole in a five-cent coin and, threading a cord through it, wore the coin constantly around his neck, explaining that it was a talisman, personally given by the devil, who declared that it could cure all diseases and, if necessary, summon sorcerers and witches. To do this, only a small spell had to be cast, which he kept, of course, secret. Negroes flocked to Jim from all over the area and gave him everything they had, just to look at this five-cent coin, but under no circumstances agreed to touch it, knowing that it had been in the hands of the devil himself. Jim, as a servant, fell into complete disrepair: to such an extent he became arrogant and vain after personally meeting the devil and carrying witches on his back.
Having climbed to the very top of the hill behind Mrs. Douglas's house, we looked around the village below, and noticed three or four lights flickering in the windows of houses where there were probably sick people. The stars above us shone even brighter than these lights, and below, beyond the village, a river flowed, a mile wide, majestic and calm. Coming down the hill we found Joe Harper, Ben Rogers, and two or three other boys waiting for us in an old abandoned tannery. Having untied the boat, we got into it and went down the river, about two and a half English miles, to a deep depression on the highland bank.
Having moored there, we went ashore and reached a place overgrown with bushes. Tom made all the boys swear not to reveal his secret, and then led us through the thickest thicket to a cave located in the hill. There we lit candles and crawled on hands and knees for about a hundred and fifty steps through a low, narrow passage. Then this underground corridor became higher, so that it was possible to walk while standing. Tom began to look into its various side passages. Soon he bent down and disappeared into the wall, where no one else would have noticed the existence of the hole. We had to make our way several dozen steps again along a narrow corridor, and then we entered a rather large room, hazy, damp and cold. There we stopped, and Tom addressed us with the following statement: “Now we will form a gang of robbers, which will be called Tom Sawyer’s gang. Everyone who wants to join it must swear allegiance to their comrades and sign this oath with their own blood!” Tom pulled out of his pocket a piece of paper on which the oath was written and read it aloud to us. Each boy took an oath to stand for the gang and never reveal its secrets. If someone insults a boy belonging to a gang, the offender and his family must immediately be killed by one of the robbers to whom this is prescribed by the ataman. The person receiving such an order is forbidden to eat or sleep until he kills the intended victims and carves a cross on their chest, which was to serve as a conventional distinctive sign of Tom Sawyer’s gang. Persons who did not belong to the gang were prohibited from using this mark. Prosecution was initiated against the perpetrator for the first time, and in case of repetition, he was sentenced to death. If any of the members of the gang dared to reveal its secrets, a terrible fate awaited him. They would first cut the throat of the oathbreaker, and then burn his corpse and scatter his ashes to the wind, cross out his name with their own blood from the list of robbers and never remember him again, except with the most terrible curses. It was best to not remember the traitor at all and consign his name to eternal oblivion.
We all really liked this oath formula, and we asked Tom if he really came up with such a wonderful thing himself? He frankly admitted that some of it belonged to him personally, but most of it was borrowed from books that described the exploits of land and sea robbers. According to him, every decent band of robbers certainly had its own oath.
It occurred to some of us that it would be a good idea to massacre the entire family of a boy who had betrayed the gang. Tom recognized this idea as brilliant and immediately made a corresponding addition in pencil on the jury sheet. Then Ben Rogers remarked:
- Well, for example, Huck Finn, who has no family! How would we apply this point to him?
“But he has a father,” objected Tom Sawyer.
“Let’s say that’s true, but now you won’t find his father even with the dogs.” Before, he used to lie drunk with the pigs in the leather factory, but for about a year now there has been no word from him.
Heated debate broke out on this controversial issue. They wanted to exclude me from the number of candidates for robbers, citing the absence of a family or even a person who could be killed in case of my betrayal, as a result of which I allegedly found myself in a more advantageous position than the other members of the gang. No one could think of a way out of this situation; we were all perplexed and silent. I was about to burst into tears when suddenly a happy thought flashed through my mind: I offered Miss Watson as my guarantor.
- If I decide to change it, I can kill her!
Everyone immediately exclaimed joyfully:
- Of course, you can! Everything is fine now! Huck can join the gang!
Each of us pricked his finger with a pin to draw blood for the signature, and due to my illiteracy, I put a cross on the oath form.
- Well, what will our gang do for a living? asked Ben Rogers.
“The only thing is robbery and murder,” answered Tom Sawyer.
- What are we going to break? Houses, barnyards or...
“It’s indecent for us to do such things!” This would not be robbery, but simply robbery; We are not robbers, but real robbers, knights of the high road. We will put on masks, stop stagecoaches and carriages, kill passers-by and take their money and watches.
– Is it absolutely necessary to kill?
- Of course, it is necessary. This counts the best way deal with passers-by. Some authorities have a different opinion on this matter, but the majority find it most appropriate to kill, and that’s it. However, it will be possible to bring some travelers here to the cave and keep them here until they pay off.
- How will they pay off when we take everything from them?
“I don’t know, but that’s just the way it is among robbers.” I have read about ransom in books and we should take this as a guide.
– What will we be guided by when we don’t understand what’s going on?
“You never know what we don’t understand, but we still have to be guided.” After all, I told you that this is written in books. Would you really like to deviate from printed text and make such a mess that you won’t even be able to sort it out later?
“It’s good to tell you all this, Tom Sawyer, but it’s still not clear how the captives will pay us off when they don’t have a penny left to their name?” What are we even going to do with them? In what sense, I would like to know, should we understand the word “pay off”?
- It must be in a figurative sense. We will probably keep them in our cave until they die a natural death.
- Well, that’s what I understand! So it will probably be okay. So we could have announced from the very beginning that we will keep them here until they are paid off with death. There is nothing to say, their fate will be bitter when they run out of everything to eat and they are convinced of the futility of trying to escape from here!
– You say strange things, Ben Rogers! Is it possible to escape when there is a sentry here, ready to shoot them as soon as they lift a finger?
- Sentinel!!! This was just not enough! Will any of us really have to sit up the whole night without sleep just to watch over them? That would be pure stupidity! Why not take a good club and force them to pay it off as soon as they get here?
– You can’t, because nothing is written about it in the books! Ben Rogers' whole question is whether we should play by the rules or simply act at random. After all, those who wrote the books knew, I hope, exactly how to act? You and I, of course, could not teach them anything; on the contrary, we should learn from them. Therefore, sir, we will treat the prisoners as it should be - in a printed manner.
- Well, okay, I agree to everything, but, no joke, it seems a little incongruous to me. So, are we going to kill women too?
“Ah, Ben Rogers, if I were such an ignorant person, I still wouldn’t ask such wild questions!” Is it possible to kill women?! No, sorry, nothing like this is found in any book. The women are brought here to the cave and treated with disgusting politeness, so that in the end they fall in love with us and never show the slightest desire to return home.
- Well, well, let them live! But I don’t intend to do such things. There will be such a crowd of all sorts of women and young men waiting for ransom in our cave that there will be no room left in it for the robbers themselves. However, continue, Mr. Ataman, I do not intend to object to you.
Young Tommy Barnes had fallen asleep by then. When we woke him up, he got into a very bad mood, burst into tears, announced that he wanted to go home to his mother and did not want to be a member of the robbers anymore.
The whole gang started laughing at him and calling him a crybaby. This angered him, and he announced that upon returning home, the first thing he would do was reveal all the secrets of our gang. Tom Smart gave the little one five cents to calm him down, and said that now we would all go home, and next week we would gather together to do our best and, no doubt, kill a lot of people then.
Ben Rogers explained that he could only leave home on Sundays, and expressed a desire for the gang to go hunting on the nearest first Sunday. All the other robbers admitted, however, that it was a sin to engage in such activities on holidays. Thus this issue was settled. We agreed to get together again and set a date for our first exit onto the main road as soon as possible. Then, having observed all the required formalities, we chose Tom Sawyer as chief chieftain and Joe Harper as his deputy of our gang and returned home.
Just before dawn I climbed onto the roof of the shed and climbed from there back through the window of my room. My new dress was all dirty and smeared with clay, and I myself was as tired as the last dog.
