Уильям Фолкнер - Авессалом, Авессалом! английский и русский параллельные тексты

Но я пишу, я должен писать, сие теперь неизбежно, и если Вы усмотрите в сем письме хотя бы малейшие признаки уничижения, благоволите принять их за нечто, исходящее не от матери и тем более не от сына, ибо они вышли из-под пера человека, чье скромное положение поверенного в делах вышеозначенной дамы и молодого джентльмена, человека, чья верность и благодарность к тем, чьему великодушию он был обязан (я не намерен сего скрывать, напротив, я во всеуслышание об этом объявляю) хлебом насущным, теплом и крышею над головой в течение времени, достаточно продолжительного, дабы научить его благодарности и верности - буде он не знал их прежде, - а также побудить его к действию, хотя средства его и отстают от цели, ибо он есть лишь то, что есть, и ни за что иное себя не выдает, а отнюдь не то, чем он желал бы быть.

There must have been nights and nights while Henry was learning from him how to lounge about a bedroom in a gown and slippers such as women wore, in a faint though unmistakable effluvium of scent such as women used, smoking a cigar almost as a woman might smoke it, yet withal such an air of indolent and lethal assurance that only the most reckless man would have gratuitously drawn the comparison (and with no attempt to teach, train, play the mentor on his part-and then maybe yes; maybe who could know what times he looked at Henry's face and thought, not there but for the intervening leaven of that blood which we do not have in common is my skull, my brow, sockets, shape and angle of jaw and chin and some of my thinking behind it, and which he could see in my face in his turn if he but knew to look as I know but there, just behind a little, obscured a little by that alien blood whose admixing was necessary in order that he exist is the face of the man who shaped us both out of that blind chancy darkness which we call the future; there-there-at any moment second, I shall penetrate by something of will and intensity and dreadful need, and strip that alien leavening from it and look not on my brother's face whom I did not know I possessed and hence never missed, but my father's, out of the shadow of whose absence my spirit's posthumeity has never escaped-at what moment thinking, watching the eagerness which was without abjectness, the humility which surrendered no pride-the entire proffering of the spirit of which the unconscious aping of clothes and speech and mannerisms was but the shell-thinking what cannot I do with this willing flesh and bone if I wish; this flesh and bone and spirit which stemmed from the same source that mine did, but which sprang in quiet peace and contentment and ran in steady even though monotonous sunlight, where that which he bequeathed me sprang in hatred and outrage and unforgiving and ran in shadow-what could I not mold of this malleable and eager clay which that father himself could not to what shape of what good there might, must, be in that blood and none handy to take and mold that portion of it in me until too late: of what moments when he might have told himself that it was nonsense, it could not be true; that such coincidences only happened in books, thinking the weariness, the fatalism, the incorrigible cat for solitude-That young clodhopper bastard.