In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy |улицы сошли с ума| and broken themselves into small strips called “places.” These “places” make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two |Одна улица можем пересекать себя раз или два|. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints |сборщик счетов за краски|, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route |по прохождении этого пути|, suddenly meet himself |встречает себя же| coming back, without a cent having been paid on account |без цента, оплаченного по счету|!
So, to quaint |странный| old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling |блуждая|, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables |мезонины| and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish |оловянные кружки и жаровню| or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a “colony.”
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick |трехэтажного кирпичного дома| Sue and Johnsy had their studio. “Johnsy” was familiar for |уменьшительное от| Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d’hôte |ресторанчика| of an Eighth Street “Delmonico’s,” and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial |схожими| that the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about |ходил вокруг да около| the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly |этот душегуб шагал смело|, smiting |поражая| his victims by scores |кучами|, but his feet trod slowly |его ноги медленно плелись| through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown |в лабиринте узких и поросших мхом…| “places.”
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric |галантным| old gentleman. A mite |миниатюрная| of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs |зефиры – южные ветры| was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer |едва ли была достойным соперником для дюжего старого тупицы с красными кулаками и одышкой|. But Johnsy he smote |свалил|; and she lay, scarcely |едва| moving, on her painted iron bedstead |крашеной железной кровати|, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow |движением седых косматых бровей|.
«She has one chance in – let us say, ten,” he said, as he shook down the mercury |ртуть| in his clinical thermometer. “ And that chance is for her to want to live |она должна хотеть жить|. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly |Вся наша фармакопея теряет смысл, когда люди начинают действовать в интересах гробовщика. У слова “undertaker” два значения: предприниматель и гробовщик |. Your little lady has made up her mind |to make up one’s mind – принять решение| that she’s not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind |на уме|?”
«She – she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples |Неаполитанский залив| some day.” said Sue.
«Paint? – bosh! |восклицание вроде “что за чушь?!”| Has she anything on her mind worth |стоящее| thinking twice – a man for instance?”
«A man?» said Sue, with a jew’s-harp twang in her voice |с резкостью в голосе, как у губной гармошки|. “Is a man worth |да, стоит ли мужчина…| – but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.”
«Well, it is the weakness, then» said the doctor. «I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish |все, что в моих силах и в силах науки|. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession |начинает считать кареты в своей похоронной процессии| I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves |если вы добьетесь от нее, чтобы она спросила какого фасона рукава будут носить этой зимой| I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten.”
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp |пока та не размокла|. Then she swaggered |храбро вошла| into Johnsy’s room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime |Рэгтайм – жанр музыки, популярный в США в начале 20 века. Считается предшественником джаза|.
Johnsy lay, scarcely