The Adventures of Tom Sawyer / Приключения Тома Сойера - Марк Твен

Марк Твен

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer / Приключения Тома Сойера

Preface

Most of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or two were experiences of my own, the rest those of boys who were schoolmates of mine. Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but not from an individual-he is a combination of the characteristics of three boys whom I knew, and therefore belongs to the composite order of architecture.

The odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children and slaves in the West at the period of this story-that is to say, thirty or forty years ago.

Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what they once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked, and what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.

Chapter I

Tom!

No answer.

TOM!

No answer.

Whats gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!

No answer.

The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for style, not service-she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear:

Well, I lay if I get hold of you Ill-

She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.

I never did see the beat of that boy!

She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and jimpson weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:

Y-o-u-u TOM!

There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.

There! I might a thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?

Nothing.

Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is that truck?

I dont know, aunt.

Well, I know. Its jam-thats what it is. Forty times Ive said if you didnt let that jam alone Id skin you. Hand me that switch.

The switch hovered in the air-the peril was desperate-

My! Look behind you, aunt!

The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared over it.

His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.

Hang the boy, cant I never learn anything? Aint he played me tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old fools is the biggest fools there is. Cant learn an old dog new tricks, as the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and how is a body to know whats coming? He pears to know just how long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, its all down again and I cant hit him a lick. I aint doing my duty by that boy, and thats the Lords truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says. Im a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know. Hes full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! hes my own dead sisters boy, poor thing, and I aint got the heart to lash him, somehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon its so. Hell play hookey this evening, and Ill just be obleeged to make him work, tomorrow, to punish him. Its mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and Ive got to do some of my duty by him, or Ill be the ruination of the child.

Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-days wood and split the kindlings before supper-at least he was there in time to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Toms younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no adventurous, trouble-some ways.

While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very deep-for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning. Said she:

Tom, it was middling warm in school, warnt it?

Yesm.

Powerful warm, warnt it?

Yesm.

Didnt you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?

A bit of a scare shot through Tom-a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He searched Aunt Pollys face, but it told him nothing. So he said:

Nom-well, not very much.

The old lady reached out her hand and felt Toms shirt, and said:

But you aint too warm now, though. And it flattered her to reflect that she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing that that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:

Some of us pumped on our heads-mines damp yet. See?

Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:

Tom, you didnt have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!

The trouble vanished out of Toms face. He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.

Bother! Well, go long with you. Id made sure youd played hookey and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon youre a kind of a singed cat, as the saying is-bettern you look. This time.

She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.

But Sidney said:

Well, now, if I didnt think you sewed his collar with white thread, but its black.

Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!

But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:

Siddy, Ill lick you for that.

In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them-one needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:

Shed never noticed if it hadnt been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to gee-miny shed stick to one or tother-I cant keep the run of em. But I bet you Ill lam Sid for that. Ill learn him!

He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well though-and loathed him.

Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a mans are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and drove them out of his mind for the time-just as mens misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music-the reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet-no doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer.

The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom checked his whistle. A stranger was before him-a boy a shade larger than himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well dressed, too-well dressed on a week-day. This was simply astounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on-and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Toms vitals. The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved-but only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said:

I can lick you!

Id like to see you try it.

Well, I can do it.

No you cant, either.

Yes I can.

No you cant.

I can.

You cant.

Can!

Cant!

An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:

Whats your name?

Tisnt any of your business, maybe.

Well I low Ill make it my business.

Well why dont you?

If you say much, I will.

Much-much-much. There now.

Oh, you think youre mighty smart, dont you? I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.

Well why dont you do it? You say you can do it.

Well I will, if you fool with me.

Oh yes-Ive seen whole families in the same fix.

Smarty! You think youre some, now, dont you? Oh, what a hat!

You can lump that hat if you dont like it. I dare you to knock it off-and anybody thatll take a dare will suck eggs.

Youre a liar!

Youre another.

Youre a fighting liar and dasnt take it up.

Aw-take a walk!

Say-if you give me much more of your sass Ill take and bounce a rock offn your head.

Oh, of course you will.

Well I will.

Well why dont you do it then? What do you keep saying you will for? Why dont you do it? Its because youre afraid.

I aint afraid.

You are.

I aint.

You are.

Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:

Get away from here!

Go away yourself!

I wont.

I wont either.

So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:

Youre a coward and a pup. Ill tell my big brother on you, and he can thrash you with his little finger, and Ill make him do it, too.

What do I care for your big brother? Ive got a brother thats bigger than he is-and whats more, he can throw him over that fence, too. [Both brothers were imaginary.]

Thats a lie.

Your saying so dont make it so.

Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:

I dare you to step over that, and Ill lick you till you cant stand up. Anybody thatll take a dare will steal sheep.

The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:

Now you said youd do it, now lets see you do it.

Dont you crowd me now; you better look out.

Well, you said youd do it-why dont you do it?

By jingo! for two cents I will do it.

The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each others hair and clothes, punched and scratched each others nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists. Holler nuff! said he.

The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying-mainly from rage.

Holler nuff!-and the pounding went on.

At last the stranger got out a smothered Nuff! and Tom let him up and said:

Now thatll learn you. Better look out who youre fooling with next time.

The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and threatening what he would do to Tom the next time he caught him out. To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and declined. At last the enemys mother appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said he lowed to lay for that boy.

He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and when she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its firmness.

Chapter II

Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town pump had always been hateful work in Toms eyes, before, but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour-and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:

Say, Jim, Ill fetch the water if youll whitewash some.

Jim shook his head and said:

Cant, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an git dis water an not stop foolin roun wid anybody. She say she spec Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an so she tole me go long an tend to my own business-she lowed shed tend to de whitewashin.

Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. Thats the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket-I wont be gone only a a minute. She wont ever know.

Oh, I dasnt, Mars Tom. Ole missis shed take an tar de head offn me. Deed she would.

She! She never licks anybody-whacks em over the head with her thimble-and who cares for that, Id like to know. She talks awful, but talk dont hurt-anyways it dont if she dont cry. Jim, Ill give you a marvel. Ill give you a white alley!

Jim began to waver.

White alley, Jim! And its a bully taw.

My! Dats a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom Is powerful fraid ole missis-

And besides, if you will Ill show you my sore toe.

Jim was only human-this attraction was too much for him. He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.