Текст 8 (f. Scott Fitzgerald Winter Dreams)

… And one day it came to pass that Mr. Jones – himself and not his ghost – came up to Dexter with tears in his eyes and said that Dexter was the best caddy in the club, and wouldn’t he decide not to quit if Mr. Jones made it worth his while, because every other – – caddy in the club lost one ball a hole for him – regularly –

‘No, sir,’ said Dexter decisively, ‘I don’t want to caddy any more.’ Then, after a pause: ‘I’m too old.’

‘You’re not more than fourteen. Why the devil did you decide just this morning that you wanted to quit? You promised that next week you’d go over to the state tournament with me.’

‘I decided I was too old.’ Dexter handed in his ‘A Class’ badge, collected what money was due him from the caddy master, and walked home to Black Bear Village.

‘The best – – caddy I ever saw,’ shouted Mr. Mortimer Jones over a drink that afternoon. ‘Never lost a ball! Willing! Intelligent! Quiet! Honest! Grateful!’

The little girl who had done this was eleven – beautifully ugly as little girls are apt to be who are destined after a few years to be inexpressibly lovely and bring no end of misery to a great number of men. The spark, however, was perceptible. There was a general ungodliness in the way her lips twisted down at the corners when she smiled, and in the – Heaven help us! – in the almost passionate quality of her eyes. Vitality is born early in such women. It was utterly in evidence now, shining through her thin frame in a sort of glow.

She had come eagerly out on to the course at nine o’clock with a white linen nurse and five small new golf-clubs in a white canvas bag which the nurse was carrying. When Dexter first saw her she was standing by the caddy house, rather ill at ease and trying to conceal the fact by engaging her nurse in an obviously unnatural conversation graced by startling and irrelevant grimaces from herself.

‘Well, it’s certainly a nice day, Hilda,’ Dexter heard her say. She drew down the corners of her mouth, smiled, and glanced furtively around, her eyes in transit falling for an instant on Dexter.

Then to the nurse:

‘Well, I guess there aren’t very many people out here this morning, are there?

The smile again – radiant, blatantly artificial – convincing.

‘I don't know what we’re supposed to do now,’ said the nurse, looking nowhere in particular.

‘Oh, that’s all right. I’ll fix it up.’

Dexter stood perfectly still, his mouth slightly ajar. He knew that if he moved forward a step his stare would be in her line of vision – if he moved backward he would lose his full view of her face. For a moment he had not realized how young she was. Now he remembered having seen her several times the year before – in bloomers.

Suddenly, involuntarily, he laughed, a short abrupt laugh – then, startled by himself, he turned and began to walk quickly away.

‘Boy!’

Dexter stopped.

‘Boy –’

Beyond question he was addressed. Not only that, but he was treated to that absurd smile, that preposterous smile – the memory of which at least a dozen men were to carry into middle age…

The situation was resolved by the fortuitous appearance of the caddy-master, who was appealed to immediately by the nurse.

‘Miss Jones is to have a little caddy, and this one says he can’t go.’

‘Mr. McKenna said I was to wait here till you came,’ said Dexter quickly.

‘Well, he’s here now.’ Miss Jones smiled cheerfully at the caddy-master. Then she dropped her bag and set off at a haughty mince toward the first tee.

‘Well?’ The caddy-master turned to Dexter. ‘What you standing there like a dummy for? Go pick up the young lady’s clubs.’

‘I don’t think I’ll go out to-day,’ said Dexter.

‘You don’t – ’

‘I think I’ll quit.’

The enormity of his decision frightened him. He was a favorite caddy, and the thirty dollars a month he earned through the summer were not to be made elsewhere around the lake. But he had received a strong emotional shock, and his perturbation required a violent and immediate outlet…

When he was twenty-three Mr. Hart – one of the gray-haired men who like to say ‘Now there’s a boy’ – gave him a guest card to the Sherry Island Golf Club for a week-end. It was a curious day, slashed abruptly with fleeting, familiar impressions. One minute he had the sense of being a trespasser — in the next he was impressed by the tremendous superiority he felt toward Mr. Т. А. Hedrick, who was a bore and not even a good golfer any more.

Then, because of a ball Mr. Hart lost near the fifteenth green, an enormous thing happened. While they were marching the stiff grasses of the rough there was a clear call of ‘Fore!’ from behind a hill in their rear. And as they all turned abruptly from their search a bright new ball sliced abruptly over the hill and Mr. T. A. Hedrick in the abdomen.

‘By Gad!’ cried Mr. T. A. Hedrick, ‘they ought to put some of these crazy women off the course. It’s getting to be outrageous’ …

‘That Judy Jones!’ remarked Mr. Hedrick on the next tee, as they waited — some moments — for her to play on ahead. ‘All she needs is to be turned up and spanked for six months and then to be married off to an old-fashioned cavalry captain.’

‘My God, she’s good-looking!’ said Mr. Sandwood, who was just over thirty.

‘Good-looking!’ cried Mr. Hedrick contemp­tuously, ‘she always looks as if she wanted to be kissed! Turning those big cow-eyes on every calf in town!’

It was doubtful if Mr. Hedrick intended a reference to the maternal instinct.

‘She’d play pretty good golf if she’d try,’ said Mr. Sandwood.

‘She has no form,’ said Mr. Hedrick solemnly.

‘She has a nice figure,’ said Mr. Sandwood.

‘Better thank the Lord she doesn’t drive a swifter ball,’ said Mr. Hart, winking at Dexter.

Later in the afternoon the sun went down with a riotous swirl of gold and varying blues and scarlets, and left the dry, rustling night of Western summer. Dexter watched from the veranda of the Golf Club, watched the even overlap of the waters in the little wind, silver molasses under the harvest-moon. Then the moon held a finger to her lips and the lake became a clear pool, pale and quiet. Dexter put on his bathing-suit and swam out to the farthest raft, where he stretched dripping on the wet canvas of the springboard.