102
" — Меня что всегда удивляло, — сказал Док. — Качества, которыми мы восхищаемся в человеке — доброта, щедрость, открытость, прямодушие, понимание, чувствительность, — все они обеспечивают неуспех в нашей системе. Те же черты, которые мы считаем гнусными — лукавство, алчность, жажда наживы, подлость, низость, эгоизм, своекорыстие, — все это, напротив, гарантирует успех. Людей восхищает первый джентльменский набор, но пользоваться они любят плодами второго.
— Кто согласится быть честным, но голодным? — сказал Ричард Фрост.
— Дело не в голоде. Дело совсем в другом. Каждый волен выбирать между спасением души и всеми царствами мира, и почти все выбирают земные царства. Все да не все. Везде в мире встретишь такого Мака с его ребятами. Я видел его в продавце мороженого в Мексике, в алеуте на Аляске. Вы ведь знаете, ребята хотели угостить меня. Но что-то в какой-то миг пошло не так. А ведь они хотели устроить мне вечеринку. Вот что ими двигало. Стоп, — прервал себя Док, — кажется, уже слышен оркестр. "
― John Steinbeck , Cannery Row (Cannery Row, #1)
105
" It took Doc longer to go places than other people. He didn’t drive fast and he stopped and ate hamburgers very often. Driving up to Lighthouse Avenue he waved at a dog that looked around and smiled at him. In Monterey before he even started, he felt hungry and stopped at Herman’s for a hamburger and beer. While he ate his sandwich and sipped his beer, a bit of conversation came back to him. Blaisedell, the poet, had said to him, “You love beer so much. I’ll bet some day you’ll go in and order a beer milk shake.” It was a simple piece of foolery but it had bothered Doc ever since. He wondered what a beer milk shake would taste like. The idea gagged him but he couldn’t let it alone. It cropped up every time he had a glass of beer. Would it curdle the milk? Would you add sugar? It was like a shrimp ice cream. Once the thing got into your head you couldn’t forget it. He finished his sandwich and paid Herman. He purposely didn’t look at the milk shake machines lined up so shiny against the back wall. If a man ordered a beer milk shake, he thought, he’d better do it in a town where he wasn’t known. But then, a man with a beard, ordering a beer milk shake in a town where he wasn’t known—they might call the police. A man with a beard "
― John Steinbeck , Cannery Row (Cannery Row, #1)
106
" The waitress, a blonde beauty with just a hint of a goiter, smiled at him. “What’ll it be?” “Beer milk shake,” said Doc. “What?” Well here it was and what the hell. Might just as well get it over with now as some time later. The blonde asked, “Are you kidding?” Doc knew wearily that he couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell the truth. “I’ve got a bladder complaint,” he said. “Bipalychaetorsonectomy the doctors call it. I’m supposed to drink a beer milk shake. Doctor’s orders.” The blonde smiled reassuringly. “Oh! I thought you was kidding,” she said archly. “You tell me how to make it. I didn’t know you was sick.” “Very sick,” said Doc, “and due to be sicker. Put in some milk, and add half a bottle of beer. Give me the other half in a glass—no sugar in the milk shake.” When she served it, he tasted it wryly. And it wasn’t so bad—it just tasted like stale beer and milk. “It sounds awful,” said the blonde. "
― John Steinbeck , Cannery Row (Cannery Row, #1)
112
" Il releva lentement la tête et laissa retomber les algues. Son cœur battait et sa gorge s'était serrée. Il ramassa son seau, ses jarres, son crochet, et regagna d'un pas rêveur le haut de la plage. Ce visage demeurait devant lui. Il s'assit sur le sable sec et enleva ses bottes. Dans l'une des jarres, les petites pieuvres s'étaient défaites les unes des autres. Une musique bourdonnait aux oreilles de Doc, comme le son perçant d'une flûte portant une mélodie insaisissable, coupée par le murmure des vagues et les sautes du vent. Et l'indicible mélodie s'élevait au-delà des sons, dans les régions que la musique elle-même ne peut atteindre. Doc frissonna, ses bras avaient la chair de poule, ses yeux se mouillèrent, comme les yeux se mouillent quand on touche le cœur de la magnificence. De clairs yeux gris, des cheveux noirs flottant, ondoyant au-dessus d'un front, l'image en demeurerait à jamais. Et la musique l'entourait, l'eau bouillonnait sur les galets, la terrifiante petite flûte chantait toujours, il battait la mesure avec sa main... Les yeux étaient d'un gris très clair, et la bouche entrouverte retenait un souffle d'extase... "
― John Steinbeck , Cannery Row (Cannery Row, #1)
117
" Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, blots-on-the-town, thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature. "
― John Steinbeck , Cannery Row (Cannery Row, #1)
118
" And everywhere people asked him why he was walking through the country.
Because he loved true things, he tried to explain. He said he was nervous and besides he wanted to see the country, smell the ground and look at grass and birds and trees, to savor the country, and there was no other way to do it save on foot. And people didn't like him for telling the truth. They scowled, or shook and tapped their heads, they laughed as though they knew it was a lie and they appreciated a liar. And some, afraid for their daughters or pigs, told him to move on, to get going, just not to stop near their place if he knew what was good for him.
And so he stopped telling the truth. He said he was doing it on a bet - that he stood to win a hundred dollars. Everyone liked him then and believed him. "
― John Steinbeck , Cannery Row (Cannery Row, #1)
