Stories by English Writers: William Golding

Уильям Голдинг, William Golding (1911-1993)

Уильям Джеральд Голдинг родился в 1911 году в графстве Корнуолл в семье школьного преподавателя. С детства мальчика отличал интерес к древности, особенно истории первобытного общества. Юноша закончил колледж Оксфордского университета, где два года изучал естественные науки, а затем специализировался на изучении английского языка и литературы. В течение нескольких лет Голдинг преподавал английский язык и философию в Уордсвортской школе в Солсбери.

В годы Второй мировой войны Голдинг служил на флоте, участвовал в качестве командира десантного корабля в операции по высадке союзников в Нормандии. Жизненный опыт военных лет, как сам писатель признавался впоследствии, лишил его каких бы то ни было иллюзий относительно свойств человеческой природы. Он говорил:

Я начал понимать, на что способны люди. Всякий, прошедший войну и не понявший, что люди творят зло подобно тому, как пчела производит мёд, — или слеп, или не в своем уме.

После демобилизации Голдинг продолжил преподавательскую деятельность, совмещая ее с написанием статей и рецензий для журналов. К этому времени относится создание первых четырех романов, которые Голдинг не смог издать.

В 1952 году он начал работу над произведением, принесшим ему мировую известность – «Повелитель мух» (Lord of the Flies). Книга быстро стала бестселлером. Вся Британия зачитывалась историей о группе школьников, очутившихся на острове во время войны. Голдинга избрали членом Королевского общества литературы. Это произведение считается одним из выдающихся произведений мировой литературы XX века.

За почти сорокалетнюю литературную карьеру Голдинг издал 12 романов. Все произведения писателя драматичны и отличаются философской глубиной и метафоричностью языка. Голдинг крайне пессимистичен по отношению к природе и эволюции человека.

В 1983 году за свои романы Голдинг был удостоен Нобелевской премии. В 1988 году королева наградила его рыцарским титулом.

CHAPTER ONE

The Sound of the Shell

 The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon. Though he had taken off his school sweater and trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to him and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him the long scar smashed into the jungle was a bath of heat. He was clambering heavily among the creepers and broken trunks when a bird, a vision of red and yellow, flashed upwards with a witch-like cry; and this cry was echoed by another.

"Hi!" it said. "Wait a minute!"

The undergrowth at the side of the scar was shaken and a multitude of raindrops fell pattering.

"Wait a minute," the voice said. ' I got caught up."

The fair boy stopped and jerked his stockings with an automatic gesture that made the jungle seem for a moment like the Home Counties. The voice spoke again.

"I can't hardly move with all these creeper things."

The owner of the voice came backing out of the undergrowth so that twigs scratched on a greasy wind-breaker. The naked crooks of his knees were plump, caught and scratched by thorns. He bent down, removed the thorns carefully, and turned round. He was shorter than the fair boy and very fat. He came forward, searching out safe lodgments for his feet, and then looked up through thick spectacles.

"Where's the man with the megaphone?"

The fair boy shook his head.

"This is an island. At least I think it's an island. That's a reef out in the sea. Perhaps there aren't any grownups anywhere."

The fat boy looked startled.

'There was that pilot. But he wasn't in the passenger cabin, he was up in front."

The fair boy was peering at the reef through screwed-up eyes.

"All them other lads," the fat boy went on. "Some of them must have got out. They must have, mustn't they?"

The fair boy began to pick his way as casually as possible toward the water. He tried to be offhand and not too obviously uninterested, but the fat boy hurried after him.

"Aren't there any grownups at all?"

"I don't think so."

The fair boy said this solemnly; but then the delight of a realized ambition overcame him. In the middle of the scar he stood on his head and grinned at the reversed fat boy.

"No grownups!"

The fat boy thought for a moment.

"That pilot."

The fair boy allowed his feet to come down and sat on the steamy earth.

"He must have flown off after he dropped us. He couldn't land here. Not in a plane with wheels."

"We was attacked!"

"He'll be back all right."

The fat boy shook his head.

"When we was coming down I looked through one of them windows. I saw the other part of the plane. There were flames coming out of it."

He looked up and down the scar.

"And this is what the cabin done."

The fair boy reached out and touched the jagged end of a trunk. For a moment he looked interested.

"What happened to it?" he asked. "Where's it got to now?"

"That storm dragged it out to sea. It wasn't half dangerous with all them tree trunks falling. There must have been some kids still in it."

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again.

"What's your name?"

"Ralph."

The fat boy waited to be asked his name in turn but this proffer of acquaintance was not made; the fair boy called Ralph smiled vaguely, stood up, and began to make las way once more toward the lagoon. The fat boy hung steadily at his shoulder.

"I expect there's a lot more of us scattered about. You haven't seen any others, have you?"

Ralph shook his head and increased his speed. Then he tripped over a branch and came down with a crash.

The fat boy stood by him, breathing hard.

"My auntie told me not to run," he explained, "on account of my asthma."

"Ass-mar?"

"That's right. Can't catch me breath. I was the only boy in our school what had asthma," said the fat boy with a touch of pride. "And I've been wearing specs since I was three."

He took off his glasses and held them out to Ralph, blinking and smiling, and then started to wipe them against his grubby wind-breaker. An expression of pain and inward concentration altered the pale contours of his face. He smeared the sweat from his cheeks and quickly adjusted the spectacles on his nose.

"Them fruit."

He glanced round the scar.

"Them fruit," he said, "I expect-"

He put on his glasses, waded away from Ralph, and crouched down among the tangled foliage.

"Ill be out again in just a minute-"

Ralph disentangled himself cautiously and stole away through the branches. In a few seconds the fat boy's grunts were behind him and he was hurrying toward the screen that still lay between him and the lagoon. He climbed over a broken trunk and was out of the jungle.