The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда - стр. 10
I looked up angrily. Over the wall, to my left, there appeared a face. An egg-shaped head, partially covered with suspiciously black hair, two immense moustaches, and a pair of watchful eyes. It was our mysterious neighbour, Mr Porrott.
He broke at once into fluent apologies.
‘I demand of you a thousand pardons, monsieur. I am without defence. For some months now I cultivate the marrows. This morning suddenly I enrage myself with these marrows. I send them to promenade themselves – alas! not only mentally but physically. I seize the biggest. I hurl him over the wall. Monsieur, I am ashamed. I prostrate myself.’
Before such profuse apologies, my anger was forced to melt. After all, the wretched vegetable hadn’t hit me. But I sincerely hoped that throwing large vegetables over walls was not our new friend’s hobby. Such a habit could hardly endear him to us as a neighbour.
The strange little man seemed to read my thoughts.
‘Ah! no,’ he exclaimed. ‘do not disquiet yourself. It is not with me a habit. But you can figure to yourself, monsieur, that a man may work towards a certain object, may labour and toil to attain a certain kind of leisure and occupation, and then find that, after all, he yearns for the old busy days, and the old occupations that he thought himself so glad to leave?’
‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘I fancy that that is a common enough occurrence. I myself am perhaps an instance. A year ago I came into a legacy – enough to enable me to realize a dream. I have always wanted to travel, to see the world. Well, that was a year ago, as I said, and – I am still here.’
My little neighbour nodded.
‘The chains of habit. We work to attain an object, and the object gained, we find that what we miss is the daily toil. And mark you, monsieur, my work was interesting work. The most interesting work there is in the world.’
‘Нes?’ I said encouragingly. for the moment the spirit of Сaroline was strong within me.
‘The study of human nature, monsieur!’
‘Just so,’ I said kindly.
Сlearly a retired hairdresser. Who knows the secrets of human nature better than a hairdresser?
‘Also, I had a friend – a friend who for many years never left my side. Occasionally of an imbecility to make one afraid, nevertheless he was very dear to me. figure to yourself that I miss even his stupidity. his naïveté, his honest outlook, the pleasure of delighting and surprising him by my superior gifts – all these I miss more than I can tell you.’
‘He died?’ I asked sympathetically.
‘Not so. he lives and flourishes – but on the other side of the world. He is now in the Argentine.’