"Hemingway, Ernest - Green Hills of Africa" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hemingway Ernest)

Ernest Hemingway: Green Hills of Africa
Ernest Hemingway. Green hills of Africa
OCR: Proekt "Obshchij Tekst" TextShare.da.ru
Last-modified: Sun, 23 Apr 2000 16:29:42 GMT


CONTENTS

PART I PURSUIT AND CONVERSATION
PART II PURSUIT REMEMBERED
PART III PURSUIT AND FAILURE
PART IV PURSUIT AS HAPPINESS


Dear Mr. J. P.
Just tell them you are a fictional character and it is your bad luck to
have a writer put such language in your speeches. We all know how prettily
the best brought up people speak but there are always those not quite out of
the top drawer who have an 'orrid fear of vulgarity. You will know, too, how
to deal with anyone who calls you Pop. Remember you weren't written of as
Pop. It was all this fictional character. Anyway the book is for you and we
miss you very much.
E. H.


PART I

PURSUIT AND CONVERSATION

CHAPTER ONE

We were sitting in the blind that Wanderobo hunters had built of twigs
and branches at the edge of the salt-lick when we heard the motor-lorry
coming. At first it was far away and no one could tell what the noise was.
Then it was stopped and we hoped it had been nothing or perhaps only the
wind. Then it moved slowly nearer, unmistakable now, louder and louder
until, agonizing in a clank of loud irregular explosions, it passed close
behind us to go on up the road. The theatrical one of the two trackers stood
up.
'It is finished,' he said.
I put my hand to my mouth and motioned him down.
'It is finished,' he said again and spread his arms wide. I had never
liked him and I liked him. less now.
'After,' I whispered. M'Cola shook his head. I looked at his bald black
skull and he turned his face a little so that I saw the thin Chinese hairs
at the corners of his mouth.
'No good,' he said. {'Hapana m'uzuri.'}
'Wait a little,' I told him. He bent his head down again so that it
would not show above the dead branches and we sat there in the dust of the
hole until it was too dark to see the front sight on my rifle; but nothing