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

was too much of a symbol. It was all that remained of my {shamba}. Now
everything is gone and it is much simpler.'
'What is a shamba?' asked P.O.M., my wife. 'I've been hearing about
them for months. I'm afraid to ask about those words every one uses.'
'A plantation,' he said. 'It is all gone except that lorry. With the
lorry I carry labourers to the shamba of an Indian. It is a very rich Indian
who raises sisal. I am a manager for this Indian. An Indian can make a
profit from a sisal shamba.'
'From anything,' Pop said.
'Yes. Where we fail, where we would starve, he makes money. This Indian
is very intelligent, however. He values me. I represent European
organization. I come now from organizing recruitment of the natives. This
takes time. It is impressive. I have been away from my family for three
months. The organization is organized. You do it in a week as easily, but it
is not so impressive.'
'And your wife?' asked mine.
'She waits at my house, the house of the manager, with my daughter.'
'Does she love you very much?' my wife asked.
'She must, or she would be gone long ago.'
'How old is the daughter?'
'She is thirteen now.'
'It must be very nice to have a daughter.'
'You cannot know how nice it is. It is like a second wife. My wife
knows now all I think, all I say, all I believe, all I can do, all that I
cannot do and cannot be. I know also about my wife -- completely. But now
there is always someone you do not know, who does not know you, who loves
you in ignorance and is strange to you both. Some one very attractive that
is yours and not yours and that makes the conversation more -- how shall I
say? Yes, it is like -- what do you call -- having here with you -- with the
two of you -- yes there -- it is the Heinz Tomato Ketchup on the daily
food.'
'That's very good,' I said.
'We have books,' he said. 'I cannot buy new books now but we can always
talk. Ideas and conversation are very interesting. We discuss all things.
Everything. We have a very interesting mental life. Formerly, with the
shamba, we had the {Querschnitt}. That gave you a feeling of belonging, of
being made a part of, to a very brilliant group of people. The people one
would see if one saw whom one wished to see. You know all of those people?
You must know them.'
'Some of them.' I said. 'Some in Paris. Some in Berlin.'
I did not wish to destroy anything this man had, and so I did not go
into those brilliant people in detail.
'They're marvellous,' I said, lying.
'I envy you to know them,' he said. 'And tell me, who is the greatest
writer in America?'
'My husband,' said my wife.
'No. I do not mean for you to speak from family pride. I mean who
really? Certainly not Upton Sinclair. Certainly not Sinclair Lewis. Who is
your Thomas Mann? Who is your Valery?'
'We do not have great writers,' I said. 'Something happens to our good