Человек-невидимка / The Invisible Man + аудиоприложение

Chapter VIII
In Transit

The eighth chapter is exceedingly brief, and relates that Gibbons, the amateur naturalist of the district, while lying on the hill without a soul within a couple of miles of him, as he thought, and almost dozing, heard close to him the sound as of a man coughing, sneezing, and then swearing savagely to himself. Gibbons looked out but saw nothing. Yet the voice was indisputable. It was the swearing of an educated man. It grew, diminished again, and died away in the distance. It lifted to a sneeze and ended. Gibbons had heard nothing of the morning’s events, but the phenomenon was so striking and disturbing that his philosophical tranquillity vanished; he got up hastily, and hurried down the hill towards the village, as fast as he could go.

Chapter IX
Mr. Thomas Marvel

Mr. Thomas Marvel was a person of copious, flexible visage, with a cylindrical nose, a liquorish, ample, fluctuating mouth, and an eccentric beard. He wore a furry silk hat, and the frequent substitution of shoe-laces for buttons, marked a bachelor.

Mr. Thomas Marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside, about a mile and a half out of Iping. His socks were torn out, his big toes were broad like the ears of a watchful dog. In a leisurely manner-he did everything in a leisurely manner-he was going to try on a pair of boots. They were the best boots he had had for a long time, but too large for him. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but he hated damp as well. But he could not understand which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. So he put the four shoes in a group on the turf and looked at them. And seeing them there among the grass, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were ugly to see. He was not at all startled by a voice behind him.

“They’re boots, anyhow,” said the Voice.

“They are-charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel; “and I can’t decide which is the ugliest pair here.”

“Hm,” said the Voice.

“I’ve worn worse boots. But not so ugly. My old boots-I am sick of them. They’re good enough, of course. And if you’ll believe me, I’ve got nothing in the whole country, but these boots. Look at them! Ugly, right? What a country! What people!”

“It’s a terrible country,” said the Voice. “And people are like pigs.”

“That’s it!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Lord! And their boots!”

He turned his head to the right, to look at the boots of his interlocutor, and lo! Where the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. He was in a great amazement.

“Where are you?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder. “Am I drunk? Have I had visions? Was I talking to myself? What the-”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said a Voice.

“None of your jokes,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. “Where are you?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” repeated the Voice.

“You’ll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Where are you? Let me catch you.”

There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed.

“Peewit,” said a peewit, very remote.

“Peewit, indeed!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “This is no time for foolery.”

The field was desolate, east and west, north and south; the road ran smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the blue sky was empty too.

“I know,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. “It’s the alcohol! I might have known.”

“It’s not the alcohol,” said the Voice. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white. “It’s the alcohol!” his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards. “I could have sworn I heard a voice,” he whispered.

“Of course you did.”

“It’s there again,” said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping his hands with a tragic gesture. He was suddenly taken by the collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever.

“Don’t be a fool,” said the Voice.

“I got crazy,” said Mr. Marvel. “It’s no good. It’s because of those damned boots. Or it’s spirits.”

“Neither one thing nor the other,” said the Voice. “Listen!”

“Crazy,” said Mr. Marvel.

“One minute,” said the Voice.

“Well?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel.

“You think I’m just imagination? Just imagination?”

“What else can you be?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Very well,” said the Voice, in a tone of relief. “Then I’m going to throw little stones at you till you think differently.”

“But where are you?”

The Voice made no answer. Whizz came a little stone, apparently out of the air. Mr. Marvel was too amazed to dodge. Whizz came another little stone, and ricochetted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud.

“Now,” said the Voice, “am I imagination?”

Mr. Marvel lay quiet.

“If you struggle,” said the Voice, “I shall throw the stone at your head.”

“Oh-oh,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, taking his wounded toe in hand. “I don’t understand it. Stones are flinging themselves. Stones are talking. I’ll surrender.”

“It’s very simple,” said the Voice. “I’m an invisible man.”

“Tell me something more interesting,” said Mr. Marvel. “Where you’ve hid-how you do it-I don’t know.”

“That’s all,” said the Voice. “I’m invisible. That’s what I want you to understand.”

“Anyone can see that. There is no need for you to be so confounded impatient, mister. But tell me: where do you hid?”

“I’m invisible. That’s the great point. And what I want you to understand is this-”

“But where are you?” interrupted Mr. Marvel.

“Here! Six yards in front of you.”

“Oh, come on! I am not blind. You will tell me now that you are just air. I’m not ignorant.”

“Yes, I am air. You’re looking through me.”

“What! And you have nothing? Only your voice?”

“I am just a human being-solid, needing food and drink, needing covering too-But I’m invisible. Do you see? Invisible. Simple idea. Invisible.”

“What? Are you a real man?”

“Yes, real.”

“Let me touch your hand,” said Marvel, “if you are real. Lord!”

He felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged fingers, and his fingers patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel was very surprised.

“Great!” he said. “It’s even better than cock-fighting! Most remarkable! And there I can see a rabbit clean through you, a mile away! Not a bit of you visible-except-”

He scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly.

“Have you eaten bread and cheese?” he asked, holding the invisible arm.

“You’re quite right, and it’s not quite assimilated.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel. “Sort of ghostly, though.”

“Of course, all this isn’t half so wonderful as you think.”

“It’s quite wonderful enough for my modest mind,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “How did you manage it? How the devil is it done?”

“It’s a long story. And besides-”

“I tell you, I can’t believe it,” said Mr. Marvel.

“What I want to say at present is this: I need help. I have come to that. I was wandering, mad with rage, naked, impotent. And I saw you-”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel.

“-then stopped. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘is an outcast like myself. This is the man for me.’ So I came to you. And-”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. “But may I ask-How is it? And what help do you need? Invisible!”

“I want you to help me get clothes and shelter and then, with other things. I’ve left them long enough. If you won’t-well! But you will-you must.”

“Look here,” said Mr. Marvel. “I’m too flabbergasted. Don’t touch me any more. And let me go. It’s all so unreasonable. Empty hills, empty sky. Nothing visible for miles except the nature. And then comes a voice. A voice out of heaven! And stones! Lord!”

“So,” said the Voice, “you have to do the job I’ve chosen for you.”

Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were round.

“I’ve chosen you,” said the Voice. “You are the only man except some of those fools down there, who knows there is an invisible man. You have to be my helper. Help me-and I will do great things for you. An invisible man is a man of power.”

He stopped for a moment to sneeze violently.

“But if you betray me,” he said, “if you don’t do the things I want-”

He paused and tapped Mr. Marvel’s shoulder smartly. Mr. Marvel gave a yelp of terror at the touch.

“I don’t want to betray you,” said Mr. Marvel. “All I want to do is to help you-just tell me what I must do. Lord!”

Chapter X
Mr. Marvel’s Visit to Iping

After the first gusty panic had gone, the people of Iping became argumentative and sceptic. It is so much easier not to believe in an invisible man; and those who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt the strength of his arm, could be counted on the fingers of two hands. And of these witnesses Mr. Wadgers was presently missing, and Jaffers was lying stunned in the parlour of the “Coach and Horses.” By the afternoon even those who believed in the Unseen were beginning to think that the Unseen had gone away for ever. And with the sceptics he was just a jest.

About four o’clock a stranger entered the village. He was a short, stout person in an extraordinarily shabby top hat. He moved with a sort of reluctant alacrity. He turned the corner of the church, and directed his way to the “Coach and Horses.”

This stranger was talking to himself. He stopped at the foot of the “Coach and Horses” steps, and entered the house. Finally he marched up the steps, and by Mr. Huxter saw that he turned to the left and opened the door of the parlour. Mr. Huxter heard voices from within the room.

“That room’s private!” said Hall, and the stranger shut the door clumsily and went into the bar.

In a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with the back of his hand with an air of quiet satisfaction. He stood looking about him for some moments, and then Mr. Huxter saw him walk towards the gates of the yard, upon which the parlour window opened. The stranger, after some hesitation, leant against the gates, produced a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill it. His fingers trembled while doing so. Strange behaviour of the man’s prompted Mr. Huxter to maintain his observation.

Suddenly the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his pocket. Then he vanished into the yard. Mr. Huxter leapt round the counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. As he did so, Mr. Marvel reappeared. He had a big bundle in a blue table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together in the other. He saw Huxter, and turned sharply to the left, and began to run.

“Stop, thief!” cried Huxter, and set off after him.

Mr. Huxter’s sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just before him. He saw the village flags, and some people. He bawled, “Stop!” again. Suddenly his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion, and he was no longer running, but flying through the air. He saw the ground suddenly close to his face. And subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

Chapter XI
In the “Coach and Horses”

In order to understand what had happened in the inn, it is necessary to go back to the moment when Mr. Marvel first came into view. At that moment Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the parlour. They were seriously talking about the strange occurrences of the morning, and were, with Mr. Hall’s permission, making a thorough examination of the Invisible Man’s belongings. The stranger’s scattered garments had been removed by Mrs. Hall and the room tidied up. And on the table under the window Cuss had noticed three big books in manuscript labelled “Diary.”

“Diary!” said Cuss, putting the three books on the table. “Now, at any rate, we will learn something.”

The Vicar stood with his hands on the table.

“Diary,” repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support the third, and opening it. “Hm-no name. Lord! Only figures.”

The vicar came round to look over his shoulder.

Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed.

“Dear me! Only figures, Bunting.”

“There are no diagrams?” asked Mr. Bunting. “No illustrations throwing light-”

“See for yourself,” said Mr. Cuss. “Some of it’s mathematical and some of it’s Russian or some such language (to judge by the letters), and some of it’s Greek. You can understand Greek I suppose.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Bunting, wiping his spectacles and feeling suddenly very uncomfortable-for he had no Greek left in his mind worth talking about; “yes-the Greek, of course, may give us a clue.”

“I’ll find you a place.”

“I’d rather glance through the volumes first,” said Mr. Bunting, still wiping his glasses. “A general impression first, Cuss, and then, you know, we can try to find the clue.”

He coughed, put on his glasses, coughed again. Then he took the volume Cuss handed him. And then something happened.

The door opened suddenly.

Both gentlemen started violently, looked round, and were relieved to see a rosy face beneath a furry silk hat.

“Whisky?” asked the face.

“No,” said both gentlemen at once.

“Over the other side, my man,” said Mr. Bunting. “And please shut that door,” said Mr. Cuss, irritably.

“All right,” said the intruder and he vanished and closed the door.

“A sailor, I think,” said Mr. Bunting. “Amusing fellows, they are.”

“It quite made me jump,” said Cuss. “The door was opening like that.”

Mr. Bunting smiled as if he had not jumped.

“And now,” he said with a sigh, “these books.”

Someone sniffed as he did so.

“One thing is indisputable,” said Bunting, drawing up a chair next to that of Cuss. “Very strange things happened in Iping during the last few days-very strange. I cannot of course believe in this absurd invisibility story-”

“It’s incredible,” said Cuss, “incredible. But the fact remains that I saw-I certainly saw right down his sleeve.”

“But did you-are you sure? Hallucinations are so easily produced. I don’t know if you have ever seen a really good conjuror.”

“I won’t argue again,” said Cuss. “We’ve discussed all that already, Bunting. And now there are these books. Ah! Greek letters certainly.”

He pointed to the middle of the page. Mr. Bunting flushed slightly and brought his face nearer, apparently finding some difficulty with his glasses. Suddenly he felt a strange feeling at the nape of his neck. He tried to raise his head, and encountered an immovable resistance. The feeling was a curious pressure: a heavy, firm hand bore his chin to the table.

“Don’t move, gentlemen” whispered a voice.

Mr. Bunting looked into the face of Cuss, and saw a reflection of his own astonishment.

“I’m sorry to treat you like this,” said the Voice, “but it’s unavoidable. Since when did you learn to pry into an investigator’s private memoranda?”

Two chins struck the table simultaneously, and two sets of teeth rattled.

“Where have they put my clothes? Listen,” said the Voice. “The windows are fastened and I’ve taken the key out of the door. I am a strong man, and I have the poker-besides being invisible. There’s not the slightest doubt that I could kill you both and get away quite easily if I wanted to-do you understand? Very well. If I let you go, will you promise not to try any nonsense and do what I tell you?”

The vicar and the doctor looked at one another.

“Yes,” said Mr. Bunting, and the doctor repeated it.

Then the pressure on the necks relaxed, and the doctor and the vicar sat up, both very red in the face and wriggling their heads.

“Please keep sitting where you are,” said the Invisible Man. “Here’s the poker, you see.”

“When I came into this room,” continued the Invisible Man, after presenting the poker to the tip of the nose of each of his visitors, “I did not expect to find it occupied, and I expected to find, in addition to my books of memoranda, my clothing. Where is it? No-don’t rise. I can see it’s gone. Though the days are warm enough for an invisible man, the evenings are quite chilly. I want clothing-and I must also have those three books.”

Chapter XII
The Invisible Man Loses His Temper

At this point the narrative should break off again. While these things were going on in the parlour, and while Mr. Huxter was watching Mr. Marvel smoking his pipe against the gate, not a dozen yards away were Mr. Hall and Teddy Henfrey discussing the event in Iping.

Suddenly there came a violent thud against the door of the parlour, a sharp cry, and then-silence.

“Hallo!” said Teddy Henfrey.

Mr. Hall understood things slowly but surely.

“That isn’t right,” he said, and came round from behind the bar towards the parlour door.

He and Teddy approached the door together, with intent faces.

“Something wrong,” said Hall, and Henfrey nodded.

Whiffs of an unpleasant chemical odour met them, and there was a muffled sound of conversation, very rapid and subdued.

“Are you all right there?” asked Hall, rapping.

The muttered conversation ceased abruptly, for a moment silence, then the conversation was resumed, in hissing whispers, then a sharp cry of “No! no, you don’t!” There came a sudden motion and a brief struggle. Silence again.

“What the devil?” exclaimed Henfrey.

“Are you all right there?” asked Mr. Hall, sharply, again.

The Vicar’s voice answered with a curious jerking intonation:

“Quite right. Please don’t interrupt.”

“Odd!” said Mr. Henfrey.

“Odd!” said Mr. Hall.

“They say, ‘Don’t interrupt,’” said Henfrey.

“I heard this,” said Hall.

“And a sniff,” said Henfrey.

They remained listening. The conversation was rapid and subdued.

“I can’t,” said Mr. Bunting, his voice rising; “I tell you, sir, I will not.”

“What was that?” asked Henfrey.

“He says he will not,” said Hall. “Was he speaking to us?”

“Disgraceful!” said Mr. Bunting, within.

“‘Disgraceful,’” said Mr. Henfrey. “I heard it. Who’s that speaking now?” asked Henfrey.

“Mr. Cuss, I suppose,” said Hall. “Can you hear anything?”

Silence.

“Sounds like throwing the table-cloth about,” said Hall.

Mrs. Hall appeared behind the bar. Hall made gestures of silence. This aroused Mrs. Hall’s opposition.

“What are you listening there for, Hall?” she asked. “Do you have nothing better to do?”

Hall and Henfrey, rather crestfallen, tiptoed back to the bar, gesticulating to explain to her.

At first she refused to understand. Then she insisted on Hall keeping silence, while Henfrey told her his story.

“I heard him say ‘disgraceful’; that I did,” said Hall.

“I heard that, too, Mrs. Hall,” said Henfrey.

“So-” began Mrs. Hall.

“Hsh!” said Mr. Teddy Henfrey. “Do you hear the window?”

“What window?” asked Mrs. Hall.

“Parlour window,” said Henfrey.

Everyone stood listening intently. Abruptly Huxter’s door opened and Huxter appeared, eyes staring with excitement, arms gesticulating.

“Stop thief!” cried Huxter and ran across the oblong towards the yard gates, and vanished.

Simultaneously came a tumult from the parlour, and a sound of windows being closed.

Hall, Henfrey, and the rest rushed out at once into the street. They saw someone whisk round the corner towards the road, and Mr. Huxter executing a complicated leap in the air that ended on his face. The people in the street were standing astonished or running towards them.

Mr. Huxter was stunned. Hall and the two labourers from the Tap rushed at once to the corner, and saw Mr. Marvel vanishing by the corner of the church wall. They have made the impossible conclusion that this was the Invisible Man suddenly become visible. But Hall had hardly run a dozen yards before he gave a loud shout of astonishment and went flying sideways, clutching one of the labourers and bringing him to the ground. The second labourer resumed the pursuit, but fell down. Then, as the first labourer stood up, he was kicked sideways by a blow that might have felled an ox.

When Hall and Henfrey and the labourers ran out of the house, Mrs. Hall remained in the bar. And suddenly the parlour door was opened, and Mr. Cuss appeared, and without glancing at her rushed at once down the steps toward the corner.

“Hold him!” he cried. “Don’t let him drop that parcel.”

He knew nothing of the existence of Marvel. The face of Mr. Cuss was angry and resolute.

“Hold him!” he bawled. “He’s got my trousers! And all the Vicar’s clothes! I’ll get him in a minute!” he cried to Henfrey as he passed the Huxter, and, coming round the corner to join the tumult, was promptly knocked off his feet. Somebody in full flight trod heavily on his finger. He yelled, struggled to regain his feet, was knocked against and thrown down again, and became aware that he was involved not in a capture, but a rout. Everyone was running back to the village. He rose again and was hit severely behind the ear. He ran back to the “Coach and Horses”, leaping over the deserted Huxter, who was now sitting up, on his way.

Behind him he heard a sudden yell of rage. He recognised the voice as that of the Invisible Man.

In another moment Mr. Cuss was back in the parlour.

“He’s coming back, Bunting!” he said, rushing in. “Save yourself!”

Mr. Bunting was standing in the window and clothing himself in the paper.

“Who’s coming?” he said.

“Invisible Man,” said Cuss, and rushed on to the window. “He’s mad! Mad!”

In another moment he was out in the yard.

“Good heavens!” said Mr. Bunting. He clambered out of the window, adjusted his costume hastily, and fled up the village as fast as his fat little legs would carry him.

From the moment when the Invisible Man screamed with rage, it became impossible to give a consecutive account of affairs in Iping. Possibly the Invisible Man’s original intention was simply to take the clothes and books. But then he began to fight.

After that the Invisible Man amused himself for a little while by breaking all the windows in the “Coach and Horses,” and then he thrust a street lamp through the parlour window of Mrs. Gribble. And after that he left, and he was neither heard, seen, nor felt in Iping any more. He vanished absolutely.