The Open Window

“My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; “in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”

Tarjima«Xolam hozir tushadilar, janob Nuttel», — dedi oʻzini juda bosiq tutgan oʻn besh yashar qiz; «shu orada mening suhbatimga bir amallab chidab turishingizga toʻgʻri keladi.»

Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.

TarjimaFramton Nuttel hozir oldida turgan jiyanga munosib xushomad boʻladigan, biroq hali kirib keladigan xolani ham ortiqcha kamsitmaydigan toʻgʻri bir gap aytmoqchi boʻldi. Ichida esa bu rasmiy tashriflar — butunlay notanish odamlar eshigini birin-ketin qoqish — unga buyurilgan asab davosiga qanchalik yordam berishiga avvalgidan ham koʻproq shubha qilardi.

“I know how it will be,” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; “you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.”

Tarjima«Nima boʻlishini bilaman», — degan edi singlisi, u bu qishloq goʻshasiga koʻchib oʻtishga tayyorlanayotganda; «u yerda oʻzingni koʻmib, birorta tirik jon bilan gaplashmaysan, xafa boʻlib yurib, asabing avvalgidan battar boʻladi. Men senga u yerdagi barcha tanishlarimga tavsiyanomalar yozib beraman. Ularning ayrimlari, esimda qolishicha, ancha yaxshi odamlar edi.»

Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction, came into the nice division.

TarjimaFramton tavsiyanomalardan birini topshirayotgan xonim, Sappleton xonim, «yaxshilar» toifasiga kirarmikan, deb oʻyladi.

“Do you know many of the people round here?” asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

Tarjima«Bu atrofdagi odamlarning koʻpini bilasizmi?» — soʻradi jiyan, ular yetarlicha jimgina birga oʻtirishdi, deb hisoblagach.

“Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”

Tarjima«Deyarli hech kimni», — dedi Framton. «Singlim toʻrt yilcha oldin shu yerda, cherkov ruhoniysining uyida turgan edi, bilasiz, va u menga shu yerdagi ayrim odamlarga tavsiyanomalar berdi.»

He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

TarjimaOxirgi gapni u yaqqol afsus ohangida aytdi.

“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” pursued the self-possessed young lady.

Tarjima«Demak, xolam haqida deyarli hech narsa bilmaysiz-da?» — davom etdi oʻzini bosiq tutgan qiz.

“Only her name and address,” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

Tarjima«Faqat ismi va manzilini», — tan oldi mehmon. U Sappleton xonim erlimi yoki bevami, deb oʻylardi. Xonadagi nimadir — aniq nomi yoʻq narsa — bu yerda erkak kishi yashashini anglatgandek edi.

“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child; “that would be since your sister’s time.”

Tarjima«Uning katta fojiasi roppa-rosa uch yil oldin yuz berdi», — dedi qiz; «bu singlingiz ketganidan keyin boʻlgan.»

“Her tragedy?” asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.

Tarjima«Uning fojiasi?» — soʻradi Framton; negadir bu osoyishta qishloq burchagida fojialar oʻrinsiz tuyulardi.

“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

Tarjima«Oktabrda, tushdan keyin, derazani nega lang ochib qoʻyganimizga hayron boʻlayotgandirsiz», — dedi jiyan, maysazorga chiqiladigan, poldan boshlanadigan katta derazani koʻrsatib.

“It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton; “but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?”

Tarjima«Yilning bu faslida ancha iliq-ku», — dedi Framton; «lekin bu deraza fojia bilan bogʻliqmi?»

“Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it.” Here the child’s voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do you bound? ’ as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window—”

Tarjima«Uch yil oldin, aynan shu kuni, ana shu deraza orqali uning eri va ikki yosh ukasi kunlik ovga chiqib ketishdi. Ular qaytib kelmadi. Sevimli bekas ov joyiga qarab yaylovni kesib oʻtayotib, uchalasi ham makkor botqoqlikka botib ketishdi. Oʻsha yili yoz dahshatli darajada yomgʻirli kelgan edi, bilasiz, va boshqa yillarda xavfsiz boʻlgan joylar ogohlantirishsiz birdan oʻpirilib tushdi. Ularning jasadlari hech qachon topilmadi. Eng dahshatlisi shu edi.» Shu yerda qizning ovozi bosiqlikni yoʻqotib, titroq, insoniy ovozga aylandi. «Bechora xolam ular — ular ham, ular bilan birga yoʻqolgan kichkina jigarrang spaniel ham — qachondir qaytib kelib, avvalgidek ana shu deraza orqali kirib keladi, deb har doim oʻylaydi. Shuning uchun deraza har kuni kechqurun qorongʻi tushguncha ochiq qoldiriladi. Aziz bechora xolam ularning qanday chiqib ketgani haqida menga koʻp aytgan: eri oq yomgʻirpoʻshini qoʻliga tashlab, eng kichik ukasi Ronnie esa „Bertie, nega sakraysan?“ deb qoʻshiq aytib — u har doim xolamning jahlini chiqarish uchun shunday qilardi, chunki xolam bu qoʻshiq asabimga tegadi derdi. Bilasizmi, baʼzan mana shunday sokin, tinch kechqurunlari ularning hammasi ana shu deraza orqali kirib keladi, degan qoʻrqinchli tuygʻu menda deyarli paydo boʻladi —»

She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

TarjimaU sal seskanib, gapini uzdi. Xola kechikkani uchun uzr ustiga uzr soʻrab, xonaga shoshib kirib kelganida, Framton yengil tortdi.

“I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said.

Tarjima«Vera sizning koʻnglingizni ochib turgandir?» — dedi u.

“She has been very interesting,” said Framton.

Tarjima«U juda qiziq suhbatdosh ekan», — dedi Framton.

“I hope you don’t mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes to-day, so they’ll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men-folk, isn’t it?”

Tarjima«Deraza ochiqligi sizga xalaqit bermaydi, deb umid qilaman», — dedi Sappleton xonim jonli ohangda; «erim va ukalarim ovdan hozir qaytishadi, ular har doim shu yoʻldan kirishadi. Bugun ular botqoqliklarda bekas ovlashgan, shuning uchun bechora gilamlarimni yaxshigina kir qilishadi. Hamma erkaklar shunaqa-da, shunday emasmi?»

She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic; he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

TarjimaU ov, qushlarning kamligi va qishda oʻrdak bor-yoʻqligi haqida xushchaqchaq valdirab ketdi. Framtonga bularning hammasi shunchaki dahshat edi. U gapni kamroq dahshatli mavzuga burishga astoydil, ammo faqat qisman muvaffaqiyatli urindi; uy bekasi unga eʼtiborining faqat bir parchasini berayotganini, koʻzlari tez-tez uning yonidan oʻtib, ochiq deraza va undan narigi maysazorga qadalayotganini sezib turardi. Aynan shu fojia yilligida tashrif buyurgani, shubhasiz, baxtsiz tasodif edi.

“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise,” announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one’s ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he continued.

Tarjima«Shifokorlar bir ovozdan toʻliq dam olish, ruhiy hayajondan yiroq boʻlish va jismoniy kuch talab qiladigan har qanday mashgʻulotdan saqlanishni buyurishdi», — eʼlon qildi Framton; u butunlay notanish odamlar va tasodifiy tanishlar odamning kasalliklari va zaifliklari, ularning sababi va davosi haqidagi eng kichik tafsilotga ham tashna, degan keng tarqalgan xomxayolga berilgan edi. «Ovqatlanish boʻyicha esa ular unchalik bir fikrda emas», — davom etdi u.

“No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention—but not to what Framton was saying.

Tarjima«Yoʻgʻ-e?» — dedi Sappleton xonim; bu soʻz esnashning oʻrnini oxirgi lahzadagina egalladi. Soʻng birdan hushyor diqqat bilan jonlanib ketdi — lekin Framton aytayotgan narsaga emas.

“Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea, and don’t they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!”

Tarjima«Mana, nihoyat kelishdi!» — deb qichqirdi u. «Aynan choyga ulgurishdi, koʻzlarigacha loy boʻlib ketganlariga qarang!»

Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

TarjimaFramton biroz qaltirab, hamdardlik bilan tushunishini bildirmoqchi boʻlgan nigoh bilan jiyanga qaradi. Qiz ochiq deraza tashqarisiga, koʻzlarida gangib qolgan dahshat bilan tikilib turardi. Nomsiz qoʻrquvning sovuq zarbasidan Framton oʻrindigʻida burilib, xuddi shu tomonga qaradi.

In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window; they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I said, Bertie, why do you bound?”

TarjimaQuyuqlashayotgan shomda uchta sharpa maysazor boʻylab derazaga qarab kelardi; hammasining qoʻltigʻida miltiq bor edi, ulardan birining yelkasiga qoʻshimcha yuk sifatida oq yomgʻirpoʻsh tashlab qoʻyilgan edi. Charchagan jigarrang spaniel ularning poshnasidan qolmasdi. Ular uyga ovozsiz yaqinlashdi, soʻng qorongʻulikdan xirqiroq yosh ovoz xonishga tushdi: «Dedim-ku, Bertie, nega sakraysan?»

Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall-door, the gravel-drive, and the front gate were dimly-noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid an imminent collision.

TarjimaFramton hassasi bilan shlyapasini shosha-pisha changalladi; dahliz eshigi, shagʻal yoʻlak va old darvoza uning shoshilinch qochishidagi xira esda qolgan bosqichlar boʻldi. Yoʻlda kelayotgan velosipedchi toʻqnashuvdan qutulish uchun yoʻl chetidagi butazorga kirib ketishga majbur boʻldi.

“Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window; “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?”

Tarjima«Mana, keldik, azizam», — dedi oq yomgʻirpoʻshli odam derazadan kirib kelarkan; «ancha loy boʻldik, lekin koʻpi qurib qolgan. Biz yaqinlashganimizda qochib ketgan u kim edi?»

“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”

Tarjima«Allaqanday janob Nuttel, juda gʻalati odam», — dedi Sappleton xonim; «oʻz kasalliklaridan boshqa gap bilmasdi va siz kirib kelganingizda xayrlashmay, uzr soʻramay yugurib ketdi. Xuddi arvoh koʻrib qolgandek.»

“I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece calmly; “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.”

Tarjima«Menimcha, bu spaniel boʻlsa kerak», — dedi jiyan xotirjam; «u menga itlardan dahshatli qoʻrqishini aytdi. Bir vaqtlar Gang daryosi boʻylarida qayerdadir daydi itlar galasi uni qabristonga qadar quvlab borgan va u butun kechani yangi qazilgan qabrda oʻtkazishga majbur boʻlgan, jonivorlar esa uning tepasida irillab, tishlarini irjaytirib, ogʻzidan koʻpik sachratib turgan. Har kimning asabini buzishga yetadi.»

Romance at short notice was her speciality.

TarjimaBir zumda uydirma hikoya toʻqish uning ixtisosligi edi.