Повелитель мух / Lord of the Flies

“They don’t smell me. They see me, I think. Something pink, under the trees.”

He smeared on the clay.

“If only I’d some green!”

He turned a half-concealed face up to Roger and answered the incomprehension of his gaze.

“For hunting. Like in the war. You know—dazzle paint. Like things trying to look like something else—” He twisted in the urgency of telling. “—Like moths on a tree trunk.”

Roger understood and nodded gravely. The twins moved toward Jack and began to protest timidly about something.

Jack waved them away.

“Shut up.”

He rubbed the charcoal stick between the patches of red and white on his face.

“No. You two come with me.”

He peered at his reflection and disliked it. He bent down, took up a double handful of lukewarm water and rubbed the mess from his face. Freckles and sandy eyebrows appeared. Roger smiled, unwillingly.

“You don’t half look a mess.”

Jack planned his new face. He made one cheek and one eye-socket white, then he rubbed red over the other half of his face and slashed a black bar of charcoal across from right ear to left jaw.

He looked in the pool for his reflection, but his breathing troubled the mirror.

“Samneric. Get me a coconut. An empty one.”

He knelt, holding the shell of water. A rounded patch of sunlight fell on his face and a brightness appeared in the depths of the water. He looked in astonishment, no longer at himself but at an awesome stranger. He spilt the water and leapt to his feet, laughing excitedly.

Beside the pool his sinewy body held up a mask that drew their eyes and appalled them. He began to dance and his laughter became a bloodthirsty snarling. He capered toward Bill, and the mask was a thing on its own, behind which Jack hid, liberated from shame and selfconsciousness.

The face of red and white and black swung through the air and jigged toward Bill. Bill started up laughing; then suddenly he fell silent and blundered away through the bushes.

Jack rushed toward the twins.

“The rest are making a line. Come on!”

“But—”

“—we—”

“Come on! I’ll creep up and stab—”

The mask compelled them.

Ralph climbed out of the bathing pool and trotted up the beach and sat in the shade beneath the palms. His fair hair was plastered over his eyebrows and he pushed it back. Simon was floating in the water and kicking with his feet, and Maurice was practicing diving.