Поворот винта. Уровень 1 / The Turn of the Screw

“Then how did you find out?”

“I was there, I saw it with my own eyes. I saw that she knew.”

“Do you mean she sees him?”

“No—her.” I knew I must have looked really shocked because I could see it on Mrs. Grose’s face. “Another person, but just as terrifying and evil. A woman dressed in black, pale and scary, with a strange face. She was on the other side of the lake. I was there with the child—quiet for the hour; and then she came.”

“Came how—from where?”

“From where they come from! She just appeared and stood there—but not so near.

“And without coming nearer?”

“Oh, for the effect and the feeling, she might have been as close as you!”

“Was she someone you’ve never seen?”

“Yes. But someone the child has. Someone you have.” Then, to show how I had thought it all out: “My predecessor[41 - predecessor – предшественник]—the one who died.”

“Miss Jessel?”

“Miss Jessel. You don’t believe me?”

She turned right and left “How can you be sure?”

“Then ask Flora—she’s sure!” But before I could finish speaking, I stopped myself.

“Oh, how could you?”

“Because I’m sure. Flora doesn’t want me to know.”

“Then, it’s only to protect you.”

“No, no, there’s more to it! The more I think about it, the more I understand, and the more I understand, the more I’m afraid. I don’t know what I don’t see, what I don’t fear!”

Mrs. Grose tried to keep up with me. “Do you mean you’re afraid of seeing her again?”

“Oh, no, that’s not the problem now!” Then I explained.

But my companion just looked pale. “I don’t understand you.”

“Well, it’s that the child may continue to do it, and she will, without me knowing.”

“Oh dear, we must stay calm! And, you know, if she doesn’t mind it…!” She even said a dark joke. “Maybe she enjoys it!”

“Enjoys such things, a little child!”

“Isn’t it just a sign of her pure innocence?” my friend bravely asked.

“Oh, we must believe it! If it’s not proof of what you say, it’s proof of… who knows what! This woman is really horrifying.”

“Tell me how you know,” she said.

“Then you agree it’s what she was?” I cried.

“Tell me how you know,” my friend simply repeated.

“Know? By seeing her! By the way she looked.”

“At you, do you mean—?”

“Dear me, no— She never looked at me. She only looked at the child.”

Mrs. Grose tried to understand.