| Английски оригинал | Перевод на български | |
|---|---|---|
An Era Ends | Краят на една ера КатеринаК 16.06.23 в 5:55 | +1 |
by E. C. Tubb | от Едуин Чарлз Таб КатеринаК 16.06.23 в 5:56 | +4 |
He awoke to the sound of bells and for a delicious moment thought that he was young again and it was Sunday and the air was filled with the cheerful summons to prayer. Then he opened his eyes and stared into the pre-dawn darkness, at the hidden contours of his shabby room, at the illuminated face of the cheap alarm clock whose brassy clanging had aroused such poignant memories. | Той се събуди от звъна на камбанките и за един прекрасен миг си помисли, че пак е дете и въздухът е изпълнен с веселия призив за молитвата в неделя. После отвори очи и се вгледа в мрака преди зазоряване, в скритите контури на занемарената си стая, в осветения циферблат на евтиния будилник, чието месингово звънене бе събудило толкова трогателни спомени. КатеринаК 16.06.23 в 6:02 | +1 |
It was Sunday, that remained, but there would be no bells, no happy bands of worshipers wending their way to old, familiar buildings sanctified by time. There would be no organs lifting their multi-throated voices to the Glory of God. But it was Sunday and there would be a congregation and there would be a service. That much, at least, remained. | +1 | |
Tiredly the Reverend John Parish rose from his narrow bed. He was used to fatigue, of late it had seemed his natural state, and it was with physical relief that he knelt and, as he had every morning of his remembered life, commenced his day with prayer. | +2 | |
He did not pray aloud but continued softly within himself and, as always, he begged for guidance, for strength and humbleness and, above all, he prayed God to forgive those in need of forgiveness. | +1 | |
He was a long time on his knees and, when he rose, fatigue washed over him as if it were a tangible thing that he had to fight as a swimmer fought the waves. He had to pause for a while, leaning against the wall until strength returned and he could recommence the routine of the day. | +1 | |
The first light of the false dawn had illumined the window with a patch of featureless gray, the light touching the contents of the room and accentuating the poverty rather than softening its harshness. | +1 | |
Water stood in a cracked pitcher and he washed. Lathering his face and hands with a scrap of soap, shaving more by touch than actual sight and, when his toilet was done, dressing with painstaking care, the rusty black of his threadbare suit matching the cracked shoes and the shirt, which, though clean, was far from new. | +1 |