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Found Жон: 324 words & 2 translates

English Ўзбек
He stopped shooting, and watched. He noted the direction of the animal's flight, and, high up on the hillside in an opening among the trees, saw the trunk of a fallen pine. Continuing the moose's flight in his mind he saw that it must pass the trunk. He resolved on one more shot, and in the empty air above the trunk he aimed and steadied his wavering rifle. The animal sprang into his field of vision, with lifted fore-legs as it took the leap. He pulled the trigger. With the explosion the moose seemed to somersault in the air. It crashed down to earth in the snow beyond and flurried the snow into dust. Зимдан кузата бошлади. Буғунинг йўналишини белгилаётиб, ўрмон ичидаги ялангликда қулаб ётган қарағайни пайқаб қолди. Хаёлан “қочоқ”нинг йўналиш чизиғини тортаётиб, буғу айнан шу қарағайнинг ён-веридан ўтади, деган тўхтамга келди. Яна битта ўқнинг баҳридан ўтса ўтибди-да. Қалтироқ қўллари билан милтиқни маҳкамроқ сиқиб, қарағай узра бўшлиқни нишонга олди. Буғу олд оёқларини кўтариб сакраган кез Моргансон варанглатиб ўқ узди. Буғу ҳаводаёқ жонсизланиб, қорга қулади.
Morganson dashed up the hillside--at least he started to dash up. The next he knew he was coming out of a faint and dragging himself to his feet. He went up more slowly, pausing from time to time to breathe and to steady his reeling senses. At last he crawled over the trunk. The moose lay before him. He sat down heavily upon the carcase and laughed. He buried his face in his mittened hands and laughed some more. Моргансон тепалик томон отилди, тўғрироғи, отилмоқчи бўлди. Кўзини очганда ҳушидан кетганини тушунди. Минг азоб билан ўрнидан турди, секин-аста одимлай кетди. Вақти-вақти билан нафасини ростлаб, бироз ўзига келиш учун тўхтади. Ниҳоят, қулаб ётган қарағайгача аранг судралиб етиб келди. Унинг ёнида буғу жонсиз ётарди. Моргансон жасад устига оғир чўкди ва бутун бошли қўшинни ер тишлатган баҳодирдай оғзини йиғиштиролмай қолди.
He had learnt how to starve and live. He cleaned his rifle and counted the cartridges that remained to him. There were seven. He loaded the weapon and hobbled out to his crouching-place on the bank. All day he watched the dead trail. He watched all the week, but no life passed over it. Моргансон очлик водийсида кун ўтказишга кўникиб қолди. Милтиқни артиб-тозалаб, бор ўқ-дорини санаб кўрди – еттита қолибди – ва ўзининг доимий постига борди. Тағин кун бўйи кимсасиз йўлга кўз тикиб, бесамар вақт ўтказди, наинки кун бўйи, балки бутун хафта мобайнида шу тарзда кунни кеч қилиб, ўзини овутиб юрди. Аксига олиб йўлда биронта тирик жон кўринмасди.
Thanks to the meat he felt stronger, though his scurvy was worse and more painful. He now lived upon soup, drinking endless gallons of the thin product of the boiling of the moose bones. The soup grew thinner and thinner as he cracked the bones and boiled them over and over; but the hot water with the essence of the meat in it was good for him, and he was more vigorous than he had been previous to the shooting of the moose. Гўшт уни оёққа турғизган бўлса-да, касаллик бутун вужудини сиқувга ола бошлаганди. Бундан кейин қуруқ суякнинг ўзидан қайнатма шўрва тайёрлаб, тирикчилик қилишни ўрганиб олди. Суякларни янчиб, яна ва яна қайнатаверди. Айниқса, гўштли қайнатма жонига оро кирди. Ўша, буғуни отган кундан буён анча-мунча эт олди.
"That's Jack Thompson," the barkeeper said. "Made two millions on Bonanza and Sulphur, and got more coming. I'm going to bed. Have another drink first." Morganson hesitated. – Бу Жон Томсон, – деди қовоқхоначи. – У Олтингугурт сойида ва Бонанзада икки миллионлик олтин қазиб олган. Пуллар унга шундоқ ҳам оқиб келаверади. Энди ётсам бўлаверади. Балки яна пича отволарсан? Моргансон бош чайқади.
He awoke. It was dark, and he was in his blankets. He had gone to bed in his moccasins and mittens, with the flaps of his cap pulled down over his ears. He got up as quickly as his crippled condition would permit, and built the fire and boiled some water. As he put the spruce-twigs into the teapot he noted the first glimmer of the pale morning light. He caught up his rifle and hobbled in a panic out to the bank. As he crouched and waited, it came to him that he had forgotten to drink his spruce tea. The only other thought in his mind was the possibility of John Thompson changing his mind and not travelling Christmas Day. Моргансон уйғониб кетди. Ҳали тун қора пардасини йиғиштирмабди. У эгни-бошини ечмаёқ қотиб қолган экан. Дик этиб ўрнидан туриб, олов ёқиб, сув қайнатди. Декчага қарағай игнабаргидан сепаётиб субҳнинг илк оқиштоб шуълаларини пайқади-ю, милтиғини олиб, қирғоқ томон шошди. Пистирмага ўрнашиб олгандагина шифобахш дамламасидан ичмагани эсига тушди. Хаёлига, Жон Томсон Рождествонинг биринчи кунида йўлга чиқса керак, деган ўй келди.
They came into view around the outjutting clump of trees. To the fore was the third man whose name he had not learnt. Then came eight dogs drawing the sled. At the front of the sled, guiding it by the gee-pole, walked John Thompson. The rear was brought up by Oleson, the Swede. He was certainly a fine man, Morganson thought, as he looked at the bulk of him in his squirrel-skin parka. The men and dogs were silhouetted sharply against the white of the landscape. They had the seeming of two dimension, cardboard figures that worked mechanically. Morganson rested his cocked rifle in the notch in the tree. He became abruptly aware that his fingers were cold, and discovered that his right hand was bare. He did not know that he had taken off the mitten. He slipped it on again hastily. The men and dogs drew closer, and he could see their breaths spouting into visibility in the cold air. When the first man was fifty yards away, Morganson slipped the mitten from his right hand. He placed the first finger on the trigger and aimed low. Улар ўрмон дўнглиги ортида кўринишди. Олдинда Моргансон исмини билмайдигани. Ортидан чанага қўшилган саккизта ит. Жон Томсон ёнбошда таёқ кўмагида уларни йўлга солиб келмоқда. Энг охирида швед Ольсон. “Хушрўй барзанги”, деб ўйлади Моргансон нигоҳлари бу девқоматнинг эгни-бошида сирпанар экан. Одамлар ва итлар қораси оқ гиламда аниқ-тиниқ намоён бўларкан. Улар сурат сингари ясси кўринар, турнақатор ҳаракатланишарди. Моргансон қуролни тиргакка қўйиб отишга чоғланган замон бармоқлари увишиб қолганини сезди. Одамлар ва итлар борган сари яқин келаверишди. Паға-паға буғ уларнинг оғзидан чиқаётган ҳовур эканлигини кўрди. Олдиндаги эллик ярдга яқинлашганда Моргансон кўрсатгич бармоғини тепкига қўйди.
When he fired the first man whirled half around and went down on the trail. In the instant of surprise, Morganson pulled the trigger on John Thompson--too low, for the latter staggered and sat down suddenly on the sled. Morganson raised his aim and fired again. John Thompson sank down backward along the top of the loaded sled. Гумбурлаган товуш янгради; олдиндаги одам сулайиб, оёғи осмондан бўлди. Моргансон ҳовлиқиб, Жон Томсонни нишонга олди. Бироқ ўқ ҳато кетди. Жон гандираклаб, чанага минди. Моргансон нишонни юқорироқ олиб, яна ўқ узди. Жон Томсон чалқанчасига ағанади.
Morganson wept weakly for a space, and weakly swayed from one side to the other. Then he brushed away the frozen tears that gemmed his lashes. It was a joke. Malicious chance was having its laugh at him. Even John Thompson, with his heaven-aspiring whiskers, was laughing at him. Моргансон ночорликдан ўкириб юборди. Бу гўё қалтис ҳазилга ўхшарди. Қаттол қисмат унинг устидан мағзава тўкиб юборганди гўё. Ҳатто Жон Томсон ҳам соқолини ҳилпиллатиб, унинг устидан кулаётир.
Then the white glimmer turned black, and the next he knew he was awakening in the snow where he had fallen. He was no longer giddy. The cobwebs were gone. But he could not get up. There was no strength in his limbs. His body seemed lifeless. By a desperate effort he managed to roll over on his side. In this position he caught a glimpse of the sled and of John Thompson's black beard pointing skyward. Also he saw the lead dog licking the face of the man who lay on the trail. Morganson watched curiously. The dog was nervous and eager. Sometimes it uttered short, sharp yelps, as though to arouse the man, and surveyed him with ears cocked forward and wagging tail. At last it sat down, pointed its nose upward, and began to howl. Soon all the team was howling. Ўзига келганда Моргансон қорда ётарди. Боши айланмас, кўз олдини қоплаган туман тарқалиб кетибди. Шундай эса-да, ўрнидан туролмади: мажоли етмади. Жисми жонсиз эди. Минг машаққат-ла ёнига ағдарилди. Чана ва серрайиб ётган қорасоқол Жон Томсонни кўрди. Йўл бошловчи кўппак кўндаланг ётган эгасининг юзини ялаб-юлқарди. Моргансон қизиқсиниб кузатаверди. Ит бетоқат бўларди. Ора-сира ўликни уйғотмоқчидай вовулларди. Ахийри ўтириб, калласини кўкка чўзди-да, увиллади. Ортидан бутун гала мотам куйини бошлади.
Now that he was down, Morganson was no longer afraid. He had a vision of himself being found dead in the snow, and for a while he wept in self-pity. But he was not afraid. The struggle had gone out of him. When he tried to open his eyes he found that the wet tears had frozen them shut. He did not try to brush the ice away. It did not matter. He had not dreamed death was so easy. He was even angry that he had struggled and suffered through so many weary weeks. He had been bullied and cheated by the fear of death. Death did not hurt. Every torment he had endured had been a torment of life. Life had defamed death. It was a cruel thing. Қорда узала тушиб ётган Моргансон ортиқ ҳеч нарсадан қўрқмасди. У ўзининг ўлик танасини қай йўсинда топиб олишларини тасаввур қилди. Хўрлиги келиб кўзидан ёш оқди. Лекин ваҳима уни тарк этганди. Жанг тугади. Кўзини очмоқчи бўлди. Аммо музлаб қолган киприкларини бир-биридан ажратолмади. Қайтиб кўзини очишга уринмади. Энди барибир эмасми?! Жон таслим қилиш бунчалик енгил кечади, деб ўйламаган экан. Азоб-уқубатларга тўла шунча умрини кураш ва қийноқда ўтказганига ўзидан аччиқланди. Ўлимни рўкач қилиб, уни лақиллатишибди. Ўлим ҳеч нарса эмас экан. Барча тортган азоблари ўлим деб аталмиш неъматни бошлаб келди. Ҳаёт ўлимга туҳмат қилди. Қандай бедодлик!

Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a last glass of beer from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to bed, where Mrs. Jones was already snoring.

“Қўрғонча” молхонасидаги мистер Жонс оқшом тушиши билан товуқхонасини тамбалаб қўйди, бироқ, у шу қадар маст эдики, девордаги тешикни беркитиш ёдидан кўтарилди. Орқа эшикни оёғи билан туртиб ёпгач, у қўлида силтаниб турган фонуси ёритган ерларда каловланиб, бироз тентиради, кейин ошхонадаги бочкадан бир стакан пивони сиздириб ичди ва хотини Жонс хоним хуррак отаётган тўшакнинг бир четига кирди.

As soon as the light in the bedroom went out there was a stirring and a fluttering all through the farm buildings. Word had gone round during the day that old Major, the prize Middle White boar, had had a strange dream on the previous night and wished to communicate it to the other animals. It had been agreed that they should all meet in the big barn as soon as Mr. Jones was safely out of the way. Old Major (so he was always called, though the name under which he had been exhibited was Willingdon Beauty) was so highly regarded on the farm that everyone was quite ready to lose an hour's sleep in order to hear what he had to say. Ётоқхонада чироқ ўчиши билан молхонада безовта ҳаракатлар бошланди. Кун бўйи ҳайвонлар орасида миш-мишлар тарқалди, гўёки кекса майор, мидлуайтлик мукофотланган ахта чўчқа ўтган кеча ғалати туш кўрибди ва бугун бу ҳақда бошқа жониворларга сўзлаб берар экан. Ҳаммалари, мистер Жонс кўздан батамом ғойиб бўлиши билан, катта омборда кўришишга қарор қилишди. Кекса майор (уни ҳамиша шундай аташарди, ҳолбуки, кўргазмаларга олиб борганда “Уиллингтон Гўзали” деган ном остида намойиш этишарди) молхонада жуда катта ҳурмат-эътиборга сазовор эди, шунинг учун бу таклифга ҳамма ҳайвонлар рози бўлишди.
After the horses came Muriel, the white goat, and Benjamin, the donkey. Benjamin was the oldest animal on the farm, and the worst tempered. He seldom talked, and when he did, it was usually to make some cynical remark—for instance, he would say that God had given him a tail to keep the flies off, but that he would sooner have had no tail and no flies. Alone among the animals on the farm he never laughed. If asked why, he would say that he saw nothing to laugh at. Nevertheless, without openly admitting it, he was devoted to Boxer; the two of them usually spent their Sundays together in the small paddock beyond the orchard, grazing side by side and never speaking. Отлардан сўнг оқ эчки Мюриэл ва эшак Бенжамин келди. У бу молхонада энг кўп яшаган ҳайвон бўлиб, хаддан зиёд расво характери бор эди. У кам гапирар, мабодо гапириб қолса, юзинг-бетинг демай, шарттакилик қиларди — масалан, у бир куни Яратган менга сўна-пашшаларни ҳайдаш учун дум берган, аммо пашшалар ҳам, дум ҳам бўлмаса афзал эди, деган. Ҳайвонлар орасида ҳеч қачон кулмаган ва кулмайдиган жонивор ҳам у эди. Нега бундай ғамгин экани ҳақида савол берилганда, у бу дунёда қувонч учун сабаб ҳали йўқлигини айтганди. Шунга қарамасдан, у тулпор Боксёрга боғланиб қолганди; одатда, улар якшанба кунларини боғ ёнидаги мўъжазгина яйловда майсаларни ковшаниб, ёнма-ён ўтказишарди.
The two horses had just lain down when a brood of ducklings, which had lost their mother, filed into the barn, cheeping feebly and wandering from side to side to find some place where they would not be trodden on. Clover made a sort of wall round them with her great foreleg, and the ducklings nestled down inside it and promptly fell asleep. At the last moment Mollie, the foolish, pretty white mare who drew Mr. Jones's trap, came mincing daintily in, chewing at a lump of sugar. She took a place near the front and began flirting her white mane, hoping to draw attention to the red ribbons it was plaited with. Last of all came the cat, who looked round, as usual, for the warmest place, and finally squeezed herself in between Boxer and Clover; there she purred contentedly throughout Major's speech without listening to a word of what he was saying. Боксёр ва Кловер ёнбошлаб олган заҳоти, омборга онасини йўқотиб қўйган ўрдакчалар подаси ёпирилиб киришди; ҳаяжон билан ғақиллаб, хавфсиз, биров билиб-билмай босиб олмайдиган жой илинжида, улар у ёндан-бу ёнга югура бошлашди. Байтал Кловернинг узанган оёғи уларга ҳимоя девори бўлиб кўринди, ўрдакчалар бу бошпанага ирғишлаб киришди ва дарҳол уйқуга кетдилар. Ниҳоят омборга, қанд бўлагини қитирлатиб чайнаганча, олифта солланиб, мистер Жонснинг икки ғилдиракли аравасини тортадиган, далли оқ бия Молли кирди. У биринчи қатордан жой олди ва дарҳол тақиб қўйилган қизил тасмачасига эътиборни қаратиш учун оқ ёлларини ўйнай бошлади. Охирги бўлиб мушук кирди, одатдагидай, энг иссиқ жойни излаб, у ён-бу ёнга аланглади ҳамда Боксёр ва Кловернинг ўртасига сирғалиб кириб олди; бу ерда у тинимсиз ағанаб, майорнинг нутқи пайтида миёв-миёвлаб тинмади ва маърузанинг бирорта сўзини ҳам эшитмади.
All the animals were now present except Moses, the tame raven, who slept on a perch behind the back door. When Major saw that they had all made themselves comfortable and were waiting attentively, he cleared his throat and began: Орқа эшик ёнидаги таёқ учида ўтирган, қўлга ўргатилган қарға Мозусдан бошқа барча жониворлар жам бўлган эди. Ҳаммага қулай тарзда жойлашиб олишларини ва сукунат чўкишини кутиб, майор томоғини тозалади-да, гап бошлади:
"But is this simply part of the order of nature? Is it because this land of ours is so poor that it cannot afford a decent life to those who dwell upon it? No, comrades, a thousand times no! The soil of England is fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it. This single farm of ours would support a dozen horses, twenty cows, hundreds of sheep—and all of them living in a comfort and a dignity that are now almost beyond our imagining. Why then do we continue in this miserable condition? Because nearly the whole of the produce of our labour is stolen from us by human beings. There, comrades, is the answer to all our problems. It is summed up in a single word—Man. Man is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished for ever. Аслида ҳақиқий ҳолат шундай бўлишги мумкинми? Бу она заминимизнинг қашшоқлигиданми, ер унда яшайдиган ва меҳнат қилаётган барча жониворларни боқа олмайдими? Йўқ, ўртоқлар, минг бора йўқ! Англияда иқлим майин, замин ҳосилдор, ер ҳозир яшаётганидан ҳам кўпроқ жониворларни боқа олади. Бизники сингари молхона ўнлаб отларни, йигирмата сигирни, юзлаб қўйларни боқа олади — ва уларнинг ҳаёти қулайликларга тўла, ўзлари иззат-эътиборга эга бўладилар, биз бу ҳақда ҳали орзу ҳам қила олмаймиз. Нега биз бу қадар тубан аҳволда яшашда давом этмоқдамиз? Сабаби шундаки, биз ўз меҳнатимиз билан яратаётган деярли ҳамма нарса одамлар томонидан ўзлаштириб юборилмоқда. Мана, ўртоқлар, барча саволларнинг жавоби қай ерда экан. Бу битта, аммо ягона — одамдеган сўздадир. Бизнинг ягона ҳақиқий душманимиз — одам. Саҳнадан одамни олиб ташланг, очлик ва аёвсиз меҳнатнинг сабаби йўқолади.
"Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps for himself. Our labour tills the soil, our dung fertilises it, and yet there is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows that I see before me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have you given during this last year? And what has happened to that milk which should have been breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone down the throats of our enemies. Одам — ўзи ҳеч нарса ишлаб чиқармай, ҳаммасини ҳазм қиладиган ягона махлуқдир. У сут бермайди, тухум туғмайди, омочни судраш учун унинг кучи етмайди, қуёнларни тутиб олиш учун тезлиги суст. Шунга қарамай, у барча жонзодларнинг олий ҳокими. У жониворларни ишга ҳайдайди, емишни фақат улар очликдан азоб чекмайдиган даражада беради — қолган ҳамма нарса унинг ихтиёрида қолади. Бизнинг меҳнатимиз билан ер шудгор қилинади, бизнинг гўнгимиз билан ер озиқланади, — бизнинг эса баданимизни ёпган теримиздан бошқа мулкимиз йўқ. Мана сизлар, ҳозир қаршимда ястаниб ўтирган сигирлар, — ўтган йил мобайнида қанча сут бердинглар? Сизлар бўлиқ бузоқларингизни озиқлантиришингиз мумкин бўлган сут нима бўлди? Уларни сўнгги томчисигача душманларимиз ичиб, ютиб юборишди.
And you hens, how many eggs have you laid in this last year, and how many of those eggs ever hatched into chickens? The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones and his men. And you, Clover, where are those four foals you bore, who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Each was sold at a year old—you will never see one of them again. In return for your four confinements and all your labour in the fields, what have you ever had except your bare rations and a stall? Сизлар-чи, товуқлар, бу йил нечта тухум туғдинглар ва нечта жўжани очиб чиқдинглар? Қолганлари бозорга олиб бориб сотилди ва Жонс ҳамда у кабиларнинг чўнтагига жарангдор пул бўлиб тушди. Сен айт-чи, Кловер, сенинг азобларда туққан ва вояга етказган, қариганингда сенга таянч ва овунчоқ бўладиган тўртта тойчоғинг қаёқда? Уларнинг барчаси бир ёшга тўлар-тўлмас, сотиб юборилди — ва сен уларни бошқа ҳеч қачон кўра олмайсан, айт-чи, тўрт марта туғруқ азобини чекканинг, далаларни омоч судраб, ҳайдаганингдан кейин — сенинг бир тутам пичан ва ипли қозиғингдан бошқа ниманг қолди?
"And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their natural span. For myself I do not grumble, for I am one of the lucky ones. I am twelve years old and have had over four hundred children. Such is the natural life of a pig. But no animal escapes the cruel knife in the end. You young porkers who are sitting in front of me, every one of you will scream your lives out at the block within a year. To that horror we all must come—cows, pigs, hens, sheep, everyone. Even the horses and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the very day that those great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you to the knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds. As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick round their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond. Бизнинг шўрлик умримиз ҳам табиий йўл билан тугамайди. Мен ўзимни айтмаяпман, менинг омадим бор экан. Ўн икки ёшгача яшадим ва тўрт юзтадан зиёд чўчқачаларни туғдирдим. Бир чўчқа учун муносиб умр кўрдим. Аммо ҳеч бир ҳайвон умри охирида шафқатсиз пичоқдан қутилиб қололмайди. Мана, сиз, олдимда турган ёш чўчқачалар, — бир йил ўтмай, ҳаётларингизни анави шаҳар ташқарисидаги қассобхонада тугатасиз. Бундай даҳшатли тақдир ҳаммани кутади — сигирларни, чўчқаларни, товуқларни, қўйларни, ҳамма-ҳаммангизни кутади. Ҳатто отлар ва кўппакларга ҳам раҳм қилинмайди. Сенинг бақувват мускулларинг сенга хизмат қилолмайдиган ўша олис кун келади, Боксёр, ўшанда сени мистер Жонс тери шилувчига жўнатади, у эса сенинг гўштингдан итларга овқат тайёрлайди. Итларга келсак, улар қариб, тишлари ўтмаслашиб қолганда, мистер Жонс уларнинг бўйнига ғишт боғлаб, яқин атрофдаги ҳовузга чўктиради.