"He was a great manager," the boy said. "My father thinks he was the greatest."

"Because he came here the most times," the old man said. 'If Durocher had continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager."

— У улуғ тренер эди,— деди бола.— Отам, у бутун дунёда энг улуғ тренер бўлган дейди.

— Уни бошқалардан кўпроқ кўргани учун шундай дейди. Агар Дюроше ҳам биз томонларга ҳар йили келиб турганда, отанг уни ҳам дунёда энг улуғ тренер, деб мақтаган бўларди.

The boy went out. They had eaten with no light on the table and the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark. He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow, putting the newspaper inside them. He rolled himself in the blanket and slept on the other old newspapers that covered the springs of the bed. He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it. He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.

Бола кетди. Улар чироқ ёқмасдан овқатланишганидан, чол қоронғида ечиниб ётди. У кийимларига газетани ҳам қўшиб ўраб, ёстиқ ўрнига бошига қўйди. Чол одеялига бурканиб, каравотнинг қуруқ пружиналарига ташлаб қўйилган эски газеталар устига чўзилди. У ётди-ю, ухлаб қолди. Уйқусида ёшлик чоғлари ўтган Африка, унинг узун, олтин қирғоқлари ва кўзни қамаштиргудек оппоқ саёзликлар, юксак қоя ва ҳай-батли қўнғир тоғлар тушига кирди. Энди у яна ҳар кеча уйқусида шу қирғоқларга қўнар, уввос билан отилган тўлқинларнинг шовқинини эшитар ва ерлилар тушган қайиқни тўлқин қирғоққа қандай суриб бораётганини кўриб турарди. Тушида у ҳамон палубадан чиқаётган лос ва смола исини туяр, димоғига эрталабки шамол қирғоқдан олиб келган Африка нафаси уриларди.

It was the last of Morganson's bacon. In all his life he had never pampered his stomach. In fact, his stomach had been a sort of negligible quantity that bothered him little, and about which he thought less. But now, in the long absence of wonted delights, the keen yearning of his stomach was tickled hugely by the sharp, salty bacon.

Моргансоннинг томоғидан сўнгги бекон* тишлами саримойдай ўтиб кетди. У ҳаётида бирор маротаба ошқозонини бундай сийламаганди. Ошқозон Моргансон учун эътибордан холи ва уни кам безовта қилувчи нарса эди, ўзи ҳам ошқозон масаласида кўпам қайғуравермасди. Лекин ҳозир узоқ очликдан сўнг тузланган бекон бўлаги нафсини қондирди.

His face had a wistful, hungry expression. The cheeks were hollow, and the skin seemed stretched a trifle tightly across the cheek-bones. His pale blue eyes were troubled. There was that in them that showed the haunting imminence of something terrible. Doubt was in them, and anxiety and foreboding. The thin lips were thinner than they were made to be, and they seemed to hunger towards the polished frying-pan.

Очликдаги кўриниш Моргансоннинг юзини тарк этадиганга ўхшамасди, афт-ангори сўлиб, ёноқ суяклари туртиб чиққанди. Нурсиз мовий кўзлари жавдирар; уларда ночорлик олдидаги қўрқув намоён эди. Нигоҳида ёқимсиз кўнгилсизликлар, иккиланиш, ваҳима сезилиб турарди. Табиатан юпқа лаблари яна бир қават пўст бойлаганди.