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THE ADVENTURES of OLIVER TWIST

Chapter 2

At the Undertaker’s

Oliver stayed in the dark room for a week and then a certain Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, agreed to take Oliver.

Little Oliver was taken before “the gentleman” that evening and informed that he would go, that night, as apprentice to a coffin-maker’s; and if he complained of his situation, or ever came back to the parish again, he would be sent to sea and get drowned there, or knocked on the head. Oliver showed so little emotion, that they all called him a hardened young rascal, and asked Mr. Bumble to take the boy to Mr. Sowerberry.

When they were near Mr. Sowerberry’s house, Mr. Bumble looked down at Oliver to see that the boy was in good order for inspection by his new master.

“Oliver!” said Mr. Bumble.

“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver in a trembling voice.

“Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head.”

Oliver did as he was told and he felt a tear in his eyes as he looked at his conductor. The tear rolled down his cheek. It was followed by another, and another. The child made a strong effort, but it was an unsuccessful one. He covered his face with both hands and wept.

“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short. “Well! Of all the most ungrateful boys I have ever seen, Oliver, you are the - ”

“No, no, sir,” sobbed Oliver, “no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, indeed I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and I’m so – so – ‘

“So what?” inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement.

“So lonely, sir! So very lonely!” cried the child. “Everybody hates me!” Mr. Bumble looked at the poor child with some astonishment and told him to dry his eyes and be a good boy. He took his hand and walked on with him in silence.

The undertaker was writing in his day-book by the light of a candle, when Mr. Bumble entered. “Aha!” said the undertaker, looking up from the book, “is that you, Bumble?”

“No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,” replied Mr. Bumble. “Here! I’ve brought the boy.” Oliver made a bow.

“That’s the boy, is it?” said the undertaker, raising the candle above his head to get a better view of Oliver. At this moment Mrs. Sowerberry entered the room.

“My dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry, “this is the boy from the workhouse that I told you of.” Oliver bowed again.

“Dear me!” said the undertaker’s wife, “he’s very small. I see no use in parish children for they always cost more to keep, than they’re worth.” She gave Oliver some leftovers, ignored by the dog, and in silent horror watched how Oliver gulped down the food, thinking about his future appetite.

After supper Mrs. Sowerberry took Oliver upstairs. “Your bed’s under the counter. You don’t mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose? But it doesn’t much matter whether you do or don’t, for you can’t sleep anywhere else.”

A month passed. One day Oliver got into a fight with Mrs. Sowerberry’s senior apprentice who said some very bad words about his mother. The insult to his dead mother set his blood on fire. Though Oliver was much younger, he seized the boy by the throat, shook him, and collecting his whole force into one heavy blow, knocked him down.

With the help of Mrs. Sowerberry and her maid they managed to stop Oliver. The beat him cruelly and then dragged him to the dusty cellar and locked him up. Soon Mr. Sowerberry came and beat Oliver too. After that he was sent upstairs to his bed among coffins.

Now when there was nobody to see or hear him, he fell upon his knees on the floor and, hiding his face in his hands, wept and wept.

With the first ray of light Oliver opened the door and went out. He remembered the way he went with Mr. Bumble and he took the same route and walked quickly on. His way lay directly in front of the workhouse. It was so early that there was very little fear that anybody could see him; so he walked on.

He reached the workhouse. There was nobody at that early hour. Oliver stopped, and looked into the garden. A child was weeding one of the little beds. It was one of his former companions. Oliver felt glad to see him, before he went; for, though younger than himself, the boy was his little friend and playmate. Many times they were beaten, and starved, and shut up together.

“Hush, Dick!” said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and thrust his thin arm between the rails to greet him. “Is anybody up?”

“Nobody but me,” replied the child.

“You mustn’t say you saw me, Dick,” said Oliver. “I am running away. They beat me, Dick; and I am going to seek my fortune, some long way off. I don’t know where. How pale you are!”

“I heard how the doctor told them I was dying,” replied the child with a faint smile. “I am very glad to see you, dear; but don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“I shall see you again, Dick,” replied Oliver. “I know I shall! You will be well and happy!”

“I hope so,“ replied the child. “After I am dead, but not before. I know the doctor must be right, Oliver, because I dream so much of Heaven, and Angels, and kind faces that I never see when I am awake. Kiss me,” said the child, climbing up the low gate, and he put his little arms round Oliver’s neck. “Good-bye, dear! God bless you!”

The blessing was from a young child’s lips, but it was the first time Oliver heard such words addressed to him; and through the struggles and sufferings, and troubles and changes of his after life, he never forgot this blessing.

Helpful words and notes

undertaker (n)	- гробовщик
hardened young rascal	- закоренелый молодой негодяй
leftovers(n) pl	- объедки
gulp down(v)	- глотать с жадностью (о еде)
insult(n) seek one’s fortune	- оскорбление - искать удачу

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