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  .., 2026.



Sinclair Lewis  

Babbitt 



1

The Zenith towers cut into the morning mist;      ; stern towers of steel, concrete and stone, indestructible as a rock and light as silver arrows.    ,   , ,  ,  ,   . These were not churches, not fortresses - it was immediately obvious that these were magnificent buildings of commercial enterprises.    ,  ,    ,       .

The fog, out of pity, hid the unsightly buildings of bygone years:        : the post office with its ornate tiled roof, the red brick towers of clumsy old dwellings, factories with their smoky window chimneys, and dirty-colored wooden houses.     ,      ,     ,    . The city was full of such monstrosities, but the slender towers pushed them out of the center, and on the distant hills new houses sparkled, where joy and peace seemed to dwell.      ,       ,       , , ,    .

A limousine sped across the concrete bridge  long, shiny, with a silent engine.       , ,   . Its owners, cheerful and dressed up, were returning from a night rehearsal of the "Intimate Theatre", where love of art was fueled by no small amount of champagne.  , , ,      ,        . Beyond the bridge, a railroad track ran in a tangle of green and scarlet lights.           . A New York express roared past, and twenty steel rails sparkled in the blinding light.    - ,        .

One of the skyscrapers received the last telegrams from the Associated Press.         . Telegraph operators tiredly pushed their celluloid visors from their foreheads - they had been talking with Paris and Peking all night.                . Sleepy cleaning women crawled through the building, slapping their old shoes.     ,   . The morning fog cleared.   . Strings of people with breakfasts in their hands stretched to the gigantic new factories - solid glass and hollow brick - to the sparkling workshops where five thousand people worked under one roof, producing high-quality goods that would go to the banks of the Euphrates and to the African veld.                 ,    ,        ,   ,      ,    . Hours greeted them with a cheerful hum, a cheerful, like an April dawn, a song of labor, in a city that seemed built for giants.     , ,   ,  ,  ,    .

There was nothing "giant" about the man who was waking up at that moment on the enclosed veranda of a colonial-style mansion in that elegant suburb of Zenith known as "Flowering Hills."      ,           ,     ,     .

His name was George F. Babbitt.     . In April of that year, one thousand nine hundred and twenty, he was already forty-six years old, and he, in fact, did not know how to produce anything:   ,   ,       ,  ,  ,    : neither butter, nor shoes, nor poetry - but he was excellent at selling houses at a price that few could afford.  ,  ,  ,        ,      .

He had a large, pink skull, covered with sparse, dryish brown hair.    ,  ,     . His face in sleep seemed quite childish, despite the wrinkles and the red dents on his nose from his glasses.       ,          . He was not too fat, but well nourished;     ,   ; his cheeks were like pillows, and his manicured hand, lying on top of his army blanket, was slightly swollen.     ,   ,    ,  . It was immediately obvious that he was well-off, hopelessly married and prosaic.   ,   ,    . And the enclosed porch on which he slept was extremely prosaic:    ,    ,   : from it one could see a fairly large elm tree, two neat strips of lawn, a concrete path and a corrugated iron garage.       ,    ,       . And yet Babbitt again dreamed of the young enchantress, and his dream was more poetic than the scarlet pagodas by the silver sea.        ,          .

For many years the young sorceress had appeared to him in his dreams.         . And if others saw in him only Georgie Babbitt, for her he was young and courageous.         ,       . She waited for him in the semi-darkness of the fairy groves.       . And as soon as he managed to get away from the domestic hustle and bustle, he rushed to her.         ,    . His wife, noisy friends - everyone tried to catch up with him, but he ran after his light-footed friend, and they sat down to rest on a shady hill. ,       ,      ,       . She was so thin, so bright, so affectionate!    ,  ,  ! She assured him that he was cheerful and brave, that she would wait patiently and they would sail far, far away ...   ,     ,         -

The rumble and clatter of a milk van     

Babbitt groaned and turned over on his side, trying to go back to sleep.  ,   ,    . But her face only flashed before him for an instant through the foggy haze.            . The stoker slammed the basement door.    . A dog began to bark in the neighboring yard.     . And as Babbitt sank back into the blissful warmth, the postman, whistling, passed the front door, and the folded copy of the Advocate fell with a thud onto the floor by the door.         , , ,   ,           . Babbitt shuddered, and his stomach sank with fright.  ,        . And just as he calmed down again, he was pierced by the familiar, disgusting sound of a Ford being started nearby:     ,         : Pff-f-u-u, pff-u-u, pff-u-u! ---, --, --! Babbitt, himself an ardent motorist, mentally began to turn the handle along with the invisible driver, He waited tensely with him until the engine began to hum, and suffered with him when the engine stalled and that nasty, corrosive pff-f-u-u, pff-u-u began againa sound somehow round, flat, chilly in the morning, infuriating, inexorable sound.               ,     ,    ,    ,       ,  ---, --,    - , , - ,   ,  . And only when the growing hum of the engine told him that the Ford had started, Babbitt sighed with relief, calmly looked at his favorite treethe branches of the elm stood out clearly against the gilding of the skyand began to grope for sleep, as one gropes for a sleeping pill.        ,   ,    ,                   ,     . He, who in childhood had been so trusting of life, was now almost indifferent to all the conceivable and inconceivable events that the coming day promised him. ,        ,          ,     .

And he again escaped from reality until the alarm rang at seven twenty.      ,       .

It was the best of the widely advertised alarm clocks in production, with all sorts of innovations such as a bell ringing, alternating striking, and a luminous dial.         ,   ,   ,     . Babbitt was proud to be awakened by such a magnificent mechanism.   ,      . It raised a person in the eyes of society as much as buying the most expensive tires for a car.        ,       .

He reluctantly admitted that there was no way outhe had to get up, but he did not get up, feeling how much he hated the dull and monotonous work in the real estate office, how disgusted he was with his family, and how disgusted he was with himself for disgusting them.    ,      ,   , ,            ,           ,    . The night before, he had played poker at Virgil Ganch's until midnight, and after such entertainment he was always in a bad mood before breakfast.          ,            . Either he drank too much beer, which was home-brewed during Prohibition, and after the beer he smoked too many cigars, or he was upset at returning from good, solid male company to the limited world of wives and stenographers, where they were constantly pestering you not to smoke so much.       ,      ,       ,        ,         ,    ,      .

From the bedroom that opened onto the terrace came the sickeningly cheerful voice of the wife:  ,   ,      : Time to get up, Georgie, darling!  , , ! - and that itching sound, that rustling and crackling sound of combing hair with a hard brush.      ,          .

He grunted under his breath, pulled his thick legs in baby-blue pajama bottoms out from under the army blanket, and sat on the edge of the bed, ruffling his tousled hair and mechanically feeling for his slippers with his thick feet.     ,     -   -       ,          . He looked sadly at the thick, khaki army blanketa constant reminder of freedom and heroic adventure.                  . The blanket had been bought for a camping trip that never took place.      ,     . It had become a substitute for unrestrained idleness, unrestrained swearing, and manly flannel shirts.     ,      .

With difficulty stretching his joints, he rose to his feet and groaned from the painful stinging in his eyes.    ,           . And although he expected that the attack of cutting pain might be repeated, he nevertheless looked around his yard with a dull gaze.    ,       ,        . And, as always, it gave him great pleasure. ,  ,     . The yard was cleaned and scraped, as befits the yard of a successful Zenit businessman, that is, it was an excellent yard, which aroused in the owner a feeling of his own superiority.     ,      ,      ,       . Babbitt looked at the iron garage and thought, as he thought three hundred and sixty-five times a year:       ,        : Cheap, what good is this tin thing? ,   ,  ? Ill have to build a good wooden garage.      . But, honestly, there is nothing else outdated on the site! ,  ,      ! 

Looking at his garage, he thought that Glen Oriole, where he was developing lots, needed a public garage.    ,  ,   -,    ,   . He stopped puffing and shivering.     . He put his hands on his hips.     . His frowning, sleep-swollen face suddenly became determined and firm. ,         . He immediately became a boss, a businessman, one of those who know how to plan, manage, and achieve his goals.    , ,  ,   , ,  .

And under the influence of these thoughts, he resolutely walked along the empty, clean, seemingly uninhabited corridor to the bathroom.          , ,  ,   .

Although the house was small, but, like all the mansions of Flowery Hills, the bathroom in it was truly royal - solid earthenware, ceramic tiles and metal shining with silver.    , ,      ,         ,      . The heated towel rail was made of frosted glass, set in nickel.        ,   . A Prussian guard could easily fit in the bathtub, and above the washbasin built into the wall there were such intricate and dazzling devices for toothbrushes, razors, soap dishes and sponges, such a stunning medicine chest that it seemed like you were standing in front of the switchboard of a power plant.       ,               ,  ,   ,   ,  ,     . But Babbitt, whose idol was the Newest Equipment, winced with displeasure.  ,     ,  . The whole bathroom smelled of some disgusting toothpaste.    -   . Verona at it again!    ! How many times have I asked her Buy Lilidol!     ---   !  and she again brought some stinking nastiness that makes me sick      -  ,   

The mat near the bathtub was crumpled, the floor was wet.    ,  . Verona, his daughter, sometimes gets the idea of taking a bath early in the morning!  ,  ,        ! He slipped on the mat and hit the bathtub.    ,   . Damn! ! he cursed.    . He fiercely grabbed the shaving cream, fiercely lathered himself up, belligerently slapping the foamy brush, and fiercely began to scrape his fat cheeks with a safety razor.     ,  ,    ,        . The razor was not working.   . The blade was dull.  . He cursed again:   : Oh, sh-sh-sh-damn! , --! 

He spent a long time searching the medicine cabinet for a pack of new blades and, as always, thought:         ,  , : Its cheaper to buy that, whats-its-name thing, and sharpen the razors myself!   ,   ,     ! Finding the blades behind a round box of baking soda, he mentally condemned his wife for putting them there and praised himself for holding back and not telling her to go to hell.        ,      ,     ,     ,        . But he immediately cursed out loud, trying with wet, soap-slick fingers to remove the vile wrapper and thick, sticky wax from the new blade.      ,  ,               .

Then, as always, he was faced with the eternal and insoluble problem of what to do with the old razor blade so that the children would not cut their fingers. ,  ,            ,     . And, as always, he tossed it on top of the medicine cabinet, reminding himself that he would certainly have to put away all fifty or sixty razors that had already accumulated there. ,  ,     ,  ,          ,    . He finished shaving, angry at the growing headache, at the emptiness in his stomach.   ,     ,    . With a damp, smooth face from shaving, with his eyes burning from the soapy water, he reached for a towel.  ,    ,      ,    . - All the towels were soaking wet, sticky, disgusting, he grabbed them blindly, sorted through them:      , , ,    , : his personal towel, his wife's towel, Ted's, Verona's, Tinky's, the bath sheet with the thick mark - every single one of them wet!   ,  , , , ,          ! And then George F. Babbitt did a terrible thing - he dried himself with a guest towel.              . Thin, embroidered with pansies, it always hung in the bathroom as proof that the Babbitts belonged to the best society of Flowery Hills. ,   ,     ,   ,        . No one ever used this towel.      . The guests did not even dare touch it.       . They furtively wiped their hands with the end of one of the host's towels.      -  .

Babbitt raged:  : Its outrageous, theyre grabbing all the towels, not a single one, damn it, will they leave, theyre all wet as a sponge, they should have thought to prepare a dry one for me! ,   ,  ,  ,  ,  ,  ,       ! You have to suffer here because of them, you needed a towel - and here you are!   - ,      ! Honestly, Im the only person in this damned house who still somehow, damn me, thinks about others, Im the only one who understands that others will have to use this damned bathroom after me, Im the only one who cares  ,       ,    -,   ,   ,   ,          ,   

He threw this wet abomination into the bathtub, listening with glee as the towels sadly flopped to the bottom, but then his wife came in with a serene look and serenely asked:  ,     ,  ,      ,           :

- Georgie, darling, what are you up to?  , ,    ? Do you really want to wash the towels?       ? Why do you need to wash them?    ?.. My God, Georgie, did you really dry yourself with the guest towel?  , ,     ?

Whether he answered her or not, history is silent about this.          .

But for the first time in many weeks, his wife touched him so much that he even looked at her.         ,      .

Myra Babbitt, Mrs. George F. Babbitt, was nothing if not overripe.  ,    ,  ,  ,   . Lines ran from the corners of her mouth to her chin, and her full neck drooped.       ,   . But what most emphasized her age was the obvious lack of embarrassment before her husband and the fact that she herself was not at all embarrassed by it.             ,       . Now she stood before him in a petticoat and a corset from which her body bulged in folds, and did not even notice that the corset was tight.          ,     ,    ,    . She had become so accustomed to family life that, with all her femininity, she had become sexless, like a bloodless nun.      ,       ,   . She was a kind, nice, hard-working woman, but no one, except perhaps Tinka, their ten-year-old daughter, was interested in her or even noticed her existence.    , , ,  , , , ,   ,         .

After a rather meticulous discussion of the towel question from both the family and social points of view, she apologized to Babbitt for his hangover headache, and he had recovered so much that he even allowed her to look for his mesh shirt, which, as he caustically remarked, someone had deliberately stuffed under his clean pajamas.             ,   ,        ,       ,      ,        , ,    , -     .

He softened completely when the question of his brown suit came up.   ,        .

"Well, Myra?"    , ? He was rummaging through a pile of clothes thrown on a chair in the bedroom, and Myra was walking around the room, somehow adjusting and straightening her petticoat, and Babbitt looked at her with a bilious look - it seemed to him that she would never finish dressing.      ,     ,     , -       ,          ,      . "Should I wear the brown suit again today or not?"         ?

- It suits you very well!      !

- I know, but you see, its time to iron it.  , , ,    .

- That's true.  - . Perhaps it's time. , .

- Yes, it doesnt interfere with ironing it, it doesnt interfere.  ,    ,  .

- Yes, I should have it ironed.  ,     .

- But you dont have to iron the jacket!   -   ! Why the hell give the whole suit to be ironed when the jacket doesnt need ironing at all.         ,       .

- True, it seems there is no need.  ,   .

- But the trousers need to be ironed, they really need to be ironed.   -  ,  . Just look - see how wrinkled they are.     ,   . No, the trousers definitely need to be ironed. ,    .

- Yes, we must.  , . Listen, Georgie, why dont you wear those blue trousers we didnt know what to do with your brown jacket? , ,            ,    ,  ?

- Oh, my God!  - ! Have you ever in your life seen me wear trousers from one suit and a jacket from another?    -   ,       ,    ? Who do you think I am?  , -, ? A thieving accountant, or what?  ,  ?

- Well, okay, why dont you wear a dark gray suit today and drop off some brown trousers at the tailors on the way?   ,        - ,       ?

- Yes, of course, it doesnt interfere with their... oh, damn, where is that grey suit?  , ,    , ,      ? Aha, here it is! ,  !

Then dressing went much faster and calmer.        .

The first thing he did was put on a fishnet vest, which made him look awfully like a boy wearing gauze armor at a school masquerade.     -,        ,      . When putting on the fishnet underwear, Babbitt always thanked the God of Progress that he did not wear long, tight, old-fashioned underwear like his father-in-law and partner, Henry Thompson.   ,       ,       ,       . To make himself even more handsome, he combed and smoothed his hair.    ,     . His forehead immediately became enormous, two inches above the line where the hair had once begun.      ,     ,  -  . But the greatest miracle was wrought by his glasses.        .

Every pair of glasses has its own character - from the important horn-rimmed glasses to the modest pince-nez of a teacher to the silver-rimmed ones of an old farmer.             ,     ,      . Babbitt's glasses were huge round rimless glasses of the best quality, with thin gold ear-pieces.         ,  ,      . With them he immediately became a modern businessman who gives orders to clerks, drives a car himself, loves to play golf and scientifically solves the problems of Commerce.       ,    ,   ,      -   . With glasses he no longer looked like a child:        : it was immediately apparent what a large head he had, what a broad, blunt nose, a straight mouth with a long, thick upper lip and an overly fleshy, but determined chin.   ,     ,    ,          ,   . With a dignity that commanded respect, he finished his toilet and in all formal form turned into a Solid Citizen.  ,  ,           .

His gray suit was well cut, well tailored, and utterly unremarkable.      ,       . It was a standard suit.    . The white piping on the vest gave it a serious, important air.         . Babbitt's shoes were black, laced up, excellent shoes, honest, standard shoes, remarkably uninteresting shoes.     , ,  , ,  ,   . The only thing in which he allowed himself a little frivolity was his dark cherry knitted tie. ,       ,   -  . Accompanying his choice of tie with a long-winded comment addressed to Mrs. Babbitt (who was acrobatically pinning her blouse to her skirt at the back with a safety pin and had not heard a word), he chose the cherry tie over a motley work of art in which brown stringless harps were intertwined with fuzzy palms, and he fastened his chosen tie with a pin in the form of a snake's head with opal eyes.     ,     (               ),         ,         ,            .

The extraordinary event was the transfer of all the things from the pockets of the brown suit to the pockets of the gray one.             . Babbitt took his things seriously.      . He saw them as eternal values, the same as baseball or the Republican Party.      ,  ,     . Among these things were an eternal pen and a silver pencil that was always missing a lead;         ,      ; he carried them in the upper right pocket of his vest.        . Without them, he would have felt simply naked.        . On his watch chain hung a gold penknife, a silver cigar roller, seven keys, two of which were from who knows where, and, in addition, a fine watch.       ,    ,  ,      , ,  ,  . At the side of the watch dangled a large yellowish moose tooth - the sign of belonging to the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks.                 . The most important item, however, was a pocket notebook, a brand-new business notebook, in which The addresses of long-forgotten people were written down, and the receipts for postal orders long since received by the addressees;   , ,   ,   ,           , -  ; there were also dried-up stamps, clippings with poems by T. Cholmondeley Frink and newspaper editorials from which Babbitt drew both his political convictions and a set of learned words;     ,         ,        ,    ; in addition, there were notes with a reminder - to do something he never intended to do, and, finally, there was an incomprehensible entry - D S S D M U P D F.  ,        ,      , , ,             .

However, Babbitt did not have a cigarette case.      . No one thought of giving him a cigarette case, so he got used to doing without one and considered everyone who had a cigarette case to be a weakling.      ,        ,   ,  .

After all this, he stuck the Pushers' Club badge into his buttonhole.         . With the laconism inherent in great art, only two words were embossed on the badge:  ,   ,       : "Push forward!"  ! Thanks to this badge, Babbitt felt like an honest man, an important man.         ,  . The badge connected him with Good People, with decent, pleasant people who had weight in business circles.      ,   , ,     . The badge replaced for him the Victoria Cross, the ribbon of the Legion of Honor, the emblem of the student corporation.     ,   ,   .




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