The Open Window

by Saki     Simplified     Listen to the beginning 3'     watch 9'

Framton was to stay in the countryside på landet   to relax.

"I know how it will be," his sister had said. "You will  keep to yourself. You will not speak to a living soul (anyone). And your nerves will be worse sämre   than ever from being lonely ensam."

She continued fortsätte: "I shall ska   give you letters of introduction introduktionsbrev  to all the people I know there."

Framton doubted tvivlade  that visiting total strangers främlingar  would help him calm down lugnar ner sig. He was nervous as ever.  

His sister continued, "Some of them, as far as I can remember kommer ihåg, were quite väldigt nice."

And so it was that Framton Nuttel was in a peaceful fridful   small town in the country här: på landet. He walked up to the large house of a Mrs. fru   Sappleton. He knocked knackade   on the large, old-fashioned gammaldags, door.

Framton had to wait for someone to open the door. While he was waiting, Framton thought about Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was to present (give) one of the letters of introduction. He wondered undrade, if she was one of the nice ones. 

A minute later, Vera, a girl of perhaps 15 years opened the door. She let him in and he gave her the letter. Vera ran up the grand staircase trappan  with the letter.

When she came back down, Vera said, "My aunt will be down presently snart, Mr. herr   Nuttel. In the meantime under tiden  you must put up with me står ut med mig."

Framton tried to think of something to say to the girl. But before he did, she asked him, "Do you know many of the people round here?"

"Hardly a soul nästan igen," said Framton. "My sister stayed in this town four years ago. She gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

"Then you have never met träffade  my aunt?" asked the young lady.

"I only know her name and address" he said. He was wondering undrarde  if Mrs. Sappleton was married or widowed (if her husband died).

"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child. "That would be after your sister visited."

"Her tragedy?" asked Framton. Somehow, in this restful town, tragedies seemed out of place verkade inte passar in.

"You may wonder kanske undrar  why we keep that door wide open on an October afternoon," said the girl. She was pointing to a large French door that opened on to a lawn gräsmatta.
(This kind of door is sometimes called a French window. It is made of glass.)

"It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton. "But has that door got anything to do with the tragedy (vad har det med saken att göra)?"

"Out through that door, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. 
"One day they crossed the moor våtmark  to their favourite snipe  -shooting ground. They all three must have gotten stuck fastnade  in a treacherous bog våtmark. It had been that dreadful hemskt  wet summer, you know. Places that were safe to walk on in other years suddenly plotsligt  gave way gav vika  without warning utan förvarning.

She continued, "Their bodies were never recovered återfunna. That was the dreadful part of it."

Here the child's voice lost its calm. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday. They and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them. She thinks they will walk in through the door just as they used to do brukade. That is why the door is kept open every evening till it is quite dark väldigt mörk.

"Poor dear aunt. She has often told me how they went out. Her husband with his white coat over his arm. Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease retas med  her. She said it got on her nerves."

The girl continued, "Do you know. Sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this... I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through... "

She broke off with a little shudder rysning. It was a relief lättnad   to Framton when the aunt bustled skyndade sig   into the room with a whirl virvla   of apologies usäkter   for keeping him waiting.

"I hope Vera has been amusing roat   you?" she said.

"She has been very interesting," said Framton.

"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly livligt. "My husband and brothers will come home from shooting. They always come in this way. They've been shooting birds in the marshes today. So they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets mattor. So like you menfolk manfolk, isn't it?"

She rattled on pladdrade på  cheerfully glatt  about the shooting and the scarcity of ringa tillgång till  birds. To Framton it was all quite horrible hemskt. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly hemskt  topic.

He could see that his hostess värdinna   was giving him only a bit of her attention. Her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open door and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence sammanträffande   that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary minnesdag.

"The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, no excitement, and no exercise," announced Framton. He seemed to think that everyone wanted to know all about his nervousness ängslan."

"Oh?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a tired voice trött röst. Then she gave her full attention uppmarksamhet  to something. But not to what Framton was saying.

"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea! And don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

Framton shivered skakade  slightly and turned towards the niece. His eyes showed sympathy. He understood that the aunt was crazy. But the child was staring out through the open door in dazed horror förvirrad skräck. With shock, Framton swung round svängade runt  in his seat and looked in the same direction.

In the deepening twilight tilltagande skymningen  three figures were walking across the lawn towards the door.  They all carried guns under their arms. One of them had a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly tyst  they neared the house. Then a hoarse hes  young voice started singing.

Framton grabbed wildly "greppade vilt"   his hat. He rushed down the hall, swung open the door, ran down the gravel drive grus-uppfart, and pushed open the front gate. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge häck  to avoid crashing into him.

"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white coat, coming in through the door. "Fairly muddy lervälling, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted (ran) out as we came up?"

"A most extraordinary (extra-ordinary) man. A Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton. "He could only talk about his illnesses. Then he dashed (ran) off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

"I expect antar   it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly. "He told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery kyrkogård  in India by a pack of wild dogs. He had to spend the night in a newly dug grave grav  with the creatures howling tjutande   just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

She was very good at making up stories on the spot på plats.