Коллекционер

           It’snotsomuchthewayhelooks,thoughthat’sbadenough.He’salwayssorespectable,histrousersalwayshavecreases,hisshirtsarealwaysclean.Ireallythinkhe’dbehappierifheworestarchedcollars.Soutterlynotwithit.Andhestands.He’sthemosttremendousstander-aroundI’veevermet.AlwayswiththatI’m-sorryexpressiononhisface,whichIbegintorealizeisactuallycontentment.Thesheerjoyofhavingmeunderhispower,ofbeingabletospendallandeverydaystaringatme.Hedoesn’tcarewhatIsayorhowIfeel—myfeelingsaremeaninglesstohim—it’sthefactthathe’sgotme.

           Icouldscreamabuseathimalldaylong;hewouldn’tmindatall.It’smehewants,mylook,myoutside;notmyemotionsormymindormysoulorevenmybody.Notanythinghuman.

           He’sacollector.That’sthegreatdeadthinginhim.

           Whatirritatesmemostabouthimishiswayofspeaking.Clicheafterclicheaftercliche,andallsoold-fashioned,asifhe’sspentallhislifewithpeopleoverfifty.Atlunch-timetodayhesaid,Icalledinwithregardtothoserecordsthey’veplacedonorder.Isaid,Whydon’tyoujustsay,"Iaskedaboutthoserecordsyouordered?"

           Hesaid,IknowmyEnglishisn’tcorrect,butItrytomakeitcorrect.Ididn’targue.Thatsumshimup.He’sgottobecorrect,he’sgottodowhateverwas"right"and"nice"beforeeitherofuswasborn.