Американские боги
Chapter 7
Whydotheybelievethat?IsleepinonestinkingroominBrooklyn.Idrivethistaxiforanystinkingfreakwhohasthemoneytorideinit,andforsomewhodon’t.Idrivethemwheretheyneedtogo,andsometimestheytipme.Sometimestheypayme."Hislowerlipbegantotremble.Theifritseemedonedge."Oneofthemshatonthebackseatonce.IhadtocleanitbeforeIcouldtakethecabback.Howcouldhedothat?Ihadtocleanthewetshitfromtheseat.Isthatright?"
Salimputsoutahand,patstheifrit’sshoulder.Hecanfeelsolidfleshthroughthewoolofthesweater.Theifritraiseshishandfromthewheel,restsitonSalim’shandforamoment.
Salimthinksofthedesertthen:redsandsblowadust-stormthroughhisthoughts,andthescarletsilksofthetentsthatsurroundedthelostcityofUbarflapandbillowthroughhismind.
TheydriveupEighthAvenue.
"Theoldbelieve.Theydonotpissintoholes,becausetheProphettoldthemthatjinnliveinholes.Theyknowthattheangelsthrowflamingstarsatuswhenwetrytolistentotheirconversations.Butevenfortheold,whentheycometothiscountrywearevery,veryfaraway.Backthere,Ididnothavetodriveacab."
"Iamsorry,"saysSalim.
"Itisabadtime,"saysthedriver."Astormiscoming.Itscaresme.Iwoulddoanythingtogetaway."
Thetwoofthemsaynothingmoreontheirwaybacktothehotel.
