Девять рассказов
For Esmé with Love and Squalor
Hesatupagainandtriedforanotherbelch,butwithbelow-parresults.Ajotofalertnesscameintohisface."Hey.BeforeIforget.WegottagetupatfivetomorrowanddrivetoHamburgorsomeplace.PickupEisenhowerjacketsforthewholedetachment."
X,regardinghimhostilely,statedthathedidn’twantanEisenhowerjacket.
Claylookedsurprised,almostatriflehurt."Oh,they’regood!Theylookgood.Howcome?"
"Noreason.Whydowehavetogetupatfive?Thewar’sover,forGod’ssake."
"Idon’tknow—wegottagetbackbeforelunch.Theygotsomenewformsinwegottafilloutbeforelunch....IaskedBullinghowcomewecouldn’tfill’emouttonight—he’sgotthegoddamformsrightonhisdesk.Hedon’twanttoopentheenvelopesyet,thesonofabitch."
Thetwosatquietforamoment,hatingBulling.ClaysuddenlylookedatXwithnew-higher-interestthanbefore."Hey,"hesaid."Didyouknowthegoddamsideofyourfaceisjumpingallovertheplace?"
Xsaidheknewallaboutit,andcoveredhisticwithhishand.
Claystaredathimforamoment,thensaid,rathervividly,asifhewerethebearerofexceptionallygoodnews,"IwroteLorettayouhadanervousbreakdown."
"Oh?"
"Yeah.She’sinterestedashellinallthatstuff.She’smajoringinpsychology."Claystretchedhimselfoutonthebed,shoesincluded."Youknowwhatshesaid?Shesaysnobodygetsanervousbreakdownjustfromthewarandall.Shesaysyouprobablywereunstablelike,yourwholegoddamlife."
