Девять рассказов
For Esmé with Love and Squalor
Xbridgedhishandsoverhiseyes—thelightoverthebedseemedtobeblindinghim—andsaidthatLoretta’sinsightintothingswasalwaysajoy.
Clayglancedoverathim."Listen,yabastard,"hesaid."Sheknowsagoddamsightmorepsychologythanyoudo."
"Doyouthinkyoucanbringyourselftotakeyourstinkingfeetoffmybed?"Xasked.
Claylefthisfeetwheretheywereforafewdon’t-tell-me-where-to-put-my-feetseconds,thenswungthemaroundtothefloorandsatup."I’mgoin’downstairsanyway.TheygottheradiooninWalker’sroom."Hedidn’tgetupfromthebed,though."Hey.Iwasjusttellin’thatnewsonofabitch,Bernstein,downstairs.RememberthattimeIandyoudroveintoValognes,andwegotshelledforabouttwogoddamhours,andthatgoddamcatIshotthatjumpeduponthehoodofthejeepwhenwewerelayin’inthathole?Remember?"
"Yes—don’tstartthatbusinesswiththatcatagain,Clay,Goddamnit.Idon’twanttohearaboutit."
"No,allImeanisIwroteLorettaaboutit.Sheandthewholepsychologyclassdiscussedit.Inclassandall.Thegoddamprofessorandeverybody."
"That’sfine.Idon’twanttohearaboutit,Clay."
"No,youknowthereasonItookapotshotatit,Lorettasays?ShesaysIwastemporarilyinsane.Nokidding.Fromtheshellingandall."
Xthreadedhisfingers,once,throughhisdirtyhair,thenshieldedhiseyesagainstthelightagain."Youweren’tinsane.Youweresimplydoingyourduty.Youkilledthatpussycatinasmanlyawayasanybodycould’veunderthecircumstances."
