Девять рассказов
For Esmé with Love and Squalor
Claylookedathimsuspiciously."Whatthehellareyoutalkin’about?"
"Thatcatwasaspy.Youhadtotakeapotshotatit.ItwasaverycleverGermanmidgetdressedupinacheapfurcoat.Sotherewasabsolutelynothingbrutal,orcruel,ordirty,oreven—"
"Goddamnit!"Claysaid,hislipsthinned."Can’tyoueverbesincere?"
Xsuddenlyfeltsick,andheswungaroundinhischairandgrabbedthewastebasket—justintime.Whenhehadstraightenedupandturnedtowardhisguestagain,hefoundhimstanding,embarrassed,halfwaybetweenthebedandthedoor.Xstartedtoapologize,butchangedhismindandreachedforhiscigarettes.
"C’mondownandlistentoHopeontheradio,hey,"Claysaid,keepinghisdistancebuttryingtobefriendlyoverit."It’lldoyagood.Imeanit."
"Yougoahead,Clay....I’lllookatmystampcollection."
"Yeah?Yougotastampcollection?Ididn’tknowyou—"
"I’monlykidding."
Claytookacoupleofslowstepstowardthedoor."ImaydriveovertoEhstadtlater,"hesaid."Theygotadance.It’llprobablylasttillaroundtwo.Wannago?"
"No,thanks....Imaypracticeafewstepsintheroom."
"O.K.G’night!Takeiteasy,now,forChrissake."Thedoorslammedshut,theninstantlyopenedagain."Hey.O.K.ifIleavealettertoLorettaunderyourdoor?IgotsomeGermanstuffinit.Willyafixitupforme?"
"Yes.Leavemealonenow,Goddamnit."
"Sure,"saidClay."Youknowwhatmymotherwroteme?Shewrotemeshe’sgladyouandIweretogetherandallthewholewar.Inthesamejeepandall.
