Девять рассказов
Pretty Mouth and Green my Eyes
"You’rebloodyluckyshe’sawonderfulkid.Imeanit.Yougivethatkidabsolutelynocreditforhavinganygoodtaste—orbrains,forChrissake,forthatmatter—"
"Brains!Areyoukidding?Shehasn’tgotanygoddambrains!She’sananimal!"
Thegray-hairedman,hisnostrilsdilating,appearedtotakeafairlydeepbreath."We’reallanimals,"hesaid."Basically,we’reallanimals."
"Likehellweare.I’mnogoddamanimal.Imaybeastupid,fouled-uptwentieth-centurysonofabitch,butI’mnoanimal.Don’tgimmethat.I’mnoanimal."
"Look,Arthur.Thisisn’tgettingus—"
"Brains.Jesus,ifyouknewhowfunnythatwas.Shethinksshe’sagoddamintellectual.That’sthefunnypart,that’sthehilariouspart.Shereadsthetheatricalpage,andshewatchestelevisiontillshe’spracticallyblind—soshe’sanintellectual.YouknowwhoI’mmarriedto?YouwanttoknowwhoI’mmarriedto?I’mmarriedtothegreatestlivingundeveloped,undiscoveredactress,novelist,psychoanalyst,andall-aroundgoddamunappreciatedcelebrity-geniusinNewYork.Youdidn’tknowthat,didja?Christ,it’ssofunnyIcouldcutmythroat.MadameBovaryatColumbiaExtensionSchool.Madame—"
"Who?"askedthegray-hairedman,soundingannoyed.
"MadameBovarytakesacourseinTelevisionAppreciation.God,ifyouknewhow—"
"Allright,allright.Yourealizethisisn’tgettingusanyplace,"thegray-hairedmansaid.Heturnedandgavethegirlasign,withtwofingersnearhismouth,thathewantedacigarette.
