Девять рассказов
Pretty Mouth and Green my Eyes
Shehadjustoverturnedtheashtraywithherkneeandwasrapidly,withherfingers,brushingthespilledashesintoalittlepick-uppile;hereyeslookedupathimasecondtoolate."No,youdidn’t,Arthur,"hesaidintothephone.
"Yeah.Imay.Idon’tknowyet.I’mnotcrazyabouttheidea,naturally,andIwon’tgoifIcanpossiblyavoidit.ButImayhaveto.Idon’tknow.Atleast,it’soblivion.Iftheygimmebackmylittlehelmetandmybig,fatdeskandmynice,bigmosquitonetitmightnot—"
"I’dliketobeatsomesenseintothatheadofyours,boy,that’swhatI’dliketodo,"thegray-hairedmansaid."Forahelluvan—Forasupposedlyintelligentguy,youtalklikeanabsolutechild.AndIsaythatinallsincerity.Youletabunchofminorlittlethingssnowballtoanextentthattheygetsobloodyparamountinyourmindthatyou’reabsolutelyunfitforany—"
"Ishouldalefther.Youknowthat?Ishould’vegonethroughwithitlastsummer,whenIreallyhadtheballrolling—youknowthat?YouknowwhyIdidn’t?YouwanttoknowwhyIdidn’t?"
"Arthur.ForChrissake.Thisisgettingusexactlynowhere."
"Waitasecond.Lemmetellyawhy!YouwanttoknowwhyIdidn’t?Icantellyaexactlywhy.BecauseIfeltsorryforher.That’sthewholesimpletruth.Ifeltsorryforher."
"Well,Idon’tknow.Imeanthat’soutofmyjurisdiction,"thegray-hairedmansaid."Itseemstome,though,thattheonethingyouseemtoforgetisthatJoanie’sagrownwoman.
