Девять рассказов
Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut
"Once,"shesaid,"Ifelldown.Iusedtowaitforhimatthebusstop,rightoutsidethePX,andheshoweduplateonce,justasthebuswaspullingout.Westartedtorunforit,andIfellandtwistedmyankle.Hesaid,`PoorUncleWiggily.’Hemeantmyankle.PooroldUncleWiggily,hecalledit....God,hewasnice."
"Doesn’tLewhaveasenseofhumor?"MaryJanesaid.
"What?"
"Doesn’tLewhaveasenseofhumor?"
"Oh,God!Whoknows?Yes.Iguessso.Helaughsatcartoonsandstuff."Eloiseraisedherhead,liftedherdrinkfromherchest,anddrankfromit.
"Well,"MaryJanesaid."Thatisn’teverything.Imeanthatisn’teverything."
"Whatisn’t?"
"Oh...youknow.Laughingandstuff."
"Whosaysitisn’t?"Eloisesaid."Listen,ifyou’renotgonnabeanunorsomething,youmightaswelllaugh."
MaryJanegiggled."You’reterrible,"shesaid.
"Ah,God,hewasnice,"Eloisesaid."Hewaseitherfunnyorsweet.Notthatdamnlittle-boysweet,either.Itwasaspecialkindofsweet.Youknowwhathedidonce?"
"Uh-uh,"MaryJanesaid.
"WewereonthetraingoingfromTrentontoNewYork—itwasjustrightafterhewasdrafted.ItwascoldinthecarandIhadmycoatsortofoverus.IrememberIhadJoyceMorrow’scardiganonunderneath—yourememberthatdarlingbluecardiganshehad?"
MaryJanenodded,butEloisedidn’tlookovertogetthenod.
"Well,hesortofhadhishandonmystomach.Youknow.
