Девять рассказов
Just Before the War with the Eskimos
"Nowyouknow,"saidGinnie,andopenedacopyofVogueinfrontofherface.ShekeptitinthispositiontillSelenahadlefttheroom,thenputitbackontopoftheradio.Shelookedaroundtheroom,mentallyrearrangingfurniture,throwingouttablelamps,removingartificialflowers.Inheropinion,itwasanaltogetherhideousroom—expensivebutcheesy.
Suddenly,amalevoiceshoutedfromanotherpartoftheapartment,"Eric?Thatyou?"
GinnieguesseditwasSelena’sbrother,whomshehadneverseen.Shecrossedherlonglegs,arrangedthehemofherpolocoatoverherknees,andwaited.
Ayoungmanwearingglassesandpajamasandnoslipperslungedintotheroomwithhismouthopen."Oh.IthoughtitwasEric,forChrissake,"hesaid.Withoutstopping,andwithextremelypoorposture,hecontinuedacrosstheroom,cradlingsomethingclosetohisnarrowchest.Hesatdownonthevacantendofthesofa."Ijustcutmygoddamfinger,"hesaidratherwildly.HelookedatGinnieasifhehadexpectedhertobesittingthere."Evercutyourfinger?Rightdowntotheboneandall?"heasked.Therewasarealappealinhisnoisyvoice,asifGinnie,byheranswer,couldsavehimfromsomeparticularlyisolatingformofpioneering.
Ginniestaredathim."Well,notrightdowntothebone,"shesaid,"butI’vecutmyself."Hewasthefunniest-lookingboy,orman—itwashardtotellwhichhewas—shehadeverseen.Hishairwasbed-dishevelled.Hehadacoupleofdays’growthofsparse,blondbeard.Andhelooked-well,goofy."Howdidyoucutit?"sheasked.
