Девять рассказов

           "Neverbeenatyourgoddamhouse."

           Ginniewaited,butnothingledawayfromthisstatement."Where’dyoumeether,then?"sheasked.

           "Party,"hesaid.

           "Ataparty?When?"

           "Idon’tknow.Christmas,’42."Fromhisbreastpajamapockethetwo-fingeredoutacigarettethatlookedasthoughithadbeenslepton."How’boutthrowingmethosematches?"hesaid.Ginniehandedhimaboxofmatchesfromthetablebesideher.Helithiscigarettewithoutstraighteningoutitscurvature,thenreplacedtheusedmatchinthebox.Tiltinghisheadback,heslowlyreleasedanenormousquantityofsmokefromhismouthanddrewitupthroughhisnostrils.Hecontinuedtosmokeinthis"French-inhale"style.Veryprobably,itwasnotpartofthesofavaudevilleofashowoffbut,rather,theprivate,exposedachievementofayoungmanwho,atonetimeoranother,mighthavetriedshavinghimselflefthanded.

           "Why’sJoanasnob?"Ginnieasked.

           "Why?Becausesheis.HowthehelldoIknowwhy?"

           "Yes,butImeanwhydoyousaysheis?"

           Heturnedtoherwearily."Listen.Iwrotehereightgoddamletters.Eight.Shedidn’tansweroneof’em."

           Ginniehesitated."Well,maybeshewasbusy."

           "Yeah.Busy.Busyasalittlegoddambeaver."

           "Doyouhavetoswearsomuch?"Ginnieasked.

           "GoddamrightIdo."

           Ginniegiggled."Howlongdidyouknowher,anyway?"sheasked.

           "Longenough."

           "Well,Imeandidyoueverphoneheruporanything?Imeandidn’tyoueverphoneheruporanything?"

           "Naa."

           "Well,mygosh.