Девять рассказов

A Perfect Day for Bananafish

           "Well,yousoundthatway.Imeanallhedoesisliethere.Hewon’ttakehisbathrobeoff."

           "Hewon’ttakehisbathrobeoff?Whynot?"

           "Idon’tknow.Iguessbecausehe’ssopale."

           "Mygoodness,heneedsthesun.Can’tyoumakehim?"

           "YouknowSeymour,"saidthegirl,andcrossedherlegsagain."Hesayshedoesn’twantalotoffoolslookingathistattoo."

           "Hedoesn’thaveanytattoo!DidhegetoneintheArmy?"

           "No,Mother.No,dear,"saidthegirl,andstoodup."Listen,I’llcallyoutomorrow,maybe."

           "Muriel.Now,listentome."

           "Yes,Mother,"saidthegirl,puttingherweightonherrightleg.

           "Callmetheinstanthedoes,orsays,anythingatallfunny-youknowwhatImean.Doyouhearme?"

           "Mother,I’mnotafraidofSeymour."

           "Muriel,Iwantyoutopromiseme."

           "Allright,Ipromise.Goodbye,Mother,"saidthegirl."MyLovetoDaddy."Shehungup.

           

           "Seemoreglass,"saidSybilCarpenter,whowasstayingatthehotelwithhermother."Didyouseemoreglass?"

           "Pussycat,stopsayingthat.It’sdrivingMommyabsolutelycrazy.Holdstill,please."

           Mrs.Carpenterwasputtingsun-tanoilonSybil’sshoulders,spreadingitdownoverthedelicate,winglikebladesofherback.Sybilwassittinginsecurelyonahuge,inflatedbeachball,facingtheocean.Shewaswearingacanary-yellowtwo-piecebathingsuit,onepieceofwhichshewouldnotactuallybeneedingforanothernineortenyears.

           "Itwasreallyjustanordinarysilkhandkerchief-youcouldseewhenyougotupclose,"saidthewomaninthebeachchairbesideMrs.Carpenter’s.

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