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.
