My fingers rubbed my head briskly, both hands working, trying to get some circulation in my brain.
I guessed I had to run. There didn't seem much else to do.
I ran.
Get help?
Not this old lady and her daughter. Not this Neanderthal sailor on his way to a bar and a blonde. Not the bookkeeper. Maybe the car salesman, ex-Army, Lions Club member, beefy, respectable, well-intentioned, not a complete fool. The guy on the corner reading a newspaper by the bus stop.
"I need help," I panted to him. "Somebody's trying to kidnap me."
"Really makes you sick to hear about something like that, doesn't it?" he said. "I'm in favor of the Lindbergh Law myself."
"I'm not sure whether—"
"This heat is murder, isn't it? Especially here in these concrete canyons3. Sometimes I wish I was back in Springfield. Cool, shaded streets...."
"Listen to me! These people, they're conspiring4 against me, trying to drive me insane! Two men, a girl—"
"For my money, Marilyn Monroe is the doll of the world. I just don't understand these guys who say she hasn't got class. She gets class by satirizing5 girls without any...."
He was like anybody you might talk to on the street. I knew what he would say if I cued him with "baseball" or "Russia" instead of the key words I had used.
I should have known better, but I wanted to touch him in some way, make him know I was alive. I grabbed him and shook him by the shoulders, and there was a whoosh6 and as I might have expected he collapsed7 like the insubstantiality he was.
There was a stick figure of a man left before me, an economical skeleton supporting the shell of a human being and two-thirds of a two-trouser suit.
Hide.
I went into the first shop I came to—Milady's Personals.
Appropriately, it was a false front.
A neutral-colored gray surface, too smooth for concrete, stretched away into some shadows. The area was littered with trash.
Cartons, bottles, what looked like the skin of a dehydrated human being—obviously, on second thought, only the discarded skin of one of the things like the one I had deflated8.
And a moldering pile of letters and papers.
Something caught my eye and I kicked through them. Yes, the letter I had written to my brother in Sioux Falls, unopened. And which he had answered.
My work.
The work I had done at the agency, important, creative work. There was my layout, the rough of the people with short, slim glasses, the parents, children, grandparents, the caption9: Vodka is a Part of the American Tradition.
All of it lying here to rot.
Something made me look away from that terrible trash.
Sergeant10 stood in the entrance of Milady's, something bright in his hand.
Something happened.
I had been wrong.
The shining instrument had not been a hypodermic needle.
点击收听单词发音
1 vertigo | |
n.眩晕 | |
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2 cubicle | |
n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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3 canyons | |
n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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4 conspiring | |
密谋( conspire的现在分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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5 satirizing | |
v.讽刺,讥讽( satirize的现在分词 ) | |
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6 whoosh | |
v.飞快地移动,呼 | |
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7 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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8 deflated | |
adj. 灰心丧气的 | |
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9 caption | |
n.说明,字幕,标题;v.加上标题,加上说明 | |
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10 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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