This fall Nelson has discovered soccer; the junior high school has a team and his small size is no handicap. Afternoons Harry1 comes home to find the child kicking the ball, sewn of blackand?white pentagons, again and again against the garage door, beneath the unused basketball backboard. The ball bounces by Nelson, Harry picks it up, it feels bizarrely seamed in his hands. He tries a shot at the basket. It misses clean. "The touch is gone," he says. "It's a funny feeling," he tells his son, "when you get old. The brain sends out the order and the body looks the other way."
Nelson resumes kicking the ball, vehemently3, with the side of his foot, against a spot on the door already worn painless. The boy has mastered that trick of trapping the ball to a dead stop under his knees.
"Where are the other two?"
"How funny?"
"You know. The way they act. Dopey. Skeeter's asleep on the sofa. Hey, Dad."
"What?"
Nelson kicks the ball once, twice, hard as he can, until it gets by him and he has worked up nerve to tell. "I hate the kids around here."
"What kids? I never see any. When I was a kid, we were all over the streets."
"They watch television and go to Little League and stuff."
"Why do you hate them?"
Nelson has retrieved6 the ball and is shuffling7 it from one foot to the other, his feet clever as hands. "Tommy Frankhauser said we had a nigger living with us and said his father said it was ruining the neighborhood and we'd better watch out."
"What'd you say to that?"
"I said he better watch out himself."
"Did you fight?"
"I wanted to but he's a head taller than me even though we're in the same grade and he just laughed."
"Don't worry about it, you'll shoot up. All us Angstroms are late bloomers."
"I hate them, Dad, I hate them!" And he heads the ball so it bounces off the shadow?line shingles9 of the garage roof.
"Mustn't hate anybody," Harry says, and goes in.
Jill is in the kitchen, crying over a pan of lamb chops. "The flame keeps getting too big," she says. She has the gas turned down so low the little nipples of blue are sputtering11. He turns it higher and Jill screams, falls against him, presses her face into his chest, peeks13 up with eyes amusement has dyed deep green. "You smell of ink," she tells him. "You're all ink, so clean, just like a new newspaper. Every day, a new newspaper comes to the door."
He holds her close; her tears tingle14 through his shirt. "Has Skeeter been feeding you anything?"
"No, Daddy. I mean lover. We stayed in the house all day and watched the quizzes, Skeeter hates the way they always have Negro couples on now, he says it's tokenism."
He smells her breath and, as she has promised, there is nothing, no liquor, no grass, just a savor16 of innocence17, a faint tinge18 of sugar, a glimpse of a porch swing and a beaded pitcher19. "Tea," he says.
"What an elegant little nose," she says, of his, and pinches it. "That's right. Skeeter and I had iced tea this afternoon." She keeps
caressing20 him, rubbing against him, making him sad. "You're elegant all over," she says. "You're an enormous snowman, twinkling all over, except you don't have a carrot for a nose, you have it here."
"Hey," he says, hopping21 backwards22.
Jill tells him urgently, "I like you there better than Skeeter, I think being circumcised makes men ugly."
"Can you make the supper? Maybe you should go up and lie down."
"I hate you when you're so uptight," she tells him, but without hate, in a voice swinging as a child wandering home swings a basket, "can I cook the supper, I can do anything, I can fly, I can make men satisfied, I can drive a white car, I can count in French up to any number; look!" ? she pulls her dress way up above her waist ? "I'm a Christmas tree!"
But the supper comes to the table badly cooked. The lamb chops are rubbery and blue near the bone, the beans crunch23 underdone in the mouth. Skeeter pushes his plate away. "I can't eat this crud. I ain't that primitive25, right?"
Nelson says, "It tastes all right, Jill."
But Jill knows, and bows her thin face. Tears fall onto her plate. Strange tears, less signs of grief than chemical condensations26: tears she puts forth27 as a lilac puts forth buds. Skeeter keeps teasing her. "Look at me, woman. Hey you cunt, look me in the eye. What do you see?"
"I see you. All sprinkled with sugar."
"You see Him, right?"
"Wrong."
"Look over at those drapes, honey. Those ugly home?made drapes where they sort of blend into the wallpaper."
"He's not there, Skeeter."
"Look at me. Look."
They all look. Since coming to live with them, Skeeter has aged28; his goatee has grown bushy, his skin has taken on a captive's taut29 glaze30. He is not wearing his glasses tonight.
"Skeeter, He's not there."
"Keep looking at me, cunt. What do you see?"
"I see ? a chrysalis of mud. I see a black crab31. I just thought, an angel is like an insect, they have six legs. Isn't that true? Isn't that what you want me to say?"
Skeeter tells them about Vietnam. He tilts32 his head back as if the ceiling is a movie screen. He wants to do it justice but is scared to let it back in. "It was where it was coming to an end," he lets out slowly. "There was no roofs to stay under, you stood out in the rain like a beast, you slept in holes in the ground with the roots poking33 through, and, you know, you could do it. You didn't die of it. That was interesting. It was like you learned there was life on another world. In the middle of a recon action, a little old gook in one of them hats would come out and try to sell you a chicken. There were these little girls pretty as dolls selling you smack34 along the road in those little cans the press photogs would throw away, right? It was very complicated, there isn't any net" ? he lifts his hand ? "to grab it all in."
Colored fragments pour down toward him through the hole in the ceiling. Green machines, an ugly green, eating ugly green bushes. Red mud pressed in patterns to an ooze35 by Amtrac treads. The emerald of rice paddies, each plant set there with its reflec-tion in the water pure as a monogram36. The color of human ears a guy from another company had drying under his belt like with-ered apricots, yellow. The black of the ao dai pajamas37 the delicate little whores wore, so figurine?fine he couldn't believe he could touch them though this clammy guy in a white suit kept pushing, saying, "Black GI, number one, most big pricks39, Viet girls like ?suck." The red, not of blood, but of the Ace12 of Diamonds a guy in his company wore in his helmet for luck. All that luck junk: peace?signs of melted lead, love beads40, beads spelling LOVE, JESUS, MOTHER, BURY ME DEEP, Ho Chi Minh sandals cut from rubber tires for tiny feet, Tao crosses, Christian41 crosses, the cross?shaped bombs the Phantoms42 dropped on the trail up ahead, the X's your laces wore into your boots over the days, the shiny green bodybags tied like long mail sacks, sun on red dust, on blue smoke, sun caught in shafts43 between the canopies44 of the jungle where dinks with Russian rifles waited quieter than orchids45, it all tumbles down on him, he is overwhelmed. He knows he can never make it intelligible46 to these three ofays that worlds do exist beyond these paper walls.
"Just the sounds," Skeeter says. "When one of them Unfriendly mortar47 shells hits near your hole it is as if a wall were there that was big and solid, twenty feet thick of noise, and you is just a gushy bug48. Feet up there just as soon step on you as not, it doesn't matter to them, right? It does blow your mind. And the dead, the dead are so weird49, they are so ? dead. Like a stiff chewed mouse the cat fetches up on the lawn. I mean, they are so out of it, so peaceful, there is no word for it, this same grunt50 last night he was telling you about his girl back in Oshkosh, making it so real you had to jack51 off, and the VC trip a Claymore and his legs go this way and he goes the other. It was bad. They used to say, `A world of hurt,' and that is what it was."
Nelson asks, "What's a grunt?"
"A grunt is a leg. An eleven bush, right? He is an ordinary drafted soldier who carries a rifle and humps the boonies. The green machine is very clever. They put the draftees out in the bush to get blown and the re?ups sit back at Longbinh tellin' reporters the body count. They put old Charlie Company on some bad hills, but they didn't get me to re?up. I'd had a bushel, right?"
"I thought I was Charlie," Rabbit says.
"I thought the Viet Cong was," Nelson says.
"You are, they are, so was I, everybody is. I was Company C for Charlie, Second Battalion52, 28th Infantry53, First Division. We messed around all up and down the Dongnai River." Skeeter looks at the blank ceiling and thinks, I'm not doing it, I'm not doing it justice, I'm selling it short. The holy quality is hardest to get. "The thing about Charlie is," he says, "he's everywhere. In Nam, it's all Charlies, right? Every gook's a Charlie, it got so you didn't mind greasing an old lady, a little kid, they might be the ones planted punji stakes at night, they might not, it didn't matter. A lot of things didn't matter. Nam must be the only place in Uncle Sam's world where black?white doesn't matter. Truly. I had white boys die for me. The Army treats a black man truly swell54, black body can stop a bullet as well as any other, they put us right up there, and don't think we're not grateful, we are indeed, we hustle55 to stop those bullets, we're so happy to die alongside Whitey." The white ceiling still is blank, but beginning to buzz, beginning to bend into space; he must let the spirit keep lifting him along these lines. "One boy I remember, hate the way you make me bring it back, I'd give one ball to forget this, hit in the dark, VC mortars56 had been working us over since sunset, we never should have been in that valley, lying there in the dark with his guts57 spilled out. I couldn't see him, hustling59 my ass15 back from the perimeter60, I stepped on his insides, felt like stepping on a piece of Jell?O, worse, he screamed out and died right then, he hadn't been dead to then. Another time, four of us out on recon, bunch of their AK?47s opened up, had an entirely61 different sound from the M?16, more of a cracking sound, dig?, not so punky. We were pinned down. Boy with us, white boy from Tennessee, never shaved in his life and ignorant as Moses, slithered away into the bush and wiped 'em out, when we picked him up bullets had cut him in two, impossible for a man to keep firing like that. It was bad. I wouldn't have believed you could see such bad things and keep your eyeballs. These poor unfriendlies, they'd call in the napalm on 'em just up ahead, silver cans tumbling over and over, and they'd come out of the bush right at you, burning and shooting, spitting bullets and burning like a torch in some parade, come tumbling right into your hole with you, they figured the only place to get away from the napalm was inside our perimeter. You'd shoot 'em to shut off their noise. Little boys with faces like the shoeshine back at base. It got so killing62 didn't feel so bad, it never felt good, just necessary, like taking a piss. Right?"
"I don't much want to hear any more," Nelson says. "It makes ?me feel sick and we're missing Samantha."
Jill tells him, "You must let Skeeter tell it if he wants to. It's good for Skeeter to tell it."
"It happened, Nelson," Rabbit tells him. "If it didn't happen, I wouldn't want you to be bothered with it. But it happened, so we got to take it in. We all got to deal with it somehow."
"Schlitz."
"I don't know. I feel lousy. A ginger63 ale."
"Harry, you're not yourself. How's it going? D'ya hear anything from Janice?"
"Nothing, thank God. How's Mom?"
The old man nudges closer, as if to confide64 an obscenity. "Frankly65, she's better than a month ago anybody would have dared to hope."
Now Skeeter does see something on the ceiling, white on white, but the whites are different and one is pouring out of a hole in the other. "Do you know," he asks, "there are two theories of how the universe was done? One says, there was a Big Bang, just like in the Bible, and we're still riding that, it all came out of nothing all at once, like the Good Book say, right? And the funny thing is, all the evidence backs it up. Now the other, which I prefer, says it only seems that way. Fact is, it says, there is a steady state, and though it is true everything is expanding outwards66, it does not thin out to next to nothingness on account of the reason that through strange holes in this nothingness new somethingness comes pouring in from exactly nowhere. Now that to me has the ring of truth."
Rabbit asks, "What does that have to do with Vietnam?"
"It is the local hole. It is where the world is redoing itself. It is the tail of ourselves we are eating. It is the bottom you have to have. It is the well you look into and are frightened by your own face in the dark water down there. It is as they say Number One and Number Ten. It is the end. It is the beginning. It is beautiful, men do beautiful things in that mud. It is where God is pushing through. He's coming, Chuck, and Babychuck, and Ladychuck, let Him in. Pull down, shoot to kill. The sun is burning through. The moon is turning red. The moon is a baby's head bright red between his momma's legs."
Nelson screams and puts his hands over his ears. "I hate this, Skeeter. You're scaring me. I don't want God to come, I want Him to stay where He is. I want to grow up like him" ? his father, Harry, the room's big man ? "average and ordinary. I hate what you say about the war, it doesn't sound beautiful it sounds horrible."
Skeeter's gaze comes down off the ceiling and tries to focus on the boy. "Right," he says. "You still want to live, they still got you. You're still a slave. Let go. Let go, boy. Don't be a slave. Even him, you know, your Daddychuck, is learning. He's learning how to die. He's one slow learner but he takes it a day at a time, right?" He has a mad impulse. He lets it guide him. He goes and kneels before the child where he sits on the sofa beside Jill. Skeeter kneels and says, "Don't keep the Good Lord out, Nellie. One little boy like you put his finger in the dike67; take it out. Let it come. Put your hand on my head and promise you won't keep the Good Lord out. Let Him come. Do that for old Skeeter, he's been hurtin' so long."
Nelson puts his hand on Skeeter's orb68 of hair. His eyes widen, at how far his hand sinks down. He says, "I don't want to hurt you, Skeeter. I don't want anybody to hurt anybody."
"Bless you, boy." Skeeter in his darkness feels blessing69 flow down through the hand tingling70 in his hair like sun burning through a cloud. Mustn't mock this child. Softly, stealthily, parting vines of craziness, his heart approaches certainty.
Rabbit's voice explodes. "Shit. It's just a dirty little war that has to be fought. You can't make something religious out of it just because you happened to be there."
Skeeter stands and tries to comprehend this man. "Trouble with you," he sees, "you still cluttered71 up with common sense. Common sense is bullshit, man. It gets you through the days all right, but it leaves you alone at night. I keeps you from knowing. You just don't know, Chuck. You don't even know that now ?is all the time there is. What happens to you, is all that happens, right? You are it, right? You. Are. It. I've come down" ? he points to the ceiling, his finger a brown crayon ? "to tell you that, since along these two thousand years somewhere you've done gone and forgotten again, right?"
Rabbit says, "Talk sense. Is our being in Vietnam wrong?"
"Wrong? Man, how can it be wrong when that's the way it is? These poor Benighted72 States just being themselves, right? Can't stop bein' yourself, somebody has to do it for you, right? Nobody that big around. Uncle Sam wakes up one morning, looks down at his belly73, sees he's some cockroach74, what can he do? Just keep bein' his cockroach self, is all. Till he gets stepped on. No such shoe right now, right? Just keep doing his cockroach thing. I'm not one of these white lib?er?als like that cracker75 Fulldull or that Charlie McCarthy a while back gave all the college queers a hardon, think Vietnam some sort of mistake, we can fix it up once we get the cave men out of office, it is no mistake, right, any President comes along falls in love with it, it is lib?er?al?ism's very wang and ding?dong pussy77. Those crackers78 been lickin' their mother's ass so long they forgotten what she looks like frontwards. What is lib?er?alism? Bringin' joy to the world, right? Puttin' enough sugar on dog?eat?dog so it tastes good all over, right? Well now what could be nicer than Vietnam? We is keepin' that coast open. Man, what is we all about if it ain't keepin' things open? How can money and jizz make their way if we don't keep a few cunts like that open? Nam is an act of love, right? Compared to Nam, beatin' Japan was flat?out ugly. We was ugly fuckers then and now we is truly a civilized79 spot." The ceiling agitates80; he feels the gift of tongues descend81 to him. "We is the spot. Few old fools like the late Ho may not know it, we is what the world is begging for. Big beat, smack, black cock, big?assed82 cars and billboards83, we is into it. Jesus come down, He come down here. These other countries, just bullshit places, right? We got the ape shit, right? Bring down Kingdom Come, we'll swamp the world in red?hot real American blue?green ape shit, right?"
"Right," Rabbit says.
Encouraged, Skeeter sees the truth: "Nam," he says, "Nam the spot where our heavenly essence is pustulatin'. Man don't like Vietnam, he don't like America."
"Right," Rabbit says. "Right."
The two others, pale freckled84 faces framed in too much hair, are frightened by this agreement. Jill begs, "Stop. Everything hurts." Skeeter understands. Her skin is peeled, the poor girl is wide open to the stars. This afternoon he got her to drop some mescaline. If she'll eat mesc, she'll snort smack. If she'll snort, she'll shoot. He has her.
Nelson begs, "Let's watch television."
Rabbit asks Skeeter, "How'd you get through your year over there without being hurt?"
These white faces. These holes punched in the perfection of his anger. God is pouring through the white holes of their faces; he cannot stanch85 the gushing86. It gets to his eyes. They had been wicked, when he was a child, to teach him God was a white man. "I was hurt," Skeeter says.
BEATITUDES OF SKEETER
(written down in Jill's confident, rounded, private?school hand, in green felt pen, playfully one night, on a sheet of Nelson's notebook filler)
Power is bullshit.
Love is bullshit.
Common sense is bullshit.
Confusion is God's very face.
Nothing is interesting save eternal sameness.
There is no salvation88, 'cepting through Me.
Also from the same night, some drawings by her, in crayons Nelson found for her; her style was cute, linear, arrested where some sophomore89 art class had left it, yet the resemblances were clear. Skeeter of course was the spade. Nelson, his dark bangs and side?sheaves exaggerated, the club, on a stem of a neck. Herself, her pale hair crayoned in the same pink as her sharp?chinned face, the heart. And Rabbit, therefore, the diamond. In the center of the diamond, a tiny pink nose. Sleepy small blue eyes with worried eyebrows90. An almost invisible mouth, lifted as if to nibble91. Around it all, green scribbles92 she had to identify with an affectionate pointing arrow and a balloon: "in the rough."
One of these afternoons, when Nelson is home from soccer practice and Harry is home from work, they all cram93 into Jill's Porsche and drive out into the county. Rabbit has to have the front seat; Nelson and Skeeter squeeze into the half?seats behind. Skeeter scuttles94 blinking from the doorway95 to the curb96 and inside the car says, "Man, been so long since I been out in the air, it hurts my lungs." Jill drives urgently, rapidly, with the arrogance97 of the young; Rabbit keeps slapping his foot on the floor, where there is no brake. Jill's cool profile smiles. Her little foot in a ballet slipper98 feeds gas halfway99 through curves, pumps up speed enough just to pinch them past a huge truck ?a raging, belching100 house on wheels ? before another hurtling the other way scissors them into oblivion, on a straight stretch between valleys of red earth and pale corn stubble. The country is beautiful. Fall has lifted that heavy Pennsylvania green, the sky is cleared of the suspended summer milk, the hills edge into shades of amber101 and flaming orange that in another month will become the locust102?husk tint103 that crackles underfoot in hunting season. A brushfire haze104 floats in the valleys like fog on a river's skin. Jill stops the car beside a whitewashed105 fence and an apple tree. They get out into a cloud of the scent106 of falltn apples, overripe. At their feet apples rot in the long dank grass that banks a trickling107 ditch, the grass still powerfully green; beyond the fence a meadow has been scraped brown by grazing, but for clumps108 where burdock fed by cow dung grows high as a man. Nelson picks up an apple and bites on the side away from wormholes. Skeeter protests, "Child, don't put your mouth on that garbage!" Had he never seen a fruit eaten in nature before?
Jill lifts her dress and jumps the ditch to touch one of the rough warm whitewashed slats of the fence and to look between them into the distance, where in the dark shelter of trees a sandstone farmhouse109 glistens110 like a sugar cube soaked in tea and the wide gaunt wheel of an old farm wagon111, spokes112 stilled forever, waits beside a rusty113 upright that must be a pump. She remembers rusty cleats that waited for the prow114 line of visiting boats on docks in Rhode Island and along the Sound, the whole rusty neglected saltbleached barnacled look of things built where the sea laps, summer sun on gull116?gray wood, docks, sheds, metal creaking with the motion of the water, very distant from this inland overripeness. She says, "Let's go."
And they cram back into the little car, and again there are the trucks, and the gas stations, and the "Dutch" restaurants with neon hex signs, and the wind and the speed of the car drowning out all smells and sounds and thoughts of a possible other world. The open sandstone country south of Brewer117, the Amish farms printed on the trimmed fields like magazine covers, becomes the ugly hills and darker valleys north of the city, where the primitive iron industry had its day and where the people built with brick tall narrow?faced homes with gables and dormers like a buzzard's shoulders, perched on domed118 lawns behind spiked119 retaining walls. The soft flowerpot?red of Brewer hardens up here, ten miles to the north, to a red dark like oxblood. Though it is not yet the coal regions, the trees feel darkened by coal dust. Rabbit begins to remember accounts, a series run in the Vat87, of strange murders, axings and scaldings and stranglings committed in these pinched valleys with their narrow main streets of oxblood churches and banks and Oddfellows' halls, streets that end with, as with a wrung120 neck, a sharp turn over abandoned railroad tracks into a sunless gorge121 where a stream the color of tarnished122 silver is now and then crossed by a damp covered bridge that rattles123 as it swallows you.
Rabbit and Nelson, Skeeter and Jill, crushed together in the little car, laugh a lot during this drive, laugh at nothing, at the silly expression on the face of a bib?overalled hick as they barrel past, at pigs dignified124 in their pens, at the names on mailboxes (Hinnershitz, Focht, Schtupnagel), at tractor?riding men so fat nothing less wide than a tractor seat would hold them. They even laugh when the little car, though the gas gauge125 stands at 1/2, jerks, struggles, slows, stops as if braked. Jill has time only to bring it to the side of the road, out of traffic. Rabbit gets out to look at the engine; it's in the back, under a tidy slotted hood8, a tight machine whose works are not open and tall and transparent126 as with a Linotype, but are tangled127 and greasy128 and closed. The starter churns but the engine will not turn over. The chain of explosions that works by faith is jammed. He leaves the hood up to signal an emergency. Skeeter, crouching129 down in the back, calls, "Chuck, know what you're doin' with that hood, you're callin' down the fucking fuzz!"
Rabbit tells him, "You better get out of the back. We get hit from behind, you've had it. You too Nelson. Out."
It is the most dangerous type ofhighway, three?lane. The commuter130 traffic out from Brewer shudders131 past in an avalanche132 of dust and noise and carbon monoxide. No Good Samaritans stop. The Porsche has stalled atop an embankment seeded with that feathery finespun ground?cover the state uses to hold steep soil: crown vetch. Below, swifts are skimming a shom cornfield. Rabbit and Nelson lean against the fenders and watch the sun, an hour above the horizon, fill the field with stubble?shadows, ridges133 subtle as those of corduroy. Jill wanders off and gathers a baby bouquet134 of the tiny daisylike asters that bloom in the fall, on stems so thin they form a cirrus hovering135 an inch or two above the earth. Jill offers the bouquet to Skeeter, to lure136 him out. He reaches to bat the flowers from her hand; they scatter137 and fall in the grit138 of the roadside. His voice comes muffled139 from within the Porsche. "You honky cunt, this all a way to turn me in, nothing wrong with this fucking car, right?"
"It won't go," she says; one aster4 rests on the toe of one ballet slipper. Her face has shed expression.
Skeeter's voice whines140 and snarls141 in its metal shell. "Knew I should never come out of that house. Jill honey, I know why. Can't stay off the stuff; right? No will at all, right? Easier than having any will, hand old Skeeter over to the law, hey, right?"
Rabbit asks her, "What's he saying?"
"He's saying he's scared."
Skeeter is shouting, "Get them dumb honkies out of the way, I'm making a run for it. How far down on the other side of that fence?"
Rabbit says, "Smart move, you'll really stick out up here in the boondocks. Talk about a nigger in the woodpile."
"Don't you nigger me, you honky prick38. Tell you one thing, you turn me in I'll get you all greased if I have to send to Philly to do it. It's not just me, we're everywhere, hear? Now you fuckers get this car to go, hear me? Get it to go."
Skeeter issues all this while crouched142 down between the leather backs of the bucket seats and the rear window. His panic is disgusting and may be contagious143. Rabbit lusts144 to pull him out of his shell into the sunshine, but is afraid to reach in; he might get stung. He slams the Porsche door shut on the churning rasping voice, and at the rear of the car slams down the hood. "You two stay here. Calm him down, keep him in the car. I'll walk to a gas station, there must be one up the road."
He runs for a while, Skeeter's venomous fright making his own bladder burn. After all these nights together betrayal is the Negro's first thought. Maybe natural, three hundred years of it. Rabbit is running, running to keep that black body pinned back there, so it won't panic and flee. Like running late to school. Skeeter has become a duty. Late, late. Then an antique red flying?horse sign suspended above sunset?dyed fields. It is an old?fashioned garage: an unfathomable work space black with oil, the walls precious with wrenches145, fan belts, peen hammers, parts. An old Coke machine, the kind that dispenses146 bottles, purrs beside the hydraulic147 lift. The mechanic, a weedy young man with a farmer's drawl and black palms, drives him in a jolting148 tow truck back up the highway. The side window is broken; air whistles there, hungrily gushes149.
"Seized up," is the mechanic's verdict. He asks Jill, "When'd you last put oil in it?"
"Oil? Don't they do it when they put the gas in?"
"Not unless you ask."
"You dumb mutt," Rabbit says to Jill.
Her mouth goes prim24 and defiant150. "Skeeter's been driving the car too."
Skeeter, while the mechanic was poking around in the engine and pumping the gas pedal, uncurled from behind the seats and straightened in the air, his glasses orange discs in the last of the sun. Rabbit asks him, "How far've you been taking this crate151?"
"Oh," the black man says, fastidious in earshot of the mechanic, _"here and there. Never recklessly. I wasn't aware;" he minces152 on, "the automobile153 was your property."
"It's just," he says lamely154, "the waste. The carelessness."
Jill asks the mechanic, "Can you fix it in an hour? My little brother here has homework to do."
The mechanic speaks only to Rabbit. "The enchine's destroyed. The pistons155 have fused to the cylinders156. The nearest place to fix a car like this is probably Pottstown."
"Can we leave it with you until we arrange to have somebody come for it?"
"I'll have to charge a dollar a day for the parking."
"Sure. Swell."
"And that'll be twenty for the towing."
He pays. The mechanic tows the Porsche back to the garage. They ride with him, Jill and Harry in the cab ("Careful now," the mechanic says as Jill slides over, "I don't want to get grease on that nice white dress"), Skeeter and Nelson in the little car, dragged backwards at a slant157. At the garage, the mechanic phones for a cab to take them into West Brewer. Skeeter disappears behind a smudged door and flushes the toilet repeatedly. Nelson settles to watching the mechanic unhitch the car and listens to him talk about "enchines." Jill and Harry walk outside. Crickets are shrilling159 in the dark cornfields. A quarter?moon, with one sick eye, scuds160 above the flying horse sign. The garage's outer lights are switched off. He notices something white on her slipper. The little flower that fell has stuck there. He stoops and hands it to her. She kisses it to thank him, then, silently lays it to rest in a trash barrel full of oil?wiped paper towels and punctured161 cans. "Don't get your dress greasy." Car tires crackle; an ancient fifties Buick, with those tailfins patterned on B?19s, pulls into their orbit. The taxi driver is fat and chews gum. On the way back to Brewer, his head bulks as a pyramid against the oncoming headlights, motionless but for the rhythm of chewing. Skeeter sits beside him. "Beautiful day," Rabbit calls forward to him.
Jill giggles162. Nelson is asleep on her lap. She toys with his hair, winding163 it around her silent fingers.
"Fair for this time of the year," is the slow answer.
"Beautiful country up here. We hardly ever get north of the city. We were driving around sightseeing."
"Not too many sights to see."
"The engine seized right up on us, I guess the car's a real mess."
"I guess."
"My daughter here forgot to put any oil in it, that's the way young people are these days, ruin one car and on to the next. Material things don't mean a thing to 'em."
"To some, I guess."
Skeeter says sideways to him, "Yo' sho' meets a lot Bo nice folks hevin' en acci?dent76 lahk dis, a lot ob naas folks way up no'th heah."
"Yes, well," the driver says, and that is all he says until he says to Rabbit, having stopped on Vista164 Crescent, "Eighteen."
"Dollars? For ten miles?"
"Twelve. And I got to go back twelve now."
Rabbit goes to the driver's side to pay, while the others run into the house. The man leans out and asks, "Know what you're doing?"
"Not exactly."
"They'll knife you in the back every time."
"Who? "
The driver leans closer; by street?lamplight Rabbit sees a wide sad face, sallow, a whale's lipless mouth clamped in a melancholy165 set, a horseshoe?shaped scar on the meat of his nose. His answer is distinct: "Jigaboos."
Embarrassed for him, Rabbit turns away and sees ? Nelson is right ? a crowd of children. They are standing166 across the Crescent, some with bicycles, watching this odd car unload. This crowd phenomenon on the bleak167 terrain168 of Penn Villas169 alarms him: as if growths were to fester on the surface of the moon.
The incident emboldens170 Skeeter. His skin has dared the sun again. Rabbit comes home from work to find him and Nelson shooting baskets in the driveway. Nelson bounces the ball to his father and Rabbit's one?handed set from twenty feet out swishes. Pretty. "Hey," Skeeter crows, so all the homes in Penn Villas can ?hear, "where'd you get that funky171 old style of shooting a basketball? You were tryin' to be comical, right?"
"Went in," Nelson tells him loyally.
"Shit, boy, a one?armed dwarf172 could have blocked it. T'get that shot off you need a screen two men thick, right? You gotta jump and shoot, jump and shoot." He demonstrates; his shot misses but looks right: the ball held high, a back?leaning ascent173 into the air, a soft release that would arch over any defender174. Rabbit tries it, but finds his body heavy, the effort of lifting jarring. The ball flies badly. Says Skeeter, "You got a white man's lead gut58, but I adore those hands." They scrimmage one on one; Skeeter is quick and slick, slithering by for the layup on the give?and?go to Nelson again and again. Rabbit cannot stop him, his breath begins to ache in his chest, but there are moments when the ball and his muscles and the air overhead and the bodies competing with his all feel taut and unified175 and defiant of gravity. Then the October chill bites into his sweat and he goes into the house. Jill has been sleeping upstairs. She sleeps more and more lately, a dazed evading176 sleep that he finds insulting. When she comes downstairs, in that boring white dress, brushing back sticky hair from her cheeks, he asks roughly, "Dja do anything about the car?"
"Sweet, what would I do?"
"You could call your mother."
"I can't. She and Stepdaddy would make a thing. They'd come for me."
"Maybe that's a good idea."
"Stepdaddy's a creep." She moves past him, not focusing, into the kitchen. She looks into the refrigerator. "You didn't shop."
"That's your job."
"Without a car?"
"Christ, you can walk up to the Acme177 in five minutes."
"People would see Skeeter."
"They see him anyway. He's outside horsing around with Nelson. And evidently you've been letting him drive all around Pennsylvania." His anger recharges itself lead gut. "Goddammit, how can you just run an expensive car like that into the ground and just let it sit? There's people in the world could live for ten years on what that car cost."
"Don't, Harry. I'm weak."
"O.K. I'm sorry." He tugs178 her into his arms. She rocks sadly against him, rubbing her nose on his shirt. But her body when dazed has an absence, an unconnectedness, that feels disagreeable against his skin. He itches179 to sneeze.
Jill is murmuring, "I think you miss your wife."
"That bitch. Never."
"She's like anybody else, caught in this society. She wants to be alive while she is alive."
"Don't you?"
"Sometimes. But I know it's not enough. It's how they get you. Let me go now. You don't like holding me, I can feel it. I just remembered, some frozen chicken livers behind the ice cream. But they take forever to thaw180."
Six?o'clock news. The pale face caught behind the screen, unaware181 that his head, by some imperfection in reception at 26 Vista Crescent, is flattened182, and his chin rubbery and long, sternly says, "Chicago. Two thousand five hundred Illinois National Guardsmen remained on active duty today in the wake of a day of riots staged by members of the extremist faction183 of the Students for a Democratic Society. Windows were smashed, cars overturned, policemen assaulted by the young militants184 whose slogan is" ? sad, stern pause; the bleached115 face lifts toward the camera, the chin stretches, the head flattens185 like an anvil186 ? "Bring the War Home." Film cuts of white?helmeted policemen flailing187 at nests of arms and legs, of long?haired girls being dragged, of sudden bearded faces shaking fists that want to rocket out through the television screen; then back to clips of policemen swinging clubs, which seems balletlike and soothing188 to Rabbit. Skeeter, too, likes it. "Right on!" he cries. "Hit that honky snob189 again!" In the commercial break he turns and explains to Nelson, "It's beautiful, right?"
Nelson asks, "Why? Aren't they protesting the war?"
"Sure as a hen has balls they are. What those crackers protesting is they gotta wait twenty years to get their daddy's share of the ?pie. They want it now."
"What would they do with it?"
"Do, boy? They'd eat it, that's what they'd do."
The commercial ? an enlarged view of a young woman's mouth ? is over. "Meanwhile, within the courtroom, the trial of the Chicago Eight continued on its turbulent course. Presiding Judge Julius J. Hoffman, no relation to Defendant190 Abbie Hoffman, several times rebuked191 Defendant Bobby Seale, whose outbursts contained such epithets192 as" ? again, the upward look, the flattened head, the disappointed emphasis ? "pig, fascist193, and racist194." A courtroom sketch195 of Seale is flashed.
Nelson asks, "Skeeter, do you like him?"
"I do not much cotton," Skeeter says, "to establishment niggers."
Rabbit has to laugh. "That's ridiculous. He's as full of hate as you are."
Skeeter switches off the set. His tone is a preacher's, ladylike. "I am by no means full of hate. I am full of love, which is a dynamic force. Hate is a paralyzing force. Hate freezes. Love strikes and liberates197. Right? Jesus liberated198 the money?changers from the temple. The new Jesus will liberate196 the new money?changers. The old Jesus brought a sword, right? The new Jesus will also bring a sword. He will be a living flame of love. Chaos199 is God's body. Order is the Devil's chains. As to Robert Seale, any black man who has John Kennel200 Badbreath and Leonard Birdbrain giving him fund?raising cocktail201 parties is one house nigger in my book. He has gotten into the power bag, he has gotten into the publicity202 bag, he has debased the coinage of his soul and is thereupon as they say irrelevant203. We black men came here without names, we are the future's organic seeds, seeds have no names, right?"
"Right," Rabbit says, a habit he has acquired.
Jill's chicken livers have burned edges and icy centers.
Eleven?o'clock news. A gauzy?bearded boy, his face pressed so hard against the camera the focus cannot be maintained, screams, "Off the pigs! All power to the people!"
An unseen interviewer mellifluously204 asks him, "How would you describe the goals of your organization?"
"Destruction of existing repressive structures. Social control of the means of production."
"Could you tell our viewing audience what you mean by `means of production'?"
The camera is being jostled; the living room, darkened otherwise, flickers206. "Factories. Wall Street. Technology. All that. A tiny clique207 of capitalists is forcing pollution down our throats, and the SST and the genocide in Vietnam and in the ghettos. All that."
"I see. Your aim, then, by smashing windows, is to curb a runaway208 technology and create the basis for a new humanism."
The boy looks off?screen blearily, as the camera struggles to refocus him. "You being funny? You'll be the first up against the wall, you -" And the blip showed that the interview had been taped.
Rabbit says, "Tell me about technology."
"Technology," Skeeter explains with exquisite209 patience, the tip of his joint210 glowing red as he drags, "is horseshit. Take that down, Jilly."
But Jill is asleep on the sofa. Her thighs211 glow, her dress having ridden up to a sad shadowy triangular212 peep of underpants.
Skeeter goes on, "We are all at work at the mighty213 labor214 of forgetting everything we know. We are sewing the apple back on the tree. Now the Romans had technology, right? And the barbarians215 saved them from it. The barbarians were their saviors. Since we cannot induce the Eskimos to invade us, we have raised a generation of barbarians ourselves, pardon me, you have raised them, Whitey has raised them, the white American middle?class and its imitators the world over have found within themselves the divine strength to generate millions of subhuman idiots that in less benighted ages only the inbred aristocracies could produce. Who were those idiot kings?"
"Huh?" says Rabbit.
"Merovingians, right? Slipped my mind. They were dragged about in ox carts gibbering and we are now blessed with motorized gibberers. It is truly written, we shall blow our minds, and dedicate the rest to Chairman Mao. Right?"
Rabbit argues, "That's not quite fair. These kids have some good points. The war aside, what about pollution?"
"I am getting weary," Skeeter says, "of talking with white folk. You are defending your own. These rabid children, as surely as Agnew Dei, desire to preserve the status quo against the divine plan and the divine wrath216. They are Antichrist. They perceive God's face in Vietnam and spit upon it. False prophets: by their proliferation you know the time is nigh. Public shamelessness, ingenious armor, idiocy217 revered218, all laws mocked but the laws of bribery219 and protection: we are Rome. And I am the Christ of the new Dark Age. Or if not me, then someone exactly like me, whom later ages will suppose to have been me. Do you believe?"
"I believe." Rabbit drags on his own joint, and feels his world expand to admit new truths as a woman spreads her legs, as a flower unfolds, as the stars flee one another. "I do believe."
Skeeter likes Rabbit to read to him from the Life and Times of Frederick Douglass. "You're just gorgeous, right? You're gone to be our big nigger tonight. As a white man, Chuck, you don't amount to much, but niggerwise you groove220." He has marked sections in the book with paper clips and a crayon.
Rabbit reads, "The reader will have noticed that among the names of slaves that of Esther is mentioned. This was the name of a young woman who possessed221 that which was ever a curse to the slave girl ? namely, personal beauty. She was tall, light?colored, well formed, and made a fine appearance. Esther was courted by 'Ned Roberts,' the son of a favorite slave of Colonel Lloyd, and who was as fine?looking a young man as Esther was a woman. Some slaveholders would have been glad to have promoted the marriage of two such persons, but for some reason Captain Anthony disapproved222 of their courtship. He strictly223 ordered her to quit the society of young Roberts, telling her that he would punish her severely224 if he ever found her again in his company. But it was impossible to keep this couple apart. Meet they would and meet they did. Then we skip." The red crayon mark resumes at the bottom of the page; Rabbit hears drama entering his voice, early morning mists, a child's fear. "It was early in the morning, when all was still, and before any of the family in the house or kitchen had risen. I was, in fact, awakened225 by the heart?rendering226 shrieks227 and piteous cries of poor Esther. My sleeping place was on the dirt foor of a little rough closet which opened into the kitchen -"
Skeeter interrupts, "You can smell that closet, right? Dirt, right, and old potatoes, and little bits of grass turning yellow before they can grow an inch, right? Smell that, he slept in there."
"-and through the cracks in its unplaned boards I could distinctly see and hear what was going on, without being seen. Esther's wrists were firm-ly tied, and the twisted rope was fastened to a strong iron staple229 in a heavy wooden beam above, near thefireplace. Here she stood on a bench, her arms tightly drawn230 above her head. Her back and shoulders were perfectly231 bare. Behind her stood old master, cowhide in hand, pursuing his barbarous work with all manner of harsh, coarse, and tantalizing232 epithets. He was cruelly deliberate, and protracted233 the torture as one who was delighted with the agony of his victim. Again and again he drew the hateful scourge234 through his hand, adjusting it with a view of dealing235 the most pain giving blow his strength and skill could infict. Poor Esther had never before been severely whipped. Her shoulders were plump and tender. Each blow, vigorously laid on, brought screams from her as well as blood. `Have mercy! Oh, mercy!' she cried. `I won't do so no more.' But her piercing cries seemed only to increase his fury." The red mark stops but Rabbit sweeps on to the end of the chapter. "The whole scene, with all its attendant cir-
cumstances, was revolting and shocking to the last degree, and when the motives236 for the brutal237 castigation238 are known, language has no power to con-vey a just sense of its dreadful criminality. After laying on I dare not say how many stripes, old master untied239 his suffering victim. When let down she could scarcely stand. From my heart I pitied her, and child as I was, and new to such scenes, the shock was tremendous. I was terrified, hushed, stunned240, and bewildered. The scene here described was often repeated, for Edward and Esther continued to meet, notwithstanding all efforts to prevent their meeting."
Skeeter turns to Jill and slaps her sharply, as a child would, on the chest. "Don't hush me, you cunt."
"I wanted to hear the passage."
"How'd it turn you on, cunt?"
"I liked the way Harry read it. With feeling." ? "Fuck your white feelings."
"Hey, easy," Rabbit says, helplessly, seeing that violence is due.
Skeeter is wild. Keeping his one hand on her shoulder as a brace241, with the other he reaches to her throat and rips the neck of her white dress forward. The cloth is tough; Jill's head snaps far forward before the rip is heard. She recoils242 back into the sofa, her eyes expressionless; her little tough?tipped tits bounce in the torn V.
Rabbit's instinct is not to rescue her but to shield Nelson. He drops the book on the cobbler's bench and puts his body between the boy and the sofa. "Go upstairs."
Nelson, stunned, bewildered, has risen to his feet; he moans, "He'll kill her, Dad." His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are sunk.
"No he won't. He's just high. She's all right."
"Oh shit, shit," the child repeats in desperation; his face caves into crying.
"Hey there Babychuck," Skeeter calls. "You want to whip me, right?" Skeeter hops10 up, does a brittle243 bewitched dance, strips off his shirt so violently one cuff244 button flies off and strikes the lampshade. His skinny chest, naked, is stunning245 in its articulation246: every muscle sharp in its attachment247 to the bone. Rabbit has never seen such a chest except on a crucifix. "What's next?" Skeeter shouts. "Wanna whup my bum248, right? Here it is!" His hands have undone249 his fly button and are on his belt, but Nelson has fled the room. His sobbing250 comes downstairs, diminishing.
"O.K., that's enough," Rabbit says.
"Read a little bitty bit more," Skeeter begs.
"You get carried away."
"That damn child of yours, thinks he owns this cunt."
"Stop calling her a cunt."
"Man, wasn't this Jesus gave her one." Skeeter cackles.
"You're horrible," Jill tells him, drawing the torn cloth together.
He flips251 one piece aside. "Moo."
"Harry, help me."
"Read the book, Chuck, I'll be good. Read me the next paper clip."
Above them, Nelson's footsteps cross the floor. If he reads, the boy will be safe. "Alas252, that the one?"
"That'll do. Little Jilly, you love me, right?"
"Alas, this immense wealth, this gilded253 splendor254, this profusion255 of luxury, this exemption256 from toil158, this life of ease, this sea of plenty, were not the pearly gates they seemed -"
"You're my pearly gate, girl."
"The poor slave, on his hard pine plank257, scantily258 covered with his thin blanket, slept more soundly than thefeverish voluptuary who reclined upon his downy pillow. Food to the indolent is poison, not sustenance259. Lurking260 beneath the rich and tempting261 viands262 were invisible spirits of evil, which filled the self?deluded263 gormandizer with aches and pains, passions uncontrollable, fierce tempers, dyspepsia, rheumatism264, lumbago, and gout, and of these the Lloyds had a full share."
Beyond the edge of the page Skeeter and Jill are wrestling; in gray flashes her underpants, her breasts are exposed. Another flash, Rabbit sees, is her smile. Her small spaced teeth bare in silent laughter; she is liking265 it, this attack. Seeing him spying, Jill starts, struggles angrily out from under, hugs the rags of her dress around her, and runs from the room. Her footsteps flicker205 up the stairs. Skeeter blinks at her flight; he resettles the great pillow of his head with a sigh. "Beautiful," is the sigh. "One more, Chuck. Read me the one where he fights back." His carved chest melts into the beige sofa; its airfoam is covered in a plaid of green and tan and red that have rubbed and faded toward a single shade.
"You know, I gotta get up and go to work tomorrow."
"You worried about your little dolly? Don't you worry about that. The thing about a cunt, man, it's just like a Kleenex, you use it and throw it away." Hearing silence, he says, "I'm just kidding, right? To get your goat, O.K.? Come on, let's put it back together, the next paper clip. Trouble with you, man, you're all the time married. Woman don't like a man who's nothin' but married, they want some soul that keeps 'em guessing, right? Woman stops guessing, she's dead."
Rabbit sits on the silverthread chair to read. "Whence came the daring spirit necessary to grapple with a man who, eight?and?forty hours before, could, with the slightest word, have made me tremble like a leaf in a storm, I do not know; at any rate, I was resolved to fight, and what was better still, I actually was hard at it. The fighting madness had come upon me, and I found my strong fingers firmly attached to the throat of the tyrant266, as heedless of consequences, at the moment, as f we stood equals before the law. The very color of the man was forgotten. I felt supple267 as a cat, and was ready for him at every turn. Every blow of his was parried, though I dealt no blows in return. I was strictly on the defensive268, prevent-ing him from injuring me, rather than trying to injure him. I flung him on the ground several times when he meant to have hurled269 me there. I held him so firmly by the throat that his blood followed my nails. He held me, and I held him."
"Oh I love it, it grabs me, it kills me," Skeeter says, and he gets up on one elbow so his body confronts the other man's. "Do me one more. Just one more bit."
"I gotta get upstairs."
"Skip a couple pages, go to the place I marked with double lines."
"Why doncha read it to yourself?"
"It's not the same, right? Doin' it to yourself. Every school kid knows that, it's not the same. Come on, Chuck. I been pretty good, right? I ain't caused no trouble, I been a faithful Tom, give the Tom a bone, read it like I say. I'm gonna take off all my clothes, I want to hear it with my pores. Sing it, man. Do it. Begin up a little, where it goes A man without force." He prompts again, "A man without force," and is fussing with his belt buckle270.
"A man without force," Rabbit intently reads, "is without the essen-tial dignity of humanity. Human nature is so constituted, that it cannot honor a helpless man, though it can pity him, and even this it cannot do long if signs of power do not arise."
"Yes," Skeeter says, and the blur271 of him is scuffling and slithering, and a patch of white flashes from the sofa, above the white of the printed page.
"He can only understand," Rabbit reads, finding the words huge, each one a black barrel his voice echoes in, "the eject of this combat on my spirit, who has himself incurred272 something, or hazarded something, in repelling273 the unjust and cruel aggressions of a tyrant. Covey was a tyrant and a cowardly one withal. After resisting him, I felt as I had never felt before."
"Yes," Skeeter's voice calls from the abyss of the unseen beyond the rectangular island of the page.
"It was a resurrection from the dark and pestiferous tomb of slavery, to the heaven of comparative freedom. I was no longer a servile coward, trembling under the frown of a brother worm of the dust, but my long?cowed spirit was roused to an attitude of independence. I had reached a point at which I was not afraid to die." Emphasis.
"Oh yes. Yes."
"This spirit made me a freeman in fact, though I still remained a slave
in form. When a slave cannot befogged, he is more than half free."
"A?men."
"He has a domain274 as broad as his own manly275 heart to defend, and he is really `a power on earth.' "
"Say it. Say it."
"From this time until my escape from slavery, I was never fairly whipped. Several attempts were made, but they were always unsuccessful. Bruised276 I did get, but the instance I have described was the end of the brutification to which slavery had subjected me."
"Oh, you do make one lovely nigger," Skeeter sings.
Lifting his eyes from the page, Rabbit sees there is no longer a patch of white on the sofa, it is solidly dark, only moving in a whispering rhythm that wants to suck him forward. His eyes do not dare follow down to the hand the live line of reflected light lying the length of Skeeter's rhythmic277 arm. Long as an eel2, feeding. Rabbit stands and strides from the room, dropping the book as if hot, though the burning eyes of the stippled278 Negro on the cover are quick to follow him across the hard carpet, up the varnished279 stairs, into the white realm where an overhead frosted fixture280 burns on the landing. His heart is hammering hard.
收听单词发音 |
1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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aster
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| n.紫菀属植物 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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peeks
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| n.偷看，窥视( peek的名词复数 )v.很快地看( peek的第三人称单数 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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condensations
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| n.冷凝( condensation的名词复数 )；冷凝液；凝结的水珠；节略 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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36
monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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37
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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38
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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39
pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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40
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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41
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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42
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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43
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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44
canopies
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| （宝座或床等上面的）华盖( canopy的名词复数 )； （飞行器上的）座舱罩； 任何悬于上空的覆盖物； 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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45
orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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46
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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47
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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48
bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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49
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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50
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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51
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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52
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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53
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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54
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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55
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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56
mortars
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| n.迫击炮( mortar的名词复数 )；砂浆；房产；研钵 | |
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57
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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58
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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59
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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60
perimeter
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| n.周边，周长，周界 | |
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61
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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62
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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63
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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64
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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65
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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66
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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67
dike
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| n.堤，沟；v.开沟排水 | |
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68
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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69
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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70
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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71
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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72
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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73
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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74
cockroach
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| n.蟑螂 | |
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75
cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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76
dent
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| n.凹痕，凹坑；初步进展 | |
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77
pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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78
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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79
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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80
agitates
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| 搅动( agitate的第三人称单数 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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81
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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82
assed
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| 称职的 | |
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83
billboards
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| n.广告牌( billboard的名词复数 ) | |
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84
freckled
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|
| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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86
gushing
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|
| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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87
vat
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| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
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88
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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89
sophomore
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| n.大学二年级生；adj.第二年的 | |
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90
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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91
nibble
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|
| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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92
scribbles
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| n.潦草的书写( scribble的名词复数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下v.潦草的书写( scribble的第三人称单数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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93
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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94
scuttles
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| n.天窗( scuttle的名词复数 )v.使船沉没( scuttle的第三人称单数 )；快跑，急走 | |
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95
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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96
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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97
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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98
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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99
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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100
belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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101
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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102
locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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103
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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104
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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105
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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107
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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108
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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109
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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110
glistens
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的第三人称单数 ) | |
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111
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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112
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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113
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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114
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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115
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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116
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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117
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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118
domed
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| adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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119
spiked
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| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
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120
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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121
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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122
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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123
rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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124
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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125
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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126
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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127
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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128
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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129
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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130
commuter
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| n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者 | |
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131
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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132
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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133
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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134
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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135
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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136
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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137
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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138
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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139
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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140
whines
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| n.悲嗥声( whine的名词复数 )；哀鸣者v.哀号( whine的第三人称单数 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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141
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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142
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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144
lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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145
wrenches
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| n.一拧( wrench的名词复数 )；（身体关节的）扭伤；扳手；（尤指离别的）悲痛v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的第三人称单数 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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146
dispenses
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| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
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147
hydraulic
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| adj.水力的；水压的，液压的；水力学的 | |
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148
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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149
gushes
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| n.涌出，迸发( gush的名词复数 )v.喷，涌( gush的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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150
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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151
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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152
minces
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| v.切碎( mince的第三人称单数 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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153
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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154
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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155
pistons
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| 活塞( piston的名词复数 ) | |
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156
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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157
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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158
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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159
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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160
scuds
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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161
punctured
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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162
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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163
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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164
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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165
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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166
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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167
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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168
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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169
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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170
emboldens
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的第三人称单数 ) | |
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171
funky
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| adj.畏缩的，怯懦的，霉臭的；adj.新式的，时髦的 | |
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172
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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173
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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174
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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175
unified
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| (unify 的过去式和过去分词)； 统一的； 统一标准的； 一元化的 | |
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176
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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177
acme
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| n.顶点，极点 | |
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178
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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179
itches
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| n.痒( itch的名词复数 )；渴望，热望v.发痒( itch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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180
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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181
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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182
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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183
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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184
militants
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| 激进分子，好斗分子( militant的名词复数 ) | |
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185
flattens
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| 变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的第三人称单数 )； 彻底打败某人，使丢脸； 停止增长（或上升）； （把身体或身体部位）紧贴… | |
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186
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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187
flailing
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| v.鞭打( flail的现在分词 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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188
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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189
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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190
defendant
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| n.被告；adj.处于被告地位的 | |
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191
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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193
fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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194
racist
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| n.种族主义者，种族主义分子 | |
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195
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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196
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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197
liberates
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| 解放，释放( liberate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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198
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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199
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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200
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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201
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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202
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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203
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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204
mellifluously
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| adj.声音甜美的，悦耳的 | |
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205
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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206
flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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207
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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208
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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209
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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210
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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211
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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212
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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213
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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214
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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215
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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216
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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217
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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218
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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219
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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220
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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221
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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222
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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223
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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224
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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225
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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226
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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227
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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228
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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229
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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230
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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231
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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232
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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233
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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234
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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235
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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236
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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237
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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238
castigation
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| n.申斥，强烈反对 | |
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239
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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240
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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241
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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242
recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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243
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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244
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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245
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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246
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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247
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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248
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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249
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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250
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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251
flips
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| 轻弹( flip的第三人称单数 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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252
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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253
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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254
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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255
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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256
exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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257
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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258
scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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259
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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260
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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261
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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262
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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263
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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264
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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265
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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266
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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267
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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268
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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269
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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270
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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271
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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272
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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273
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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274
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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275
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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276
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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277
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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278
stippled
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| v.加点、绘斑，加粒( stipple的过去式和过去分词 )；（把油漆、水泥等的表面）弄粗糙 | |
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279
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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280
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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