Light from the driftwood lamp downstairs floods the little maple1 from underneath2, its leaves red like your fingers on a flashlight face. Its turning head half?fills their bedroom window. In bed Jill turns to him pale and chill as ice. "Hold me," she says. "Hold me, hold me, hold me," so often it frightens him. Women are crazy, they contain this ancient craziness, he is holding wind in his arms. He feels she wants to be fucked, any way, without pleasure, but to pin her down. He would like to do this for her but he cannot pierce the fright, the disgust between them. She is a mermaid3 gesturing beneath the skin of the water. He is floating rigid4 to keep himself from sinking in terror. The book he has read aloud torments5 him with a vision of bottomless squalor, of dead generations, of buried tortures and lost reasons. Rising, working, there is no reason any more, no reason for anything, no reason why not, nothing to breathe but a sour gas bottled in empty churches, nothing to rise by; he lives in a tight well whose dank sides squeeze and paralyze him, no, it is Jill tight against him, trying to get warm, though the night is hot. He asks her, "Can you sleep?"
"No. Everything is crashing."
"Let's try. It's late. Shall I get another blanket?"
"Don't leave me for even a second. I'll fall through."
"I'll turn my back, then you can hug me."
Downstairs, Skeeter flicks6 the light off. Outside, the little maple vanishes like a blown?out flame. Within himself, Rabbit completes his motion into darkness, into the rhythmic7 brown of the sofa. Then terror returns and squeezes him shut like an eyelid8.
Her voice sounds tired and wary9, answering. "Brewer10 Fealty11, Mrs. Fosnacht. May I help you?"
"Peggy? Hi, it's Harry12 Angstrom."
"So it is." A new sarcastic13 note. "I don't believe it!" Overexpressive. Too many men.
"Hey, remember you said about Nelson and Billy going fish-ing this Sunday and inviting14 me for Saturday dinner?"
"Yes, Harry, I do remember."
"Is it too late? For me to accept?"
"Not at all. What's brought this about?"
"Nothing special. just thought it might be nice."
"It will be nice. I'll see you Saturday."
"Tomorrow," he clarifies. He would have talked on, it was his lunch hour, but she cuts the conversation short. Press of work. Don't count your chickens.
After work as he walks home from the bus stop on Weiser, two men accost15 him, at the corner where Emberly Avenue becomes a Drive, beside a red?white?and?blue mailbox. "Mr. Angstrom?"
"Sure."
"Might we talk to you a minute? We're two of your neigh-bors." The man speaking is between forty and fifty, plump, in a gray suit that has stretched to fit him, with those narrow lapels of five years ago. His face is soft but pained. A hard little hook nose at odds16 with the puffy patches below his eyes. His chin is two damp knobs set side by side, between them a dimple where the whiskers hide from the razor. He has that yellow Brewer tint17 and an agile18 sly white?collar air. An accountant, a schoolteacher. "My name is Mahlon Showalter. I live on the other side of Vista19 Crescent, the house, you probably noticed, with the new addition in back we added on last summer."
"Oh, yeah." He recalls distant hammering but had not noticed; he really only looks at Penn Villas20 enough to see that it isn't Mt. judge: that is, it is nowhere.
"I'm in computers, the hardware end," Showalter says. "Here's my card." As Rabbit glances at the company name on it Showalter says, "We're going to revolutionize business in this town, file that name in your memory. This here is Eddie Brumbach, he lives around the further crescent, Marigold, up from you."
Eddie presents no card. He is black?haired, shorter and younger than Harry. He stands the way guys in the Army used to, all buttoned in, shoulders tucked back, an itch21 for a fight between their shoulder blades. Only in part because of his brush cut, his head looks flattened22 on top, like the heads on Rabbit's television set. When he shakes hands, it reminds him of somebody else. Who? One side of Brumbach's face has had a piece of jawbone removed, leaving a dent24 and an L?shaped red scar. Gray eyes like dulled tool tips. He says with ominous25 simplicity26, "Yessir."
Showalter says, "Eddie works in the assembly shop over at Fessler Steel."
"You guys must have quit work early today," Rabbit says.
Eddie tells him, "I'm on night shift this month."
Showalter has a way of bending, as if dance music is playing far away and he wants to cut in between Rabbit and Eddie. He is say-ing, "We made a decision to talk to you, we appreciate your patience. This is my car here, would you like to sit in it? It's not too comfortable, standing28 out like this."
The car is a Toyota; it reminds Harry of his father?in?law and gets a whole set of uneasy feelings sliding. "I'd just as soon stand," he says, "if it won't take long," and leans on the mailbox to make himself less tall above these men.
"It won't take long," Eddie Brumbach promises, hitching29 his shoulders and coming a crisp step closer.
Showalter dips his shoulder again as if to intervene, looks sadder around the eyes, wipes his soft mouth: "Well no, it needn't. We don't mean to be unfriendly, we just have a few questions."
"Friendly questions," Rabbit clarifies, anxious to help this man, whose careful slow voice is pure Brewer; who seems, like the city, bland30 and broad and kind, and for the time being depressed31.
"Now some of us," Showalter goes on, "were discussing, you know, the neighborhood. Some of the kids have been telling us stories, you know, about what they see in your windows."
"They've been looking in my windows?" The mailbox blue is hot; he stops leaning and stands. Though it is October the side-walk has a flinty glare and a translucent32 irritability33 rests upon the pastel asphalt rooftops, the spindly young trees, the low houses like puzzles assembled of wood and cement and brick and fake?field-stone siding. He is trying to look through these houses to his own, to protect it.
Brumbach bristles34, thrusts himself into Rabbit's attention. "They haven't had to look in any windows, they've had what's going on pushed under their noses. And it don't smell good."
Showalter intervenes, his voice wheedling35 like a woman's, but-tering over. "No now, that's putting it too strong. But it's true, I guess, there hasn't been any particular secret. They've been com-ing and going in that little Porsche right along, and I notice now he plays basketball with the boy right out front."
"He?"
"The black fella you have living with you," Showalter says, smiling as if the snag in their conversation has been discovered, and all will be clear sailing now.
"And the white girl," Brumbach adds. "My younger boy came home the other day and said he saw them screwing right on the downstairs rug."
"Well," Rabbit says, stalling. He feels absurdly taller than these men, he feels he might float away while trying to make out the details of what the boy had seen, a little framed rectangle hung in his head like a picture too high on the wall. "That's the kind of thing you see, when you look in other people's windows."
Brumbach steps neatly36 in front of Showalter, and Rabbit remembers who his handshake had been reminiscent of the doc-tor giving Mom the new pills. I twist bodies to my will. I am life, I am death. "Listen, brother. We're trying to raise children in this neighborhood."
"Me too."
"And that's something else. What kind of pervert37 are you bringing up there? I feel sorry for the boy, it's the fact, I do. But what about the rest of us, who are trying to do the best we can? This is a decent white neighborhood," he says, hitting "decent" weakly but gathering38 strength for, "that's why we live here instead of across the river over in Brewer where they're letting 'em run wild."
"Letting who run wild?"
"You know fucking well who, read the papers, these old ladies can't even go outdoors in broad daylight with a pocketbook."
Showalter, supple39, worried, sidles around and intrudes40 himself. "White neighborhood isn't exactly the point, we'd welcome a self?respecting black family, I went to school with blacks and I'd work right beside one any day of the week, in fact my company has a recruitment program, the trouble is, their own leaders tell them not to bother, tell them it's a sellout, to learn how to make an honest living." This speech has slid further than he had in-tended; he hauls it back. "If he acts like a man I'll treat him like a man, am I way out of line on that, Eddie?"
Brumbach puffs41 up so his shirt pocket tightens42 on his cigarette pack; his forearms bend at his sides as if under the pull of their veins44. "I fought beside the colored in Vietnam," he says. "No 'problems."
"Hey that's funny you're a Viet veteran too, this guy we're kind of talking about -"
"No problems," Brumbach goes on, "because we all knew the rules."
Showalter's hands glide45, flutter, touch his narrow lapels in a double downward caress46. "It's the girl and the black together," he says quickly, to touch it and get away.
Brumbach says, "Christ those boogs love white ass27. You should have seen what went on around the bases."
Rabbit offers, "That was yellow ass, wasn't it? Gook ass?"
Showalter tugs47 at his arm and takes him aside, some steps from the mailbox. Harry wonders if anybody ever mails a letter in it, he passes it every day and it seems mysterious as a fire hydrant, waiting for its moment that may never come. He never hears it clang. In Mt. Judge people were always mailing Valentines. Brumbach at his little distance stared into space, at TV?aerial level, knowing he's being discussed. Showalter says, "Don't keep riding him."
Rabbit calls over to Brumbach, "I'm not riding you, am I?"
Showalter tugs harder, so Harry has to bend his ear to the man's little beak48 and soft unhappy mouth. "He's not that stable. He feels very threatened. It wasn't my idea to get after you, I said to him, The man has his rights of privacy."
Rabbit tries to play the game, whispers. "How many more in the neighborhood feel like him?"
"More than you'd think. I was surprised myself. These are rea-sonable good people, but they have blind spots. I believe if they didn't have children, if this wasn't a children's neighborhood, it'd be more live and let live."
But Rabbit worries they are being rude to Brumbach. He calls over, "Hey, Eddie. I tell you what."
Brumbach is not pleased to be called in; he had wanted Showalter to settle. Rabbit sees the structure: one man is the negotiator, the other is the muscle. Brumbach barks, "What?"
"I'll keep my kid from looking in your windows, and you keep yours from looking in mine."
"We had a name over there for guys like you. Wiseass. Sometimes just by mistake they got fragged."
"I'll tell you what else," Rabbit says. "As a bonus, I'll try to remember to draw the curtains."
"You better do fucking more than pull the fucking curtains," Brumbach tells him, "you better fucking barricade49 the place."
Out of nowhere a mail truck, red, white, and blue, with a canted windshield like a display case, squeaks50 to a stop at the curb51; hurriedly, not looking at any of them, a small man in gray unlocks the mailbox front and scoops52 a torrent53, hundreds it seems, of letters into a gray sack, locks it shut, and drives away.
Rabbit goes close to Brumbach. "Tell me what you want. You want me to move out of the neighborhood."
"Just move the black out."
"It's him and the girl together you don't like; suppose he stays and the girl goes?"
"The black goes."
"He goes when he stops being my guest. Have a nice supper."
"You've been warned."
Rabbit asks Showalter, "You hear that threat?"
Showalter smiles, he wipes his brow, he is less depressed. He has done what he could. "I told you," he says, "not to ride him. We came to you in all politeness. I want to repeat, it's the circumstances of what's going on, not the color of anybody's skin. There's a house vacant abutting54 me and I told the realtor, I said as plain as I say to you, `Any colored family, with a husband in the house, can get up the equity55 to buy it at the going market price, let them have it by all means. By all means.' "
"It's nice to meet a liberal," Rabbit says, and shakes his hand. "My wife keeps telling me I'm a conservative."
And, because he likes him, because he likes anybody who fought in Vietnam where he himself should have been fighting, had he not been too old, too old and fat and cowardly, he offers to shake Brumbach's hand too.
The cocky little man keeps his arms stiff at his sides. Instead he turns his head, so the ruined jaw23 shows. The scar is not just a red L, Rabbit sees it is an ampersand, complicated by faint lines where skin was sewn and overlapped56 to repair a hole that would always be, that would always repel57 eyes. Rabbit makes himself look at it. Brumbach's voice is less explosive, almost regretful, sad in its steadiness. "I earned this face," he says. "I got it over there so I could have a decent life here. I'm not asking for sympathy, a lot of my buddies58 made out worse. I'm just letting you know, after what I seen and done, no wiseass is crowding me in my own neighborhood."
Inside the house, it is too quiet. The television isn't going. Nelson is doing homework at the kitchen table. No, he is reading one of Skeeter's books. He has not gotten very far. Rabbit asks, "Where are they?"
"Sleeping. Upstairs."
"Together?"
"I think Jill's on your bed, Skeeter's in mine. He says the sofa stinks59. He was awake when I got back from school."
"How did he seem?"
Though the question touches a new vein43, Nelson answers promptly60. For all the shadows between them, they have lately grown toward each other, father and son. "Jumpy," he answers, into the book. "Said he was getting bad vibes lately and hadn't slept at all last night. I think he had taken some pills or something. He didn't seem to see me, looking over my head, kind of, and kept calling me Chuck instead of Babychuck."
"And how's Jill?"
"Dead asleep. I looked in and said her name and she didn't move. Dad -"
"Spit it out."
"He gives her things." The thought is too deep in him to get out easily; his eyes sink in after it, and his father feels him digging, shy, afraid, lacking the right words, not wanting to offend his father.
Harry prompts, "Things."
The boy rushes into it. "She never laughs any more, or takes any interest in anything, just sits around and sleeps. Have you looked at her skin, Dad? She's gotten so pale."
"She's naturally fair."
"Yeah, I know, but it's more than that, she looks sick. She doesn't eat hardly anything and throws up sometimes anyway. Dad, don't let him keep doing it to her, whatever it is. Stop him."
"How can I?"
"You can kick him out."
"Jill's said she'll go with him."
"She won't. She hates him too."
"Don't you like Skeeter?"
"Not really. I know I should. I know you do."
"I do?" Surprised, he promises Nelson, "I'll talk to him. But you know, people aren't property, I can't control what they want to do together. We can't live Jill's life for her."
"We could, if you wanted to. Ifyou cared at all." This is as close as Nelson has come to defiance61; Rabbit's instinct is to be gentle with this sprouting62, to ignore it.
He points out simply, "She's too old to adopt. And you're too young to marry."
The child frowns down into the book, silent.
"Now tell me something."
"O.K." Nelson's face tenses, prepared to close; he expects to be asked about Jill and sex and himself. Rabbit is glad to disappoint him, to give him a little space here.
"Two men stopped me on the way home and said kids had been looking in our windows. Have you heard anything about this?"
"Sure."
"Sure what?"
"Sure they do."
"Who? "
"All of them. Frankhauser, and that slob Jimmy Brumbach, Evelyn Morris and those friends of hers from Penn Park, Mark Showalter and I guess his sister Marilyn though she's awful little -"
"When the hell do they do this?"
"Different times. When they come home from school and I'm at soccer practice, before you get home, they hang around. I guess sometimes they come back after dark."
"They see anything?"
"I guess sometimes."
"They talk to you about it? Do they tease you?"
"I guess. Sometimes."
"You poor kid. What do you tell 'em?"
"I tell 'em to fuck off."
"Hey. Watch your language."
"That's what I tell 'em. You asked."
"And do you have to fight?"
"Not much. Just sometimes when they call me something."
"What?"
"Something. Never mind, Dad."
"Tell me what they call you."
"Nigger Nellie."
"Huh. Nice kids."
"They're just kids, Dad. They don't mean anything. Jill says ignore them, they're ignorant."
"And do they kid you about Jill?"
The boy turns his face away altogether. His hair covers his neck, yet even from the back he would not be mistaken for a girl: the angles in the shoulders, the lack of brushing in the hair. The choked voice is manly63: "I don't want to talk about it anymore; Dad."
"O.K. Thanks. Hey. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to live in the mess we all make."
The choked voice exclaims, "Gee64 I wish Mom would come back! I know it can't happen, but I wish it." Nelson thumps65 the back of the kitchen chair and then rests his forehead where his fist struck; Rabbit ruffles66 his hair, helplessly, on his way past, to the refrigerator to get a beer.
收听单词发音 |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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flicks
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的第三人称单数 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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accost
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| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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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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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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dent
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| n.凹痕，凹坑；初步进展 | |
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ominous
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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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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hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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pervert
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| n.堕落者，反常者；vt.误用，滥用；使人堕落，使入邪路 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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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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intrudes
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的第三人称单数 )；把…强加于 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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tightens
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| 收紧( tighten的第三人称单数 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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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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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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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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scoops
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| n.小铲( scoop的名词复数 )；小勺；一勺[铲]之量；（抢先刊载、播出的）独家新闻v.抢先报道( scoop的第三人称单数 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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53
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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54
abutting
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| adj.邻接的v.（与…）邻接( abut的现在分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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55
equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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56
overlapped
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| _adj.重叠的v.部分重叠( overlap的过去式和过去分词 )；（物体）部份重叠；交叠；（时间上）部份重叠 | |
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57
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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58
buddies
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| n.密友( buddy的名词复数 )；同伴；弟兄；（用于称呼男子，常带怒气）家伙v.（如密友、战友、伙伴、弟兄般）交往( buddy的第三人称单数 )；做朋友；亲近（…）；伴护艾滋病人 | |
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59
stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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60
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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61
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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62
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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63
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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64
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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65
thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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66
ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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