bobby luke was sitting on the front steps of Staley Hall, the living quarters for the football team. It was another hot and empty afternoon; everybody else was indoors; the campus seemed deserted1. I sat a few feet away from Bobby, spreading my arms along the top step. He looked my way with a slight grin, his eyes nearly shut. I stretched my legs and gazed out at the distant parade grounds. Nothing moved out there and the heat rolled in. The night "before, we had opened against a school called Dorothy Hamilton Hodge. Taft Robinson gained 104 yards rushing in the first half and we left the field leading 24—0. Creed2 didn't use his reserves until there were only five minutes left in the game. By that time we had eight touchdowns; apparently3 he wanted to make news. Since Dorothy Hamilton Hodge was considered a typical opponent (with one exception), it was obvious that we'd have a winning season. We were better than any of us had imagined and it just seemed a question of how many points we'd score, how few we'd give up, and how many records would fall to Taft Robinson. The exception was West Centrex Biotechnical, an independent like us and a minor4 power in the area for years. The previous season they had swept through their schedule without the slightest hint of defeat, yielding an occasional touchdown only as a concession5 to the law of averages. The game with Centrex, which would be our seventh, was already shaping up as the whole season for us. If we could beat them, Creed's face would be back in the papers, we'd get smallcollege ranking, and the pro6 scouts7 would come drifting down for a look at the big old country boys. Bobby glanced up now. A side door of the science building had opened. A girl stepped out, stood for a moment with her arms folded, then went back in.
"Snatch," Bobby said.
The sky roared for a second. I looked up and saw it finally, a fighter, sunlight at its wingtips, climbing, lost now in the middle of the clear day. Bobby tried to spit past his shoes but didn't make it, hitting the left pants leg. Saliva8 hung there, glistening9, full of exuberant10 bubbles. Bobby hummed a bit. I listened, trying to pick out a tune11 of some kind. Bobby was a strange sort of kid, lean but strong, a very sleepy violence radiating from his sparse12 body. He was famous for saying he would go through a brick wall for Coach Creed. Young athletes were always saying that sort of thing about their coaches. But Bobby became famous for it because he said practically nothing else. He was simply a shy boy who had little to say. Even the brickwall remark was reserved for close friends in situations that called for earnestness above all else. We had all heard about it though, how often he used it, and I tried to figure out exactly what it meant to him. Maybe he had heard others use it and thought it was a remark demanded by history, a way of affirming the meaning of one's straggle. Maybe the words were commissioned, as it were, by language itself, by that compartment13 of language in which are kept all bits of diction designed to outlive the men who abuse them, all phrases that reduce speech to units of sounds, lullabies processed through intricate systems. Or maybe the remark just satisfied Bobby's need to be loyal to someone. Creed had done plenty to command respect but little or nothing to merit loyalty14, a much more emotional quality. He kept to himself, using his assistants to temper and bend us, coming down from the tower only to correct a correction, living alone in a small room off the isometrics area—a landlocked Ahab who paced and raged, who was unfolding his life toward a single moment. Coach wanted our obedience15 and that was all. But Bobby had this loyalty to give, this eager violence of the heart, and he would smash his body to manifest it. Tradition, of course, supported his sense of what was right. The words were old and true, full of reassurance16, comfort, consolation17. Men followed such words to their death because other men before them had done the same, and perhaps it was easier to die than admit that words could lose their meaning. Bobby stopped humming now and tried to spit past his shoes again. The sun was directly overhead. Sunlight covered everything. I smelled casual sweat collecting under my arms and soon the soreness in my body began to ease just slightly. Two girls left the administration building and walked slowly across campus toward the women's dormitory. It took about ten minutes and we watched them all the way.
"Gash," Bobby said.
In time I let my head ease back on the top step and I closed my eyes. I was moving into the biblical phase of the afternoon, the peak of my new simplicity18. A verity19 less than eternal had little appeal. I prepared myself to think of night, desert, sorrowful forests, of the moon, the stars, the west wind, baptismal mist and the rich myrrh of harvested earth. Instead I thought of tits. I thought of flaming limbs, a moody20 whore's mouth, hair the color of bourbon. Quietly I sweated, motionless on the steps. A girl in a cotton dress on a bed with brass21 posts. A ceiling fan rubbing the moist air. Scent22 of slick magazines. She'd be poorborn, the dumbest thing in Texas, a girl from a gulf23 town, moviemade, her voice an unlaundered drawl, fierce and coarse, fit for badtempered talking blues24. I listened to Bobby hum. I had forgotten to add a new word to my vocabulary that day and I resolved to do it before nightfall. I tried to get back to the girl again. It was a different one this time, roundish, more than plump, almost monumental in her measureless dimensions. She removed her tessellated bluegreen sweater. It was all happening in a Mexico City hotel. I heard Bobby stir. The girl became the hotel itself, an incredible cake of mosaic25 stone. I continued to perspire26 quietly. Women came and went, a few I'd known, some more magical than that, not memories and therefore absurdly sensual, exaggerated by cameras. It was wonderful to sit in one's own sweat and feel it bathe the tight muscles, tickling27 at this or that crevice28, and to grow slightly delirious29 in the terrible sun and think of a woman's body (women in warm climates), someone to know when the room at the back of the house is damp and black until she is in it, the round one now, a quite unlikely woman to take you through this first silent winter, body of perfect knowledge, the flesh made word. Then I heard Bobby Luke scratching at his belly30 or neck.
"Pussy," he said.
I opened my eyes and searched the silent lawns.
1 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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2 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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3 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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4 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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5 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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6 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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7 scouts | |
侦察员[机,舰]( scout的名词复数 ); 童子军; 搜索; 童子军成员 | |
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8 saliva | |
n.唾液,口水 | |
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9 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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10 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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11 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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12 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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13 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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14 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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15 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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16 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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17 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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18 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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19 verity | |
n.真实性 | |
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20 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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21 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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22 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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23 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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24 blues | |
n.抑郁,沮丧;布鲁斯音乐 | |
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25 mosaic | |
n./adj.镶嵌细工的,镶嵌工艺品的,嵌花式的 | |
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26 perspire | |
vi.出汗,流汗 | |
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27 tickling | |
反馈,回授,自旋挠痒法 | |
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28 crevice | |
n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝;缺口 | |
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29 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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30 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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