It ain't my idea to leave before dawn. My ole lady decided1 to visit Nana, that's why the house stinks2 of hairspray. You know why she's leaving early: so nobody sees her scurry3 through town on foot. All she wants is for them to see her arrived, all hunky-dory. Not scurrying5. It's a learning I made since the car went.
'Well I just can't believe there isn't a pair of Tumbledowns around town, I mean, I'll have to try down by Nana's.' She gives off breathy noises, and flicks6 her fingertips through my hair. Then she takes a step back and frowns. It means goodbye. 'Promise me you won't miss your therapy.'
An electric purple sky spills stars behind the pumpjack, calling home the last moths8 for the night. It reminds me of the morning when ole Mrs Lechuga was out here, all devastated9. I try not to think about it. Instead I look ahead to today. Going to Keeter's is a smart idea; if anybody sees me out there, they'll say, 'We saw Vernon out by Keeter's,' and nobody will know if they mean the auto10 shop, or the piece of land. See? Vernon Gray-matter Little. In return, I've asked Fate to help me solve the cash thing. It's become clear that cash is the only way to deal with problems in life. I even scraped up a few things to pawn11 in town, if it comes to that. I know it'll come to that, so I have them with me in my pack - my clarinet, my skateboard, and fourteen music discs. They're in the pack with my lunchbox, which contains my sandwich, the two joints13, and a piece of paper with some internet addresses on it.
As for the joints and the piece of paper, I heard the voice of Jesus last night. He advised me to get wasted, fast. If at first you don't succeed, he said, get wasted off your fucken ass14. My plan is to sit out at Keeter's and get some new ideas, ideas borne out of the bravery of wastedness.
I ride down empty roads of frosted silver, trees overhead swish cool hints of warm panties in bedclothes. Liberty Drive is naked, save for droppings of hay, and Bar-B-Chew Barn wrappers. In this light you can't see the stains on the sidewalk by the school. As the gym building passes by, all hulky and black, I look the other way, and think of other things.
Music's a crazy thing, when you think about it. Interesting how I decided which discs not to pawn. I could've kept some party music, but that would've just tried to boost me up, all this thin kind of 'Tss-tss-tss,' music. You get all boosted up, convinced you're going to win in life, then the song's over and you discover you fucken lost. That's why you end up playing those songs over and over, in case you didn't know. Cream pie, boy. I could've kept back some heavy metal too, but that's likely to drive me to fucken suicide. What I need is some Eminem, some angry poetry, but you can't buy that stuff in Martirio. Like it was an animal sex doll or something, you can't buy angry poetry. When you say gangsta around here, they still think of Bonnie & fucken Clyde. Nah, guess what: I ended up keeping my ole Country albums. Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Paycheck - even my daddy's ole Hank Williams compilation16. I kept them because those boys have seen some shit - hell, all they sing about is the shit they've seen; you just know they woke up plenty of times on a wooden floor somewhere, with ninety flavors of trouble riding on their ass. The slide-guitar understands your trouble. Then all you need is the beer.
Silas Benn has an ole washing machine for a letterbox. You have to watch out for it, because it's behind some trees as you approach his place from this end of Calavera Drive. I mention it because someday you might want to swing into Silas's driveway at speed. Watch out for the fucken washing machine. It's just one of the weird18 things about ole Silas. I know it's early to visit, but he always leaves his living-room light on, for security I guess, and it gives you the chance to say, 'Heck, Silas, I saw your light on.' He's wise to that ole line, but he still plays along. I nudge my bike up his driveway, and walk around to his bedroom window, tapping on the pane19 in the usual way. Then I stand back and hold my breath. A chink opens in the drapes. I tread softly to the back door. After some scrapes and rattles21, Silas opens up and peeks22 out through crusty eyes.
'Pork my henry, son, what kinda time d'ya call this?'
'Heck, Silas, I saw your light on …'
'Ya dint23 see my damn bedroom light on. Dog-gone it, hell to berries …' Silas didn't have time to strap24 on his leg. He just hangs on a kind of crutch25. Silas had a leg amputated, see.
'Sie, I got some real big business to run past you.'
He rustles26 through his robe for his glasses. 'Lemme see, whatcha find for me today …'
'Well y'see, that's the thing - I don't have any hard stuff, like on paper and all, on account of they took my computer away.'
'So what the …?'
'See, I have this plan how you can get all the pictures you want, hundreds of 'em - today even, when Harris's opens.'
'Aw hell, son, shill my wincer27 - ya dragged me up fer nothing.'
'Look,' I say, unfolding the sheet of paper. 'See these internet addresses? That's where all those hard-core pictures are kept, for free - even the Amputee Spree stuff that you really like. With these instructions, you can go by Harris's store, take the booth with the computer, and print out all you want. No kidding. With this list, you'll never have to pay for pictures again.'
'Shit, I don't know - I never got with them com-puder machines.'
'Forget it, it's easy. Everything you have to do is written here.'
'We-ell,' he says, stroking his chin. 'How much ya want fer it?'
'A case.'
'Git outta here.'
'No kidding, Sie, this list can save you a truckload of beer over the summer. A goddam truckload, at least.'
'I'll pay a six-pack.'
'We-ell,' I hesitate. You have to hesitate with Silas. 'We-e-ll. I don't know, Sie, plenty of kids'll wanna kill me, after I bust28 the business like this.'
'Six-packa Coors, I'll go git it.' He swings away into the house like a one-legged monkey. You can't drink till you're twenty-one around here. I ain't twenty-one. Good ole Silas always keeps some brews29 in stock, to trade for special pictures. Us Martirio kids are like his personal internet. He's our personal bar.
By seven-thirty this Monday morning I'm sat in a dirt clearing behind some bushes at Keeter's, sucking beer and waiting for ideas about cash. From where I sit you can watch the sun piss orange around the rims30 of those ole abandoned toilet bowls. I have my beers, my joints, and Country music pumping deep into my brain. I'm ready to howl like a coon-dog. I use it all to try and plot my position in life. There's me here, and Mexico down there. Taylor Figueroa in between. All I have to figure out is the rest of it. 'Get to the Nub of Things,' as Mr Nuckles used to say, back when his goddam mouth worked. To be honest, the only new information that comes to me is a whole swarm31 of lies about my so-called job. Take note of what happens in a lie-world like this; by the time you're in this deep, and you've invented an imaginary job, with an imaginary start time, and imaginary pay, and put your loved-ones through the sandwich routine, and 'Oh my God should I call Hildegard Lasseen,' and all - it doesn't matter anymore whether you admit the lie, or just get fucken busted32 doing it. People go, 'But he was so credible33.' They start to realize you introduced them to a whole parallel world, full of imaginary shit. It's a pisser, I know it, I don't blame them at all. But it's like suddenly you qualify for membership in the fucken Pathology Zone, even though those same people immediately turn around and go, 'Can't make it, Gloria - my folks just flew in from Denver.'
Nah, my slime's so thick, it ain't worth coming clean at all. Take good note; Fate actually makes it harder to admit slime, the farther in you get. What kind of system is that? If I was president of the Slime Committee, I'd make it easier to come clean about shit. If coming clean is what you're supposed to do, then it should be made more fucken accessible, I say. I guess the shiver that really comes over me is that I just handed everybody the final nail for my cross. All they needed, on top of everything, was a credible lie. You can just see my ole lady on TV when they break the news, don't tell me you can't. 'Well but I even stayed up to pack his sandwiches . . .'
I fumble34 a lighter35 from my pocket, and spark up a joint12. I ain't going by Goosens's today. Fuck that. My ole lady's safe with Nana. I'm going to find a way out of here.
'Bernie?' It's Ella Bouchard. She stops behind a bush at the edge of my clearing, and moves her lips the opposite way to what I hear in my ears, which is crawfish pie and filet36 gumbo.
Just let me say, in case you think I'm secretly in love with Ella, that I've known her since I was eight. Every boy in town knew Ella since they were eight, and none of them are secretly in love with her. Her equipment ain't arrived. You guess it maybe ain't coming either, when you look at her. Like her equipment got delivered to Dolly Parton or something. Ella's just skinny, with some freckles37, and this big ole head of tangly38 blond hair that's always blown to hell, like a Barbie doll your dog's been chewing on for a month. Nobody yet figured out how to deal with Ella Bouchard. She lives with her folks, along the road from Keeter's Spares & Repairs. Her folks are like hillbilly types that don't move their arms when they walk, and just stare straight ahead all the time. The kind that repeat everything eighty times when they talk, like, 'That's how it was, yessir, the way it was was just like that, just like that, the way it was.' Probably explains why Ella's kind of weird too. Cause and effect, boy.
'Hi, Bernie.' She enters the clearing slowly, as if I'll run away. 'Whatcha doin?'
'Just hanging out.'
'Whatcha doin really?'
'Just hanging out, I toldja - you shouldn't even be here.'
'You're getting fuckin loaded and fuckin wasted off your ass. Anyway, you fuckin promised.'
Such a foul39 mouth on a girl probably shocks you. Then you must think: foul-mouthed girl, at Keeter's, alone with Bernie. Okay, yes, a bunch of us boys got our first whiff of nakedness from Ella Bouchard. It cured us of any horniness we might've had; you couldn't name the flavors of ice-cream it looked like she strained through her pants some days. Like, she probably set us back years in our sexual development. She just wanted to cuss, spit, and fart with us, and I guess the only currency she had was her ropey ole body. I know you're not allowed to say it anymore, about certain girls and all, but off the record, Ella was born with it. She'd always be the one doing messy tumbles on the lawn, legs flying open all over the place. Her underwear would always shine your way. When aliens land in town, Ella will be out front with her fucken dress up, I guarantee it.
She takes another step into my space, and looks down at me. 'Fuck, Bernie, you're just like an alcoholic40.'
'My name's not Bernie, and I'm not just like an alcoholic.'
'What's your name then? It's something like Bernie, I know that …'
'No, my name's nothing like Bernie, not in the minimum.'
'I'll go ask Tyrie what the name of the guy is who's over here smoking weed and drinking beer.' She gets that fabulous41 edge that girls get to their voices, the edge that spells oncoming Tantrum From the Bowels42 of Hell, that says, 'I'll scratch the heavens down around you and suck the fucken air from your lungs and spit you to fucken hell and you know it.'
'Name's John, okay?'
'No it ain't, not John, it ain't John, it ain't John at all, not John . . .' You can tell right away she spends too much damn time around her folks.
'Ella, I don't want to make a big deal out of anything today, okay? I'm just trying to chill on my own, and just figure some shit out - okay?'
'Not called John you ain't, not with a name like John, uh-uh, you ain't John, no way …'
'Well - whatever, okay?'
'I knew it was Bernie. Can I have a beer?'
'No.'
'How come?'
'Because you're only eight.'
'I ain't too so eight, I'm nearly fuckin fifteen.'
'Still too young to drink alcoholic beverages43.'
'Well fuck, you're too fuckin young to drink - and smoke weed, fuck.'
'No I ain't.'
'Yes you are! How old are you?'
'Twenty-two.'
'You are not, you are fuckin not twenty-two.' All this goes to illustrate44 the First Rule of dealing45 with edgy46 people. Don't, under any circumstances, get talking to them.
After a minute of clicking her teeth, and of me ignoring her, Ella starts to mess with the hem4 of her dress. She makes these noises, like a stroked snake or something, and goes, 'Fuck, it's hot out here.' Then she raises the hem up her legs, to where they start thickening and softening47 into thigh48. You can tell she swiped this behavior right off some TV-movie. I hope it's not wrong to say it, but it's like watching a Japanese person barn-dancing, the credibility of it, I fucken swear.
'Ella, c'mon will ya?!'
No, here comes the dress on its way up her legs. I just grab my pack and start to stash49 everything back inside. So she turns to me, real polite. 'I'll go to the shop and scream. I'll tell Tyrie what you did to me, after all that weed and beer, Bernie.'
A learning grows in me like a tumor50. It's about the way different needy51 people find the quickest route to get some attention in their miserable52 fucken lives. The fucken oozing53 nakedness, the despair of being such a vulnerable egg-sac of a critter, like, a so-called human being, just sickens me sometimes, especially right now. The Human Condition, Mom calls it. Watch out for that fucker.
I drop my pack and make a deal with Ella. It lasts until the ninth sip54 of the beer that we share. I know it's the ninth because she counts them. 'Every sip together makes our feelings grow,' she says.
And strangely, for a nano-second before the ninth sip, I do kind of start to begin commencing to like Ella, don't ask me why. I get a few waves about how fucked-up she must be, and how she just wants someone to pay attention to her. I'm loaded, I admit it. But for a flash I even kind of take to her, with her ole straw hair blowing across her face, and the smell of warm bushes around. My hand even brushes against her leg, making silk hairlets stand up. She wriggles55 until a wedge of underwear shows up on the dirt. But at the same moment the breeze grates this smell off her legs, like salami or something, and I pull right back. I try not to wrinkle my face up, but I guess I kind of do, and she sees it. She tucks herself back into a knot.
'Bernie, how come you don't fool around? You a pillow-biter or what?'
'Hell no. I just think you're too young, that's all.'
'Guys a whole lot older than you want to fool around with me.'
'Yeah, right. Like who?'
'Like Danny Naylor.'
'Yeah, right, I don't fucken think so.'
'Yeah he does, him and a whole shit-loada other guys.'
'C'mon, Ella …'
'Mr Deutschman'd even pay for it, I know that, I know that too well, too damn well.'
'Fuck, Ell, Mr Deutschman's around eight hundred years ole.'
'It don't matter, he's older'n you, and he'd still pay for it.'
'Yeah, right. Anyway, how do you know? You been over there and asked him?'
'I went by there once and he gave me a Coke, and touched me a little, on my ass …'
Don't even think it. A man has his honor, you know.
At the end of the day, I take all the gullies and back roads home, and keep my eyes lively to any roving cops or shrinks. I'm glad Mom's at Nana's - she'll have company, and food in her belly56, if only macaroni cheese. I missed my date with Goosens, and have to leave town, see. I just couldn't abandon Mom if she was home sniffling, no way. That's how I'm programmed. By the time I get home, I'm ready to call Nana's and tell Mom the job didn't work out - really come clean, as a final gesture. Then, when I step inside my house, I hear an unmistakable set of squeaks57 and sighs. The wind falls out of my sails and stays at the door, like your dorky buddy58 on his first visit to your place. My ole lady's here. Bawling60. I stand quiet, as if she'll ignore me. She doesn't though, and this is where her routine gets quite transparent61, actually, because she clears her throat, loudly, then uses that energy to launch into a bigger, better bawl59. It breaks my fucken heart. Mostly because she has to resort to these transparent kind of moves to get attention.
'What's up, Ma?'
'Shnff, squss …'
'Ma, what's up?'
She takes hold of my hands, and looks up into my eyes like a calendar kitten after a fucken tractor accident, all crinkly, with spit between her lips. 'Oh, Vernon, baby, oh God . . .'
A familiar drenching62 feeling comes over me, like when the potential exists for serious tragedy. One thing I take into account, though, is that my ole lady always wants my blood to run cold; she bawls63 more convincingly the longer I know her, because my blood-freezing threshold goes up. This far down the road, she even fucken hyperventilates. My blood is icy.
'Oh, Vernon, we're really going to have to pull together now.'
'Momma, calm down - is it about the gun?'
Her eyes brighten for a moment. 'Well no, actually they found nine guns on Saturday - Bar-B-Chew Barn disqualified the prize winners for planting guns along the route, there's all kinds of hell to pay in town today.'
'So what's the problem?'
She sets up bawling again. 'I went to cash the investment this morning, and the company was gone.'
'Lally's investment?'
'I've been calling Leona's all day, but he's not there …'
This so-called investment was with one of those companies with names chained together, like 'Rechtum, Gollblatter, Pubiss & Crotsch'. If you want to know who the real psychos are, take any guy who names a business to sound like a lawyer's company, and is still surprised when folk won't turn their back to him.
'Power's being disconnected tomorrow,' says Mom. 'Did you get the advance? I've been counting on your advance, I mean, the power's only fifty-nine dollars for goodness sake, but then when the deputies came …'
'Ma, slow up - deputies came?'
'Uh-huh, around four-thirty. They were okay, I don't think Lally said anything yet.'
'So what'd you tell them?'
'I said you were with Dr Goosens. They said they'd check you at the clinic tomorrow.'
The Lechugas' teddy farm seems ole and squashed when I wake up next morning. Another Tuesday morning, two weeks after That Day. The shade under their willow64 is empty. Kurt is quiet, Mrs Porter's door is closed. Beulah Drive is clean of strangers for the first time since the tragedy. June is barely underway, but it's as if summer's liquor has evaporated, leaving this dry residue65 of horror. At ten-thirty the phone rings.
'Vernon, that'll be the power company - when can I tell them you'll have your advance from work?'
'Uh - I don't know.'
'Well, do you want me to call the Lasseens and see what the hold-up is? I thought they promised it to you on your first day …'
'I'll have it tonight, tell them.'
'Are you sure? Don't say it if you're not positive, I can call Tyrie …'
'I'm sure.' I watch the flesh around her mouth writhe66 with shame and embarrassment67 as she picks up the phone. My head runs a loop of Ella's words at Keeter's. 'Mr Deutschman'd even pay for it.' Proof that my mind hooked onto the idea, is that I pretended not to be interested. I just changed the subject. That's how you know the demon68 seed was planted.
'Well hi Grace,' says Mom. 'He says he'll have it tonight, definitely. No, he's starting late today - he's studying marketing69 dynamics70 for work. Oh fine, just fine - Tyrie's real happy with his progress - says he might even get promoted! Uh-huh. Uh-huh? No, no, I've spoken to Tyrie personally, and he's definitely getting paid - Hildegard's an old friend, so it's not a challenge. Oh really? I didn't know you knew her. Oh, well - tell her hi.' Mom's eyes sink back into her sockets71, she turns dirty red. 'What? Well if you could just hold them back until after lunch, I'd really appreciate it. The truck left already? Uh-huh. But if I give them cash when they get here, can't you stop them from …?'
Blood splurches like paste from both ends of my body, caking hard in grotesque72 spike73 formations that only happen to liars74 and murderers, and that my ole lady can see from the phone. Thoughts dance through my head that shouldn't be there. Simonize the Studebaker, for instance. Mom puts down the phone. Her eyes cut me loose in a raft.
'The disconnection truck already set off for the day,' she says. Razorfish slash75 the fucken raft. Mom's eyebrows76 lean up on one elbow to watch. 'I better call Tyrie.' She fumbles77 through the phone-table drawer for her address book. I stay on my stomach in front of the TV. Save me falling back down here when I'm fucken dead.
In between snatches of my video research, the news plays on TV. 'Overshadows events in Central Texas,' says a reporter, 'with official sources confirming this morning's tragedy in California as the worst of its kind so far this year. Condolences and aid continue to pour into the devastated community …'
'Vernon, do you have the Spares & Repairs number?'
'Uh - not right here.'
I don't look up. I hear you can get big money selling your kidneys, but my brain's stressed from wondering where to sell them. Maybe the meatworks. Who fucken knows. My only other plan, plan B, is the desperate plan. I browse78 through my daddy's ole videos for tips. For cream pie, actually, truth be told. Close the Deal is here, one of his favorites. One thing about my dad, he had every kind of plan to get rich.
'Here it is - Hildy Lasseen,' says Mom. She shuffles79 back to the phone, and picks up the receiver. An important-sounding fanfare80 accompanies her, as the TV jumps from global to local news.
'Mrs Lasseen doesn't work at the yard,' I say. 'That's just their home number.'
'No, the Spares & Repairs number is here too.' She starts to dial. All you hear is the TV in back.
'Don't write Martirio off yet,' says a reporter, 'that's the message from the team behind a new multimedia81 venture inspired by the struggle of our brave citizens - a venture its founder82 claims will spread the gospel of human triumph over adversity to every corner of the globe.'
'Martirio is already synonymous with sharing,' says Lally. Mom squeaks. She throws down the phone. 'Many a crucial lesson about loss, about faith, and justice, can still be shared, be made a gift of - a gift of hope and compassion83 to a needy world.'
'But what do you say to those who accuse you of capitalizing on the recent devastation84?' asks the reporter.
Lally's eyebrows sink to their most credible level. 'Every tragedy brings lessons. Hardship is only repeated when those lessons aren't learned. What we propose is to share our challenge, share the benefits of our struggle, in the hope that others can avoid those hard lessons for themselves. If we can save just one life, wherever it may be - we'll have been successful. Also remember that, being an interactive85 project, individuals across the planet will be able to monitor, influence, and support Martirio in its efforts, twenty-four hours a day, via the internet. I don't think anybody would call that a bad thing.'
'Fair enough, but with the tragedy now behind us - do you really think there's still a market for a lifestyle show from what is, after all, only the barbecue sauce capital of Central Texas?'
Lally throws out his arms. 'Who says the lesson's behind us? The lesson is still to come, we have perpetrators to be brought to justice, causes to be found …'
'But surely the case is open and shut?'
'Things may appear so from a media standpoint,' says Lally. 'But if we share the expertise86 of my partner in the venture, Deputy Vaine Gurie, we'll discover things aren't always as they appear …'
Mom whimpers. 'Lalito …?' She stretches her fingertips out to the screen.
'So,' says the reporter, 'you won't be relocating to California for the experiment, in light of today's tragic87 events?'
'Certainly not, our investment is here. We believe the good citizens of Martirio will shine in their challenge, with the generous backing of the Bar-B-Chew Barn corporation of course, and in conjunction with the Martirio Chamber88 of Commerce.'
Leona's hamster-petting eyes leap to the screen. 'Wow, how do I feel? It's just such a challenge, I never presented a show before …'
Mom's hand snaps back to her body. We both turn to the kitchen window. Under the rattle20 of the pumpjack, you hear the Eldorado on its way up the street. 'Vernon, I'm not home if those fucking girls come up here - tell them I'm at Nana's, or no, better - tell them I'm at Penney's with my gold Amex …'
'But, Ma, you don't even have …'
'Just do it!'
She scurries89 up the hall like a blood clot15, as Those Girls bounce into the driveway. The bedroom door slams. It's too fucken much for me. I just continue to flick7 through Dad's videos. Cash Makes Cash, and Did You Ever See a Poor Billionaire? I have to learn how to turn slime into legitimate90 business, the way it's my right to do in this free world. My obligation, almost, when you think about it. What I definitely learned just now is that everything hinges on the words you use. Doesn't matter what you do in life, you just have to wrap the thing in the right kind of words. Anyway, pimps are already an accepted thing these days, check any TV-movie. Lovable even, some of them, with their leopard-skin Cadillacs, and their purple Stetsons. Their bitches and all. I can go a long way with what I already learned this morning from my daddy's library. Products and Services, Branding, Motivation. I already know I'll be offering a Service. I just have to Position and Package the thing.
'Doris?' George lets herself through the kitchen screen. Betty follows. 'Do-ris?'
'Uh - she ain't here,' I say.
Leona wafts91 through the door behind them. 'I bet she's in her room,' she says, shimmying right up the fucken hall. Suddenly I feel like one of those TV-movie secretaries when some asshole barges92 into the chairman's office, 'Sir, you can't go in there …' But no, fucken guaranteed, Leona barges into Mom's room.
'Hey, there you are,' she croons, like they just met at the Mini-Mart. 'Did y'all hear - I got my own show!'
'You ain't got it yet, honey,' hollers George from her armchair. 'Not until Vaine raises the capital to partner up.'
'Oh goodnight Georgie, she'll get it - she just got her own SWAT team, for God's sake.'
'Uh-huh, and then appointed lard-bucket Barry to it, who's only a damn jail guard. I just hope by "SWAT" they mean "SWAT flies".'
'Heck, you're just miffed because the Barn went over the sheriff's head.'
'Sure, pumpkin94, like I'm sooo devastated,' says George. 'I'm just sayin, a SWAT team don't qualify Vaine for goddam internet broadcasting, and it certainly don't give her the cash.' She pauses to suck half a cigarette into her chest. 'And anyway - our lil' ole tragedy just got shot off its damn perch95.'
Leona stomps96 back out of Mom's room, and throws her hands on her hips97. 'Don't you throw cold water on my big day, Georgette-Ann! Lalo says they won't have time to set up the infrastructure98 in California, not if we move fast.'
'We-ell.' George launches a finger of smoke at the ceiling. 'We-e-ell. I'll just try not to blink, in case I miss ole Vaine movin so fast.'
'Look, it's gonna happen - okay?!'
'Take one helluva new twist, is all I'm sayin.'
'George - Lalo just happens to be aware of that fact, wow!' The thrust of the last word flicks Leona forward at the waist. She stays there awhile, to make sure it sticks. Then she chirps99 back into Mom's room. 'Hey, did I tell you we're setting up Lalo's office in my den17?'
Mom scurries into the hall. 'Well I guess we've got time for one coffee, before I go to Penney's. Vern, isn't it time for work?'
'Hey,' says Leona, 'I can drop him.'
'Loni, stop it,' says George.
'But - he'll get there faster …'
'Le-ona! It's just not fair.' George excavates100 a tunnel to Mom through her cigarette smoke. 'Honey, I hate to tell you, but Bertram's sending someone to get the boy. The shrink turned him in.'
'Well, but - Vern's making money now, why, he's getting five hundred dollars, just today …'
Leona shakes her head. 'You shouldn't've told her, George.'
'Oh sure, so you could take him via Lally, and film the arrest. Doris is our goddam friend, Leona.'
Mom's face peels off her head and hangs in tatters from her chin. 'Well, but …'
I just get up off the floor. 'Either way, I should go brush my hair.'
'Well, there, see? He's a changed young man, with a high-powered job and all.'
I leave the ladies and slide up the hall, via Mom's room, to reload my backpack. I pack my address book, my jacket, and some small clothes. My player, and some discs. I remove the clarinet and skateboard. I don't think I'll be going past town anymore. I grab the pack and head out through the laundry door, without a word to the Forces of Evil. You can still hear my ole lady from the porch, struggling to pump cream into her pie.
'Well I have to get to San Tone for the new fridge, and I'm getting a quote on one of those central-vac systems too, that plug right into anywhere in the house - I guess it's time to think about myself for a change, now that Vern has a career.'
From the bottom of the porch stairs I see a power company truck idling past the pumpjack, studying house numbers along the road. It jackrabbits to me, and starts to pull over. I just creak away on my bike.
收听单词发音 |
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decided
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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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scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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5
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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6
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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7
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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8
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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9
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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10
auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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11
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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12
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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13
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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14
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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15
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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16
compilation
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| n.编译，编辑 | |
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17
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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18
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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19
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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20
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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21
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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22
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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23
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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24
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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25
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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rustles
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| n.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的名词复数 )v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
wincer
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| 切碎机，绞肉机 | |
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28
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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29
brews
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| n.（尤指某地酿造的）啤酒( brew的名词复数 )；酿造物的种类；（茶）一次的冲泡量；（不同思想、环境、事件的）交融v.调制( brew的第三人称单数 )；酝酿；沏（茶）；煮（咖啡） | |
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30
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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31
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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32
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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34
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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35
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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36
filet
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| n.肉片；鱼片 | |
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37
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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38
tangly
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| 混乱的，乱作一团的 | |
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39
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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40
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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41
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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42
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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43
beverages
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| n.饮料( beverage的名词复数 ) | |
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44
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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45
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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46
edgy
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| adj.不安的；易怒的 | |
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47
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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48
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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49
stash
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| v.藏或贮存于一秘密处所；n.隐藏处 | |
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50
tumor
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| n.（肿）瘤，肿块(英)tumour | |
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51
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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52
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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53
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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54
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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55
wriggles
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| n.蠕动，扭动( wriggle的名词复数 )v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的第三人称单数 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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56
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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57
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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58
buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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59
bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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60
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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61
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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62
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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63
bawls
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的第三人称单数 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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64
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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65
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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66
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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67
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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68
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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69
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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70
dynamics
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| n.力学，动力学，动力，原动力；动态 | |
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71
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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72
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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73
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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74
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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75
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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76
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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77
fumbles
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| 摸索，笨拙的处理( fumble的名词复数 ) | |
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78
browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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79
shuffles
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| n.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的名词复数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的第三人称单数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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80
fanfare
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| n.喇叭；号角之声；v.热闹地宣布 | |
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81
multimedia
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| adj.多种手段的，多媒体的；n.多媒体 | |
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82
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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83
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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84
devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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85
interactive
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| adj.相互作用的，互相影响的，（电脑）交互的 | |
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86
expertise
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| n.专门知识(或技能等)，专长 | |
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87
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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88
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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89
scurries
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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91
wafts
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| n.空中飘来的气味，一阵气味( waft的名词复数 )；摇转风扇v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的第三人称单数 ) | |
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92
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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93
sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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94
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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95
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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96
stomps
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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97
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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98
infrastructure
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| n.下部构造，下部组织，基础结构，基础设施 | |
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99
chirps
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 )； 啾； 啾啾 | |
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100
excavates
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| v.挖掘( excavate的第三人称单数 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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