"Oh, we ran around the bars and then Dean stole a car and we drove back down the mountain curves ninety miles an hour." "I didn't see you."
"We didn't know you were there."
"Well, man, I'm going to San Francisco." "Dean has Rita lined up for you tonight."
"Well, then, I'll put it off." I had no money. I sent my aunt an
airmail letter asking her for fifty dollars and said it would be the last money I'd ask; after that she would be getting money back from me, as soon as I got that ship.
Then I went to meet Rita Bettencourt and took her back to the apartment. I got her in my bedroom after a long talk in the dark of the front room. She was a nice little girl, simple and true, and tremendous- ly frightened of sex. I told her it was beautiful. I wanted to prove this to her. She let me prove it, but I was too impatient and proved nothing. She sighed in the dark. "What do you want out of life?" I asked, and I used to ask that all the time of girls.
"I don't know," she said. "Just wait on tables and try to get along." She yawned. I put my hand over her mouth and told her not to yawn. I tried to tell her how excited I was about life and the things we could do together; saying that, and planning to leave Denver in two days. She turned away wearily. We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought2 when He made life so sad. We made vague plans to meet in Frisco.
My moments in Denver were coming to an end, I could feel it when I walked her home, on the way back I stretched out on the grass of an old church with a bunch of hobos, and their talk made me want to get back on that road. Every now and then one would get up and hit a passer-by for a dime3. They talked of harvests moving north. It was warm and soft. I wanted to go and get Rita again and tell her a lot more things, and really make love to her this time, and calm her fears about men. Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk--real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious. I heard the Denver and Rio Grande locomotive howling off to the mountains. I wanted to pursue my star further.
Major and I sat sadly talking in the midnight hours. "Have you ever read iGreen Hills of Africai? It's Hemingway's best." We wished each other luck. We would meet in Frisco. I saw Rawlins under a dark tree in the street. "Good-by, Ray. When do we meet again?" I went to look for Carlo and Dean--nowhere to be found. Tim Gray shot his hand up in the air and said, "So you're leaving, Yo." We called each other Yo. "Yep," I said. The next few days I wandered around Denver.
It seemed to me every bum4 on Larimer Street maybe was Dean Moriarty's father; Old Dean Moriarty they called him, the Tinsmith. I went in the Windsor Hotel, where father and son had lived and where one night Dean was frightfully waked up by the legless man on the rollerboard who shared the room with them; he came thundering across the floor on his terrible wheels to touch the boy. I saw the little midget newspaper-selling woman with the short legs, on the corner of Curtis and 15th. I walked around the sad honkytonks of Curtis Street; young kids in jeans and red shirts; peanut shells, movie marquees, shooting parlors5. Beyond the glittering street was darkness, and beyond the darkness the West. I had to go.
At dawn I found Carlo. I read some of his enormous journal, slept there, and in the morning, drizzly6 and gray, tall, six-foot Ed Dun- kel came in with Roy Johnson, a handsome kid, and Tom Snark, the clubfooted poolshark. They sat around and listened with abashed7 smiles as Carlo Marx read them his apocalyptic8, mad poetry. I slumped9 in my chair, finished. "Oh ye Denver birds!" cried Carlo. We all filed out and went up a typical cobbled Denver alley10 between incinerators smoking slowly. "I used to roll my hoop11 up this alley," Chad King had told me. I wanted to see him do it; I wanted to see Denver ten years ago when they were all children, and in the sunny cherry blossom morning of springtime in the Rockies rolling their hoops12 up the joyous13 alleys14 full of promise--the whole gang. And Dean, ragged15 and dirty, prowling by himself in his preoccupied16 frenzy17.
Roy Johnson and I walked in the drizzle18; I went to Eddie's girl's house to get back my wool plaid shirt, the shirt of Shelton, Nebraska. It was there, all tied up, the whole enormous sadness of a shirt. Roy Johnson said he'd meet me in Frisco. Everybody was going to Frisco. I went and found my money had arrived. The sun came out, and Tim Gray rode a trolley19 with me to the bus station. I bought my ticket to San Fran, spending half of the fifty, and got on at two o'clock in the afternoon. Tim Gray waved good-by. The bus rolled out of the storied, eager Denver streets. "By God, I gotta come back and see what else will happen!" I promised. In a last-minute phone call Dean said he and Car- lo might join me on the Coast; I pondered this, and realized I hadn't talked to Dean for more than five minutes in the whole time.
点击收听单词发音
1 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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2 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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3 dime | |
n.(指美国、加拿大的钱币)一角 | |
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4 bum | |
n.臀部;流浪汉,乞丐;vt.乞求,乞讨 | |
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5 parlors | |
客厅( parlor的名词复数 ); 起居室; (旅馆中的)休息室; (通常用来构成合成词)店 | |
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6 drizzly | |
a.毛毛雨的(a drizzly day) | |
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7 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 apocalyptic | |
adj.预示灾祸的,启示的 | |
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9 slumped | |
大幅度下降,暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 ); 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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10 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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11 hoop | |
n.(篮球)篮圈,篮 | |
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12 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
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13 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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14 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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15 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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16 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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17 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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18 drizzle | |
v.下毛毛雨;n.毛毛雨,蒙蒙细雨 | |
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19 trolley | |
n.手推车,台车;无轨电车;有轨电车 | |
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