Зима тревоги нашей/The winter of our anxiety (Джон Стейнбек). Страница 352 из 385

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He

stood

up

to

shake

hands

and

my

right

hand

was

folded

in

the

warm

,

rubbery

mass

.

He

put

something

in

my

hand

,

something

small

and

heavy

and

cool

,

about

the

size

of

a

key

but

not

a

key

—

a

shape

,

a

metal

thing

that

felt

sharp

-

edged

and

polished

.

I

don

’

t

know

what

it

was

because

I

didn

’

t

look

at

it

,

I

only

felt

it

.

I

leaned

near

and

kissed

him

on

the

mouth

and

with

my

lips

felt

his

dry

lips

all

chapped

and

rough

.

I

awakened

then

,

shaken

and

cold

.

The

dawn

had

come

.

I

could

see

the

lake

but

not

the

cow

standing

in

it

,

and

I

could

still

feel

the

chapped

dry

lips

.

I

got

up

instantly

because

I

didn

’

t

want

to

lie

there

thinking

about

it

.

I

didn

’

t

make

coffee

but

I

went

to

the

elephant

’

s

foot

and

saw

that

the

wicked

club

called

a

cane

was

still

there

.

It

was

the

throbbing

time

of

dawn

,

and

hot

and

humid

,

for

the

morning

wind

had

not

started

to

blow

.

The

street

was

gray

and

silver

and

the

sidewalk

greasy

with

the

deposit

of

humanity

.

The

Foremaster

coffee

shop

wasn

’

t

open

,

but

I

didn

’

t

want

coffee

anyway

.

I

went

through

the

alley

and

opened

my

back

door

—

looked

in

the

front

and

saw

the

leather

hatbox

behind

the

counter

.

I

opened

a

coffee

can

,

poured

the

coffee

in

the

garbage

pail

.

Then

I

punched

two

holes

in

a

can

of

condensed

milk

and

squirted

it

into

the

coffee

can

,

propped

the

back

door

open

,

and

put

the

can

in

the

entrance

.

The

cat

was

in

the

alley

all

right

,

but

he

wouldn

’

t

come

to

the

milk

until

I

went

into

the

front

of

the

store

.

From

there

I

could

see

him

,

gray

cat

in

gray

alley

,

lapping

the

milk

.

When

he

raised

his

head

he

was

mustached

with

milk

.

He

sat

down

and

wiped

his

mouth

and

licked

his

pads

.

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I

opened

the

hatbox

and

took

out

the

Saturday

receipts

,

all

listed

and

held

together

with

paper

clips

.

From

the

brown

bank

envelope

I

removed

thirty

one

-

hundred

-

dollar

bills

and

replaced

the

other

twenty

of

them

.

This

three

thousand

dollars

would

be

my

margin

of

safety

until

the

store

’

s

economy

could

balance

.

Mary

’

s

other

two

thousand

would

go

back

to

her

account

and

,

as

soon

as

I

could

do

it

safely

,

I

would

replace

the

three

thousand

.

The

thirty

bills

I

put

in

my

new

wallet

,

which

made

it

very

fat

in

my

hip

pocket

.

Then

I

brought

cases

and

cartons

from

the

storeroom

,

ripped

and

tore

them

open

,

and

began

to

replenish

my

exhausted

shelves

,

while

on

a

strip

of

wrapping

paper

I

listed

the

goods

that

had

to

be

reordered

.

Cartons

and

boxes

I

piled

in

the

alley

for

the

collection

truck

,

and

I

refilled

the

coffeecan

with

milk

but

the

cat

did

not

return

.

Either

he

had

had

enough

or

he

took

pleasure

only

in

what

he

could

steal

.

It

must

be

that

there

are

years

unlike

other

years

,

as

different

in

climate

and

direction

and

mood

as

one

day

can

be

from

another

day

.

This

year

of

1960

was

a

year

of

change

,

a

year

when

secret

fears

come

into

the

open

,

when

discontent

stops

being

dormant

and

changes

gradually

to

anger

.

It

wasn

’

t

only

in

me

or

in

New

Baytown

.

Presidential

nominations

would

be

coming

up

soon

and

in

the

air

the

discontent

was

changing

to

anger

and

the

excitement

anger

brings

.

And

it

wasn

’

t

only

the

nation

;

the

whole

world

stirred

with

restlessness

and

uneasiness

as

discontent

moved

to

anger

and

anger

tried

to

find

an

outlet

in

action

,

any

action

so

long

as

it

was

violent

—

Africa

,

Cuba

,

South

America

,

Europe

,

Asia

,

the

Near

East

,

all

restless

as

horses

at

the

barrier

.

I

knew

that

Tuesday

,

July

fifth

,

was

going

to

be

a

day

larger

than

other

days

.

I

even

think

I

knew

what

things

would

happen

before

they

happened

,

but

since

they

did

I

will

never

be

sure

whether

I

really

knew

.

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I

think

I

knew

that

the

seventeen

-

jewel

,

shockproof

Mr

.

Baker

,

who

ticked

the

hours

,

would

come

rattling

at

my

front

door

an

hour

before

the

bank

opening

time

.

He

did

before

I

had

opened

for

business

.

I

let

him

in

and

closed

the

doors

after

him

.

"

What

an

awful

thing

,

"

he

said

.

"

I

was

out

of

touch

.

I

came

back

as

soon

as

I

heard

.

"

"

Which

awful

thing

,

sir

?

"

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