Part One Chapter 12

点击单词即可翻译
阅读模式下无法使用翻译功能
In the morning Remi and Lee Ann were asleep as I quietly packed and slipped  out the window the same way I'd come in, and left Mill City with  my canvas bag. And I never spent that night on the old ghost ship--the iAdmiral Freebeei, it was called--and Remi and I were lost to each other.
In Oakland I had a beer among the bums of a saloon with a wagon wheel in front of it, and I was on the road again. I walked clear across Oakland to get on the Fresno road. Two rides took me to Bakers- field, four hundred miles south. The first was the mad one, with a bur- ly blond kid in a souped-up rod. "See that toe?" he said as he gunned the heap to eighty and passed everybody on the road. "Look at it." It was swathed in bandages. "I just had it amputated this morning. The bastards wanted me to stay in the hospital. I packed my bag and left. What's a toe?" Yes, indeed, I said to myself, look out now, and I hung on. You never saw a driving fool like that. He made Tracy in no time. Tracy is a railroad town; brakemen eat surly  meals in diners by the tracks. Trains howl away across the valley. The sun  goes down long and red. All the magic names of the valley unrolled--Manteca, Madera, all the rest. Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tange- rine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love  and Spanish mysteries. I stuck my head out the window and took deep breaths of the fragrant air. It was the most beautiful of all moments. The madman was a brakeman with the Southern Pacific and he lived in Fresno; his father was also  a brakeman.  He lost his  toe in the  Oakland yards, switching, I didn't quite understand how. He drove me into buzzing Fresno  and let me off by the south side of town. I went for a quick Coke in a little grocery by the tracks, and here came a melancholy Ar- menian youth along the red boxcars, and just at that moment a locomo- tive howled, and I said to myself, Yes, yes, Saroyan's town. 
I had to go south; I got on the road. A man in a brand-new pickup truck picked me up. He was from Lubbock, Texas, and was in the  trailer business. "You want to buy a trailer?" he asked me. "Any time, look  me up." He told stories about his father in Lubbock. "One night my old man left the day's receipts settin on top of the safe, plumb forgot. What happened--a thief came in the night, acetylene torch and all, broke open the safe, riffled up the papers, kicked over a few chairs, and left. And that thousand dollars was settin right there on top of the safe, what do you know about that?"
He let me off south of Bakersfield, and then my adventure began. It grew cold. I put on the flimsy Army raincoat I'd bought in Oakland for three dollars and shuddered in the road. I was standing in front of an ornate Spanish-style motel that was lit like a jewel. The cars rushed by,  LA-bound. I gestured frantically. It was too cold. I stood there till midnight, two hours straight, and cursed and cursed. It was just like Stuart, Iowa, again. There was nothing to do but spend a little over two dollars for a bus the remaining miles to Los Angeles. I walked back along the highway to  Bakersfield and into the station, and sat down on a bench.
I had bought my ticket and was waiting for the LA bus when all of a sudden I saw the cutest little Mexican girl in slacks come cutting across  my sight. She was in one of the buses that had just pulled in with a big  sigh of airbrakes; it was discharging passengers for a rest stop. Her breasts  stuck out straight and true; her little flanks looked delicious; her hair was  long and lustrous black; and her eyes were great big blue things with timidities inside. I wished I was on her bus. A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world. The announcer called the LA bus. I picked up my bag and got on, and who should be sitting there alone but the Mexican girl. I  dropped right opposite her and began scheming right off. I was so lonely, so sad, so tired, so qui- vering, so broken, so beat, that I got up my courage, the courage necessary to approach a strange girl, and acted. Even then I spent five mi- nutes beating my thighs in the dark as the bus rolled down the road.
You  gotta,  you  gotta  or  you'll  die!  Damn  fool,  talk  to  her! What's wrong with you? Aren't you tired enough of yourself by now? And  before I knew what I was doing I leaned across the aisle to her (she was trying to sleep on the seat) and said, "Miss, would you like to use my raincoat for a pillow?"
She looked  up  with  a  smile  and  said,  "No,  thank  you  very much."
 I sat back, trembling; I lit a butt. I waited till she looked at me,with a sad little sidelook of love, and I got right up and leaned over her. "May I sit with you, miss?"
"If you wish."
And this I did. "Where going?"
"LA." I loved the way she said "LA"; I love the way everybody says "LA" on the Coast; it's their one and only golden town when all is said and done,"That's where I'm going too!" I cried. "I'm very glad you let me sit with you, I was very lonely and I've been traveling a hell of a lot." And we settled down to telling our stories. Her story was this: She had a husband  and child. The husband beat her, so she left him, back at Sabinal, south of Fresno, and was going to LA to live with her sister awhile. She left her little son with her family, who were grape-pickers and lived in a shack in the vineyards. She had nothing to do but brood and get mad. I felt like putting  my arms around her right away. We talked and talked. She said she loved to talk with me. Pretty soon she was saying she wished she could go to  New York too. "Maybe we could!" I laughed. The bus groaned up  Grapevine Pass and then we were coming down into the great sprawls of light. Without coming to any particular agreement we began holding hands,  and in the same way it was mutely and beautifully and purely decided that when I got my hotel room in LA she would be beside me. I ached all over for her; I leaned my head in her beautiful hair. Her little shoulders drove me mad; I hugged her and hugged her. And she loved it.
"I love love," she said, closing her eyes. I promised her beautiful love. I gloated over her. Our stories were told; we subsided into silence and sweet  anticipatory thoughts. It was as simple as that. You could have all your Peaches and Bettys and Marylous and Ritas and Camilles and Inezes in this world; this was my girl and my kind of girlsoul, and I told her that. She confessed she saw me watching her in the bus sta- tion. "I thought you was a nice college boy."
"Oh, I'm a college boy!" I assured her. The bus arrived in Hollywood. In the gray, dirty dawn, like the dawn when Joel McCrea met Veronica Lake in a diner, in the picture iSullivan's Travelsi, she slept in my lap. I looked greedily out the window: stucco houses and palms and  drive-ins,  the whole mad thing, the ragged promised land, the fantastic end of America. We got off the bus at Main Street, which was no different from where you get off a bus in Kansas City or Chicago or Boston--red brick,  dirty, characters drifting by, trolleys grating in the hopeless dawn, the whorey smell of a big city.
And here my mind went haywire, I don't know why. I began getting the foolish paranoiac visions that Teresa, or Terry--her name-- was a common little hustler who worked the buses for a guy's bucks by making  appointments like ours in LA where she brought the sucker first to a breakfast place, where her pimp waited, and then to a certain hotel to which he had access with his gun or his whatever. I never con- fessed this to her. We ate breakfast and a pimp kept watching us; I fan- cied Terry was making secret eyes at him. I was tired and felt strange and lost in a faraway, disgusting place. The goof of terror took over my thoughts and made me act petty and cheap. "Do you know that guy?" I said.
"What guy you mean, honey?" I let it drop. She was slow and hung-up about everything she did; it took her a long time to eat; she chewed slowly and stared into space, and smoked a cigarette, and kept talking, and I was like a haggard ghost, suspicioning every move she made, thinking she was stalling for time. This was all a fit of sickness. I was sweating as we went down the street hand in hand. The first hotel we hit had a room, and before I knew it I was locking the door behind me and she was sitting  on  the bed taking off her shoes. I kissed her meekly.  Better  she'd  never  know.  To  relax  our  nerves  I  knew  we needed whisky, especially me. I  ran  out and fiddled all over twelve blocks, hurrying till I found a pint of whisky for sale at a newsstand. I ran  back,  all energy.  Terry  was  in  the  bathroom,  fixing her  face.  I poured one big drink in a water glass, and we had slugs. Oh, it was sweet and delicious and worth my whole lugubrious  voyage. I stood behind her at the mirror, and we danced in the bathroom that way. I began talking about my friends back east.
I said, "You ought to meet a great girl I know called Doric. She's a six-foot redhead. If you came to New York she'd show you where to get work."
"Who  is  this  six-foot  redhead?"  she  demanded  suspiciously. "Why  do you tell me about her?" In her simple soul she couldn't fa- thom my  kind  of glad, nervous talk. I let it drop. She began to get drunk in the bathroom.
"Come on to bed!" I kept saying.
"Six-foot redhead, hey? And I thought you was a nice college boy, I saw you in your lovely sweater and I said to myself, Hmm, ain't he nice? No! And no! And no! You have to be a goddam pimp like all of them!"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Don't stand there and tell me that six-foot redhead ain't a ma- dame, 'cause I know a madame when I hear about one, and you, you're just a pimp like all the rest I meet, everybody's a pimp."
"Listen, Terry, I am not a pimp. I swear to you on the Bible I am not a pimp. Why should I be a pimp? My only interest is you." 
"All the time I thought I met a nice boy. I was so glad, I hugged myself and said, Hmm, a real nice boy instead of a pimp."
"Terry," I pleaded with all my soul. "Please listen to me and understand, I'm not a pimp." An hour ago I'd thought she was a hust- ler.  How sad it was. Our minds, with their store of madness, had di- verged. O  gruesome life, how I moaned and pleaded, and then I got mad and realized  I was pleading with a dumb little Mexican wench and I told her so; and before I knew it I picked up her red pumps and hurled them at the bathroom door and told her to get out. "Go on, beat it!" I'd sleep and forget it; I had my own life, my own sad and ragged life  forever.  There  was  a  dead silence  in  the  bathroom.  I  took  my clothes off and went to bed.
Terry came out with tears of sorriness in her eyes. In her simple and funny little mind had been decided the fact that a pimp does not throw a  woman's shoes against the door and does not tell her to get out. In reverent and sweet little silence she took all her clothes off and slipped her tiny body into the sheets with me. It was brown as grapes. I saw her poor belly where there was a Caesarian scar; her hips were so narrow she couldn't bear a child without getting gashed open. Her legs were like little sticks. She was only four foot ten. I made love to her in the sweetness of the weary morning.  Then, two tired angels of some kind, hung-up forlornly in an LA shelf, having found the closest and most delicious thing in life together, we fell  asleep and slept till late afternoon.
上一章目录下一章
Copyright © 2024 www.yingyuxiaoshuo.com 英语小说网 All Rights Reserved. 网站地图
Copyright © 2024 英语小说网