Her name was Connie. She was fifteen and she had a quick, nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors or checking other people’s faces to make sure her own was all right. Her mother, who noticed everything and knew everything and who hadn’t much reason any longer to look at her own face, always scolded Connie about it. “Stop gawking at yourself. Who are you? You think you’re so pretty?” she would say. Connie would raise her eyebrows at these familiar old complaints and look right through her mother, into a shadowy vision of herself as she was right at that moment: she knew she was pretty and that was everything. Her mother had been pretty once too, if you could believe those old snapshots in the album, but now her looks were gone and that was why she was always after Connie. Beta Beatrix by Rossetti“Why don’t you keep your room clean like your sister? How’ve you got your hair fixed—what the hell stinks? Hair spray? You don’t see your sister using that junk.” Her sister June was twenty-four and still lived at home. She was a secretary in the high school Connie attended, and if that wasn’t bad enough—with her in the same building—she was so plain and chunky and steady that Connie had to hear her praised all the time by her mother and her mother’s sisters. June did this, June did that, she saved money and helped clean the house and cookedand Connie couldn’t do a thing, her mind was all filled with trashy daydreams. Their father was away at work most of the time and when he came home he wanted supper and he read the newspaper at supper and after supper he went to bed. He didn’t bother talking much to them, but around his bent head Connie’s mother kept picking at her until Connie wished her mother was dead and she herself was dead and it was all over. “She makes me want to throw up sometimes,” she complained to her friends. She had a high, breathless, amused voice that made everything she said sound a little forced, whether it was sincere or not. There was one good thing: June went places with girl friends of hers, girls who were just as plain and steady as she, and so when Connie wanted to do that her mother had no objections. The father of Connie’s best girl friend drove the girls the three miles to town and left them at a shopping plaza so they could walk through the stores or go to a movie, and when he came to pick them up again at eleven he never bothered to ask what they had done. They must have been familiar sights, walking around the shopping plaza in their shorts and flat ballerina slippers that always scuffed the sidewalk, with charm bracelets jingling on their thin wrists; they would lean together to whisper and laugh secretly if someone passed who amused or interested them. Connie had long dark blond hair that drew anyone’s eye to it, and she wore part of it pulled up on her head and puffed out and the rest of it she let fall down her back. She wore a pull-over jersey blouse that looked one way when she was at home and another way when she was away from home. Everything about her had two sides to it, one for home and one for anywhere that was not home: her walk, which could be childlike and bobbing, or languid enough to make anyone think she was hearing music in her head; her mouth, which was pale and smirking most of the time, but bright and pink on these evenings out; her laugh, which was cynical and drawling at home—”Ha, ha, very funny,”—but highpitched and nervous anywhere else, like the jingling of the charms on her bracelet. Sometimes they did go shopping or to a movie, but sometimes they went across the highway, ducking fast across the busy road, to a drive-in restaurant where older kids hung out. The restaurant was shaped like a big bottle, though squatter than a real bottle, and on its cap was a revolving figure of a grinning boy holding a hamburger aloft. One night in midsummer they ran across, breathless with daring, and right away someone leaned out a car window and invited them over, but it was just a boy from high school they didn’t like. It made them feel good to be able to ignore him. They went up through the maze of parked and cruising cars to the bright-lit, fly-infested restaurant, their faces pleased and expectant as if they were entering a sacred building that loomed up out of the night to give them what haven and blessing they yearned for. They sat at the counter and crossed their legs at the ankles, their thin shoulders rigid with excitement, and listened to the music that made everything so good: the music was always in the background, like music at a church service; it was something to depend upon. A boy named Eddie came in to talk with them. He sat backwards on his stool, turning himself jerkily around in semicircles and then stopping and turning back again, and after a while he asked Connie if she would like something to eat. She said she would and so she tapped her friend’s arm on her way out—her friend pulled her face up into a brave, droll look—and Connie said she would meet her at eleven, across the way. “I just hate to leave her like that,” Connie said earnestly, but the boy said that she wouldn’t be alone for long. So they went out to his car, and on the way Connie couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over the windshields and faces all around her, her face gleaming with a joy that had nothing to do with Eddie or even this place; it might have been the music. She drew her shoulders up and sucked in her breath with the pure pleasure of being alive, and just at that moment she happened to glance at a face just a few feet from hers. It was a boy with shaggy black hair, in a convertible jalopy painted gold. He stared at her and then his lips widened into a grin. Connie slit her eyes at him and turned away, but she couldn’t help glancing back and there he was, still watching her. He wagged a finger and laughed and said, “Gonna get you, baby,” and Connie turned away again without Eddie noticing anything. She spent three hours with him, at the restaurant where they ate hamburgers and drank Cokes in wax cups that were always sweating, and then down an alley a mile or so away, and when he left her off at five to eleven only the movie house was still open at the plaza. Her girl friend was there, talking with a boy. When Connie came up, the two girls smiled at each other and Connie said, “How was the movie?” and the girl said, ‘You should know.” They rode off with the girl’s father, sleepy and pleased, and Connie couldn’t help but look back at the darkened shopping plaza with its big empty parking lot and its signs that were faded and ghostly now, and over at the drive-in restaurant where cars were still circling tirelessly. She couldn’t hear the music at this distance. Next morning June asked her how the movie was and Connie said, “So-so.” She and that girl and occasionally another girl went out several times a week, and the rest of the time Connie spent around the house—it was summer vacation—getting in her mother s way and thinking, dreaming about the boys she met. But all the boys fell back and dissolved into a single face that was not even a face but an idea, a feeling, mixed up with the urgent insistent pounding of the music and the humid night air of July. Connie’s mother kept dragging her back to the daylight by finding things for her to do or saying suddenly, ‘What’s this about the Pettinger girl?” And Connie would say nervously, “Oh, her. That dope.” She always drew thick clear lines between herself and such girls, and her mother was simple and kind enough to believe it. Her mother was so simple, Connie thought, that it was maybe cruel to fool her so much. Her mother went scuffling around the house in old bedroom slippers and complained over the telephone to one sister about the other, then the other called up and the two of them complained about the third one. If June’s name was mentioned her mother’s tone was approving, and if Connie’s name was mentioned it was disapproving. This did not really mean she disliked Connie, and actually Connie thought that her mother preferred her to June just because she was prettier, but the two of them kept up a pretense of exasperation, a sense that they were tugging and struggling over something of little value to either of them. Sometimes, over coffee, they were almost friends, but something would come up—some vexation that was like a fly buzzing suddenly around their heads—and their faces went hard with contempt. One Sunday Connie got up at eleven—none of them bothered with church—and washed her hair so that it could dry all day long in the sun. Her parents and sister were going to a barbecue at an aunt’s house and Connie said no, she wasn’t interested, rolling her eyes to let her mother know just what she thought of it. “Stay home alone then,” her mother said sharply. Connie sat out back in a lawn chair and watched them drive away, her father quiet and bald, hunched around so that he could back the car out, her mother with a look that was still angry and not at all softened through the windshield, and in the back seat poor old June, all dressed up as if she didn’t know what a barbecue was, with all the running yelling kids and the flies. Connie sat with her eyes closed in the sun, dreaming and dazed with the warmth about her as if this were a kind of love, the caresses of love, and her mind slipped over onto thoughts of the boy she had been with the night before and how nice he had been, how sweet it always was, not the way someone like June would suppose but sweet, gentle, the way it was in movies and promised in songs; and when she opened her eyes she hardly knew where she was, the back yard ran off into weeds and a fence-like line of trees and behind it the sky was perfectly blue and still. The asbestos ranch house that was now three years old startled her—it looked small. She shook her head as if to get awake. It was too hot. She went inside the house and turned on the radio to drown out the quiet. She sat on the edge of her bed, barefoot, and listened for an hour and a half to a program called XYZ Sunday Jamboree, record after record of hard, fast, shrieking songs she sang along with, interspersed by exclamations from “Bobby King”: “An’ look here, you girls at Napoleon’s—Son and Charley want you to pay real close attention to this song coming up!” And Connie paid close attention herself, bathed in a glow of slow-pulsed joy that seemed to rise mysteriously out of the music itself and lay languidly about the airless little room, breathed in and breathed out with each gentle rise and fall of her chest. After a while she heard a car coming up the drive. She sat up at once, startled, because it couldn’t be her father so soon. The gravel kept crunching all the way in from the road—the driveway was long—and Connie ran to the window. It was a car she didn’t know. It was an open jalopy, painted a bright gold that caught the sunlight opaquely. Her heart began to pound and her fingers snatched at her hair, checking it, and she whispered, “Christ. Christ,” wondering how bad she looked. The car came to a stop at the side door and the horn sounded four short taps, as if this were a signal Connie knew. She went into the kitchen and approached the door slowly, then hung out the screen door, her bare toes curling down off the step. There were two boys in the car and now she recognized the driver: he had shaggy, shabby black hair that looked crazy as a wig and he was grinning at her. “I ain’t late, am I?” he said. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Connie said. “Toldja I’d be out, didn’t I?” “I don’t even know who you are.” She spoke sullenly, careful to show no interest or pleasure, and he spoke in a fast, bright monotone. Connie looked past him to the other boy, taking her time. He had fair brown hair, with a lock that fell onto his forehead. His sideburns gave him a fierce, embarrassed look, but so far he hadn’t even bothered to glance at her. Both boys wore sunglasses. The driver’s glasses were metallic and mirrored everything in miniature. “You wanta come for a ride?” he said. Connie smirked and let her hair fall loose over one shoulder. “Don’tcha like my car? New paint job,” he said. “Hey.” “What?” “You’re cute.” She pretended to fidget, chasing flies away from the door. “Don’tcha believe me, or what?” he said. “Look, I don’t even know who you are,” Connie said in disgust. “Hey, Ellie’s got a radio, see. Mine broke down.” He lifted his friend’s arm and showed her the little transistor radio the boy was holding, and now Connie began to hear the music. It was the same program that was playing inside the house. “Bobby King?” she said. “I listen to him all the time. I think he’s great.” “He’s kind of great,” Connie said reluctantly. “Listen, that guy’s great. He knows where the action is.” Connie blushed a little, because the glasses made it impossible for her to see just what this boy was looking at. She couldn’t decide if she liked him or if he was just a jerk, and so she dawdled in the doorway and wouldn’t come down or go back inside. She said, “What’s all that stuff painted on your car?” “Can’tcha read it?” He opened the door very carefully, as if he were afraid it might fall off. He slid out just as carefully, planting his feet firmly on the ground, the tiny metallic world in his glasses slowing down like gelatine hardening, and in the midst of it Connie’s bright green blouse. “This here is my name, to begin with, he said. ARNOLD FRIEND was written in tarlike black letters on the side, with a drawing of a round, grinning face that reminded Connie of a pumpkin, except it wore sunglasses. “I wanta introduce myself, I’m Arnold Friend and that’s my real name and I’m gonna be your friend, honey, and inside the car’s Ellie Oscar, he’s kinda shy.” Ellie brought his transistor radio up to his shoulder and balanced it there. “Now, these numbers are a secret code, honey,” Arnold Friend explained. He read off the numbers 33, 19, 17 and raised his eyebrows at her to see what she thought of that, but she didn’t think much of it. The left rear fender had been smashed and around it was written, on the gleaming gold background: DONE BY CRAZY WOMAN DRIVER. Connie had to laugh at that. Arnold Friend was pleased at her laughter and looked up at her. “Around the other side’s a lot more —you wanta come and see them?” “No.” “Why not?” “Why should I?” “Don’tcha wanta see what’s on the car? Don’tcha wanta go for a ride?” “I don’t know.” “Why not?” “I got things to do.” “Like what?” “Things.” He laughed as if she had said something funny. He slapped his thighs. He was standing in a strange way, leaning back against the car as if he were balancing himself. He wasn’t tall, only an inch or so taller than she would be if she came down to him. Connie liked the way he was dressed, which was the way all of them dressed: tight faded jeans stuffed into black, scuffed boots, a belt that pulled his waist in and showed how lean he was, and a white pull-over shirt that was a little soiled and showed the hard small muscles of his arms and shoulders. He looked as if he probably did hard work, lifting and carrying things. Even his neck looked muscular. And his face was a familiar face, somehow: the jaw and chin and cheeks slightly darkened because he hadn’t shaved for a day or two, and the nose long and hawklike, sniffing as if she were a treat he was going to gobble up and it was all a joke. “Connie, you ain’t telling the truth. This is your day set aside for a ride with me and you know it,” he said, still laughing. The way he straightened and recovered from his fit of laughing showed that it had been all fake. “How do you know what my name is?” she said suspiciously. “It’s Connie.” “Maybe and maybe not.” “I know my Connie,” he said, wagging his finger. Now she remembered him even better, back at the restaurant, and her cheeks warmed at the thought of how she had sucked in her breath just at the moment she passed him—how she must have looked to him. And he had remembered her. “Ellie and I come out here especially for you,” he said. “Ellie can sit in back. How about it?” “Where?” “Where what?” “Where’re we going?” He looked at her. He took off the sunglasses and she saw how pale the skin around his eyes was, like holes that were not in shadow but instead in light. His eyes were like chips of broken glass that catch the light in an amiable way. He smiled. It was as if the idea of going for a ride somewhere, to someplace, was a new idea to him. “Just for a ride, Connie sweetheart.” “I never said my name was Connie,” she said. “But I know what it is. I know your name and all about you, lots of things,” Arnold Friend said. He had not moved yet but stood still leaning back against the side of his jalopy. “I took a special interest in you, such a pretty girl, and found out all about you—like I know your parents and sister are gone somewheres and I know where and how long they’re going to be gone, and I know who you were with last night, and your best girl friend’s name is Betty. Right?” He spoke in a simple lilting voice, exactly as if he were reciting the words to a song. His smile assured her that everything was fine. In the car Ellie turned up the volume on his radio and did not bother to look around at them. “Ellie can sit in the back seat,” Arnold Friend said. He indicated his friend with a casual jerk of his chin, as if Ellie did not count and she should not bother with him. “How’d you find out all that stuff?” Connie said. “Listen: Betty Schultz and Tony Fitch and Jimmy Pettinger and Nancy Pettinger,” he said in a chant. “Raymond Stanley and Bob Hutter—” “Do you know all those kids?” “I know everybody.” “Look, you’re kidding. You’re not from around here.” “Sure.” “But—how come we never saw you before?” “Sure you saw me before,” he said. He looked down at his boots, as if he were a little offended. “You just don’t remember.” “I guess I’d remember you,” Connie said. “Yeah?” He looked up at this, beaming. He was pleased. He began to mark time with the music from Ellie’s radio, tapping his fists lightly together. Connie looked away from his smile to the car, which was painted so bright it almost hurt her eyes to look at it. She looked at that name, ARNOLD FRIEND. And up at the front fender was an expression that was familiar—MAN THE FLYING SAUCERS. It was an expression kids had used the year before but didn’t use this year. She looked at it for a while as if the words meant something to her that she did not yet know. “What’re you thinking about? Huh?” Arnold Friend demanded. “Not worried about your hair blowing around in the car, are you?” “No.” “Think I maybe can’t drive good?” “How do I know?” “You’re a hard girl to handle. How come?” he said. “Don’t you know I’m your friend? Didn’t you see me put my sign in the air when you walked by?” “What sign?” “My sign.” And he drew an X in the air, leaning out toward her. They were maybe ten feet apart. After his hand fell back to his side the X was still in the air, almost visible. Connie let the screen door close and stood perfectly still inside it, listening to the music from her radio and the boy’s blend together. She stared at Arnold Friend. He stood there so stiffly relaxed, pretending to be relaxed, with one hand idly on the door handle as if he were keeping himself up that way and had no intention of ever moving again. She recognized most things about him, the tight jeans that showed his thighs and buttocks and the greasy leather boots and the tight shirt, and even that slippery friendly smile of his, that sleepy dreamy smile that all the boys used to get across ideas they didn’t want to put into words. She recognized all this and also the singsong way he talked, slightly mocking, kidding, but serious and a little melancholy, and she recognized the way he tapped one fist against the other in homage to the perpetual music behind him. But all these things did not come together. She said suddenly, “Hey, how old are you?” His smiled faded. She could see then that he wasn’t a kid, he was much older—thirty, maybe more. At this knowledge her heart began to pound faster. “That’s a crazy thing to ask. Can’tcha see I’m your own age?” “Like hell you are.” “Or maybe a couple years older. I’m eighteen.” “Eighteen?” she said doubtfully. He grinned to reassure her and lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. His teeth were big and white. He grinned so broadly his eyes became slits and she saw how thick the lashes were, thick and black as if painted with a black tarlike material. Then, abruptly, he seemed to become embarrassed and looked over his shoulder at Ellie. “Him, he’s crazy,” he said. “Ain’t he a riot? He’s a nut, a real character.” Ellie was still listening to the music. His sunglasses told nothing about what he was thinking. He wore a bright orange shirt unbuttoned halfway to show his chest, which was a pale, bluish chest and not muscular like Arnold Friend’s. His shirt collar was turned up all around and the very tips of the collar pointed out past his chin as if they were protecting him. He was pressing the transistor radio up against his ear and sat there in a kind of daze, right in the sun. “He’s kinda strange,” Connie said. “Hey, she says you’re kinda strange! Kinda strange!” Arnold Friend cried. He pounded on the car to get Ellie’s attention. Ellie turned for the first time and Connie saw with shock that he wasn’t a kid either—he had a fair, hairless face, cheeks reddened slightly as if the veins grew too close to the surface of his skin, the face of a forty-year-old baby. Connie felt a wave of dizziness rise in her at this sight and she stared at him as if waiting for something to change the shock of the moment, make it all right again. Ellie’s lips kept shaping words, mumbling along with the words blasting in his ear. “Maybe you two better go away,” Connie said faintly. “What? How come?” Arnold Friend cried. “We come out here to take you for a ride. It’s Sunday.” He had the voice of the man on the radio now. It was the same voice, Connie thought. “Don’tcha know it’s Sunday all day? And honey, no matter who you were with last night, today you’re with Arnold Friend and don’t you forget it! Maybe you better step out here,” he said, and this last was in a different voice. It was a little flatter, as if the heat was finally getting to him. “No. I got things to do.” “Hey.” “You two better leave.” “We ain’t leaving until you come with us.” “Like hell I am—” “Connie, don’t fool around with me. I mean—I mean, don’t fool around,” he said, shaking his head. He laughed incredulously. He placed his sunglasses on top of his head, carefully, as if he were indeed wearing a wig, and brought the stems down behind his ears. Connie stared at him, another wave of dizziness and fear rising in her so that for a moment he wasn’t even in focus but was just a blur standing there against his gold car, and she had the idea that he had driven up the driveway all right but had come from nowhere before that and belonged nowhere and that everything about him and even about the music that was so familiar to her was only half real. “If my father comes and sees you—” “He ain’t coming. He’s at a barbecue.” “How do you know that?” “Aunt Tillie’s. Right now they’re uh—they’re drinking. Sitting around,” he said vaguely, squinting as if he were staring all the way to town and over to Aunt Tillie’s back yard. Then the vision seemed to get clear and he nodded energetically. “Yeah. Sitting around. There’s your sister in a blue dress, huh? And high heels, the poor sad bitch—nothing like you, sweetheart! And your mother’s helping some fat woman with the corn, they’re cleaning the corn—husking the corn—” “What fat woman?” Connie cried. “How do I know what fat woman, I don’t know every goddamn fat woman in the world!” Arnold Friend laughed. “Oh, that’s Mrs. Hornsby . . . . Who invited her?” Connie said. She felt a little lightheaded. Her breath was coming quickly. “She’s too fat. I don’t like them fat. I like them the way you are, honey,” he said, smiling sleepily at her. They stared at each other for a while through the screen door. He said softly, “Now, what you’re going to do is this: you’re going to come out that door. You re going to sit up front with me and Ellie’s going to sit in the back, the hell with Ellie, right? This isn’t Ellie’s date. You’re my date. I’m your lover, honey.” “What? You’re crazy—” “Yes, I’m your lover. You don’t know what that is but you will,” he said. “I know that too. I know all about you. But look: it’s real nice and you couldn’t ask for nobody better than me, or more polite. I always keep my word. I’ll tell you how it is, I’m always nice at first, the first time. I’ll hold you so tight you won’t think you have to try to get away or pretend anything because you’ll know you can’t. And I’ll come inside you where it’s all secret and you’ll give in to me and you’ll love me ” “Shut up! You’re crazy!” Connie said. She backed away from the door. She put her hands up against her ears as if she’d heard something terrible, something not meant for her. “People don’t talk like that, you’re crazy,” she muttered. Her heart was almost too big now for her chest and its pumping made sweat break out all over her. She looked out to see Arnold Friend pause and then take a step toward the porch, lurching. He almost fell. But, like a clever drunken man, he managed to catch his balance. He wobbled in his high boots and grabbed hold of one of the porch posts. “Honey?” he said. “You still listening?” “Get the hell out of here!” “Be nice, honey. Listen.” “I’m going to call the police—” He wobbled again and out of the side of his mouth came a fast spat curse, an aside not meant for her to hear. But even this “Christ!” sounded forced. Then he began to smile again. She watched this smile come, awkward as if he were smiling from inside a mask. His whole face was a mask, she thought wildly, tanned down to his throat but then running out as if he had plastered make-up on his face but had forgotten about his throat. “Honey—? Listen, here’s how it is. I always tell the truth and I promise you this: I ain’t coming in that house after you.” “You better not! I’m going to call the police if you—if you don’t—” “Honey,” he said, talking right through her voice, “honey, I m not coming in there but you are coming out here. You know why?” She was panting. The kitchen looked like a place she had never seen before, some room she had run inside but that wasn’t good enough, wasn’t going to help her. The kitchen window had never had a curtain, after three years, and there were dishes in the sink for her to do—probably—and if you ran your hand across the table you’d probably feel something sticky there. “You listening, honey? Hey?” “—going to call the police—” “Soon as you touch the phone I don’t need to keep my promise and can come inside. You won’t want that.” She rushed forward and tried to lock the door. Her fingers were shaking. “But why lock it,” Arnold Friend said gently, talking right into her face. “It’s just a screen door. It’s just nothing.” One of his boots was at a strange angle, as if his foot wasn’t in it. It pointed out to the left, bent at the ankle. “I mean, anybody can break through a screen door and glass and wood and iron or anything else if he needs to, anybody at all, and specially Arnold Friend. If the place got lit up with a fire, honey, you’d come runnin’ out into my arms, right into my arms an’ safe at home—like you knew I was your lover and’d stopped fooling around. I don’t mind a nice shy girl but I don’t like no fooling around.” Part of those words were spoken with a slight rhythmic lilt, and Connie somehow recognized them—the echo of a song from last year, about a girl rushing into her boy friend’s arms and coming home again— Connie stood barefoot on the linoleum floor, staring at him. “What do you want?” she whispered. “I want you,” he said. “What?” “Seen you that night and thought, that’s the one, yes sir. I never needed to look anymore.” “But my father’s coming back. He’s coming to get me. I had to wash my hair first—” She spoke in a dry, rapid voice, hardly raising it for him to hear. “No, your daddy is not coming and yes, you had to wash your hair and you washed it for me. It’s nice and shining and all for me. I thank you sweetheart,” he said with a mock bow, but again he almost lost his balance. He had to bend and adjust his boots. Evidently his feet did not go all the way down; the boots must have been stuffed with something so that he would seem taller. Connie stared out at him and behind him at Ellie in the car, who seemed to be looking off toward Connie’s right, into nothing. This Ellie said, pulling the words out of the air one after another as if he were just discovering them, “You want me to pull out the phone?” “Shut your mouth and keep it shut,” Arnold Friend said, his face red from bending over or maybe from embarrassment because Connie had seen his boots. “This ain’t none of your business.” “What—what are you doing? What do you want?” Connie said. “If I call the police they’ll get you, they’ll arrest you—” “Promise was not to come in unless you touch that phone, and I’ll keep that promise,” he said. He resumed his erect position and tried to force his shoulders back. He sounded like a hero in a movie, declaring something important. But he spoke too loudly and it was as if he were speaking to someone behind Connie. “I ain’t made plans for coming in that house where I don’t belong but just for you to come out to me, the way you should. Don’t you know who I am?” “You’re crazy,” she whispered. She backed away from the door but did not want to go into another part of the house, as if this would give him permission to come through the door. “What do you . . . you’re crazy, you. . . .” “Huh? What’re you saying, honey?” Her eyes darted everywhere in the kitchen. She could not remember what it was, this room. “This is how it is, honey: you come out and we’ll drive away, have a nice ride. But if you don’t come out we’re gonna wait till your people come home and then they’re all going to get it.” “You want that telephone pulled out?” Ellie said. He held the radio away from his ear and grimaced, as if without the radio the air was too much for him. “I toldja shut up, Ellie,” Arnold Friend said, “you’re deaf, get a hearing aid, right? Fix yourself up. This little girl’s no trouble and’s gonna be nice to me, so Ellie keep to yourself, this ain’t your date right? Don’t hem in on me, don’t hog, don’t crush, don’t bird dog, don’t trail me,” he said in a rapid, meaningless voice, as if he were running through all the expressions he’d learned but was no longer sure which of them was in style, then rushing on to new ones, making them up with his eyes closed. “Don’t crawl under my fence, don’t squeeze in my chipmonk hole, don’t sniff my glue, suck my popsicle, keep your own greasy fingers on yourself!” He shaded his eyes and peered in at Connie, who was backed against the kitchen table. “Don’t mind him, honey, he’s just a creep. He’s a dope. Right? I’m the boy for you, and like I said, you come out here nice like a lady and give me your hand, and nobody else gets hurt, I mean, your nice old bald-headed daddy and your mummy and your sister in her high heels. Because listen: why bring them in this?” “Leave me alone,” Connie whispered. “Hey, you know that old woman down the road, the one with the chickens and stuff—you know her?” “She’s dead!” “Dead? What? You know her?” Arnold Friend said. “She’s dead—” “Don’t you like her?” “She’s dead—she’s—she isn’t here any more—” But don’t you like her, I mean, you got something against her? Some grudge or something?” Then his voice dipped as if he were conscious of a rudeness. He touched the sunglasses perched up on top of his head as if to make sure they were still there. “Now, you be a good girl.” ‘What are you going to do?” “Just two things, or maybe three,” Arnold Friend said. “But I promise it won’t last long and you’ll like me the way you get to like people you’re close to. You will. It’s all over for you here, so come on out. You don’t want your people in any trouble, do you?” She turned and bumped against a chair or something, hurting her leg, but she ran into the back room and picked up the telephone. Something roared in her ear, a tiny roaring, and she was so sick with fear that she could do nothing but listen to it—the telephone was clammy and very heavy and her fingers groped down to the dial but were too weak to touch it. She began to scream into the phone, into the roaring. She cried out, she cried for her mother, she felt her breath start jerking back and forth in her lungs as if it were something Arnold Friend was stabbing her with again and again with no tenderness. A noisy sorrowful wailing rose all about her and she was locked inside it the way she was locked inside this house. After a while she could hear again. She was sitting on the floor with her wet back against the wall. Arnold Friend was saying from the door, “That’s a good girl. Put the phone back.” She kicked the phone away from her. “No, honey. Pick it up. Put it back right.” She picked it up and put it back. The dial tone stopped. “That’s a good girl. Now, you come outside.” She was hollow with what had been fear but what was now just an emptiness. All that screaming had blasted it out of her. She sat, one leg cramped under her, and deep inside her brain was something like a pinpoint of light that kept going and would not let her relax. She thought, I’m not going to see my mother again. She thought, I’m not going to sleep in my bed again. Her bright green blouse was all wet. Arnold Friend said, in a gentle-loud voice that was like a stage voice, “The place where you came from ain’t there any more, and where you had in mind to go is cancelled out. This place you are now—inside your daddy’s house—is nothing but a cardboard box I can knock down any time. You know that and always did know it. You hear me?” She thought, I have got to think. I have got to know what to do. “We’ll go out to a nice field, out in the country here where it smells so nice and it’s sunny,” Arnold Friend said. “I’ll have my arms tight around you so you won’t need to try to get away and I’ll show you what love is like, what it does. The hell with this house! It looks solid all right,” he said. He ran a fingernail down the screen and the noise did not make Connie shiver, as it would have the day before. “Now, put your hand on your heart, honey. Feel that? That feels solid too but we know better. Be nice to me, be sweet like you can because what else is there for a girl like you but to be sweet and pretty and give in?—and get away before her people come back?” She felt her pounding heart. Her hand seemed to enclose it. She thought for the first time in her life that it was nothing that was hers, that belonged to her, but just a pounding, living thing inside this body that wasn’t really hers either. “You don’t want them to get hurt,” Arnold Friend went on. “Now, get up, honey. Get up all by yourself.” She stood. “Now, turn this way. That’s right. Come over here to me.—Ellie, put that away, didn’t I tell you? You dope. You miserable creepy dope,” Arnold Friend said. His words were not angry but only part of an incantation. The incantation was kindly. “Now come out through the kitchen to me, honey, and let’s see a smile, try it, you’re a brave, sweet little girl and now they’re eating corn and hot dogs cooked to bursting over an outdoor fire, and they don’t know one thing about you and never did and honey, you’re better than them because not a one of them would have done this for you.” Connie felt the linoleum under her feet; it was cool. She brushed her hair back out of her eyes. Arnold Friend let go of the post tentatively and opened his arms for her, his elbows pointing in toward each other and his wrists limp, to show that this was an embarrassed embrace and a little mocking, he didn’t want to make her self-conscious. She put out her hand against the screen. She watched herself push the door slowly open as if she were back safe somewhere in the other doorway, watching this body and this head of long hair moving out into the sunlight where Arnold Friend waited. “My sweet little blue-eyed girl,” he said in a half-sung sigh that had nothing to do with her brown eyes but was taken up just the same by the vast sunlit reaches of the land behind him and on all sides of him—so much land that Connie had never seen before and did not recognize except to know that she was going to it.


Tema nimi oli Connie. Ta oli viieteistkümnene ja tal oli kiire, närviline itsitamine, et ta sirutas kaela, et heita pilk peeglitesse, või kontrollida teiste inimeste nägusid, veendumaks, et tema enda omadega on kõik korras. Tema ema, kes märkas kõike ja teadis kõike ning kellel polnud enam põhjust enda nägu vaadata, sõimas Connie alati selle pärast. "Lõpeta iseenda ahmimine. Kes sa oled? Kas sa arvad, et oled nii ilus? " ta ütleks. Connie kergitas nende tuttavate vanade kaebuste peale kulme ja vaatas otse ema kaudu varjulisse nägemusse endast, nagu tal sel hetkel õigus oli: ta teadis, et on ilus ja see oli kõik. Ka tema ema oli olnud üks kord ilus, kui uskuda neid albumi vanu pilte, kuid nüüd olid tema pilgud kadunud ja seetõttu oli ta alati Connie taga. Beta Beatrix, autor Rossetti “Miks sa ei hoia oma tuba puhtana nagu õde? Kuidas olete oma juukseid parandanud - mis kurat haiseb? Juukselakk? Sa ei näe oma õde seda rämpsu kasutamas. " Tema õde June oli kahekümne neli ja elas endiselt kodus. Ta oli sekretär keskkoolis, kus Connie käis, ja kui see polnud piisavalt halb - koos temaga samas hoones -, oli ta nii tavaline, turske ja kindel, et Connie pidi kogu aeg teda ja ema kiitma. ema õed.Juuni tegi seda, juuni tegi seda, säästis raha ja aitas maja koristada ning tegi süüa ja Connie ei suutnud midagi teha, tema mõte oli täis rämedaid unistusi. Nende isa oli suurema osa ajast tööl ja koju tulles soovis ta õhtusööki ning luges õhtusöögi ajal ajalehte ja pärast õhtusööki läks ta magama. Ta ei viitsinud nendega palju rääkida, kuid painutatud pea ümber valis Connie ema teda edasi, kuni Connie soovis, et ema oleks surnud ja ta ise oleks surnud ja kõik oleks läbi. "Ta paneb mind mõnikord viskama," kurtis ta oma sõpradele. Tal oli kõrge, hingeldav, lõbustatud hääl, mis muutis kõik, mida ta ütles, pisut sunnitud, olgu see siis siiras või mitte. Seal oli üks hea asi: juuni käis kohtades tema tüdrukutest sõprade, tüdrukutega, kes olid sama sirged ja kindlad kui tema, ja nii ei olnud Connie'l seda teha, kui ta seda teha tahtis. Connie parima tüdruksõbra isa sõitis tüdrukud kolm miili linna ja jättis nad ostuväljakule, et nad saaksid poodidest läbi kõndida või filmi vaadata, ja kui ta üksteistkümneks jälle neile järele tuli, ei viitsinud ta seda kunagi teha. küsige, mida nad olid teinud.Need pidid olema tuttavad vaatamisväärsused, kes käisid lühikeste pükstega ja lamedate baleriinisussidega, mis alati kõnniteed nühkisid, ostukeskuses ringi, õhukestel randmetel kõlisesid võluehted; nad kaldusid kokku sosistama ja naersid salaja, kui keegi mööduks, kes neid lõbustas või huvitas. Connie'l olid pikad tumedad blondid juuksed, mis tõmbasid kellelegi silma, ja ta kandis osa peast üles tõmmatud ja paisutatud ning ülejäänud lasi seljal alla kukkuda. Ta kandis ülestõmmatavat jersey-pluusi, mis nägi kodus olles ühtemoodi ja kodust eemal olles teistpidi. Kõigel tema ümber oli kaks külge, üks kodu jaoks ja üks igale poole, mis polnud kodus: jalutuskäik, mis võis olla lapsemeelne ja bobbing või piisavalt lodev, et panna kedagi arvama, et ta kuulis muusikat oma peas; tema suu, mis oli enamasti kahvatu ja muigav, kuid nendel õhtutel särav ja roosa; tema naer, mis oli kodus küüniline ja veetlev - “Ha, ha, väga naljakas,” -, kuid kuskil mujal kõrgendatud ja närviline, nagu võlude kõmin tema käevõrul. Mõnikord käisid nad poodides või filmis, kuid mõnikord läksid nad üle maantee, tardudes kiiresti üle tiheda tee, sissesõidurestorani, kus vanemad lapsed hängisid.Restoran oli suure pudeli kujuline, kuigi see oli pigem squatter kui päris pudel, ja selle korgil oli pöörlev kuju muigavast poisist, kes hoidis kõrgel hamburgerit. Ühel südasuvel õhtul jooksid nad julgusest hingetuna üle ja kohe kummardus keegi autoaknast välja ja kutsus nad enda juurde, aga see oli lihtsalt keskkooli poiss, kes neile ei meeldinud. See tekitas neis hea tunde, kui said teda ignoreerida. Nad läksid pargitud ja kruiisivate autode rägastiku kaudu ereda valgusega, kärbestega kaetud restorani, nende näod olid rahul ja ootusärevad, justkui siseneksid nad pühast hoonest, mis kerkis öösel üles, et anda neile see varjupaik ja õnnistus igatses. Nad istusid leti ääres ja ristisid pahkluude jalad, õhukesed õlad olid põnevusest jäigad ja kuulasid muusikat, mis tegi kõik nii heaks: muusika oli alati tagaplaanil, nagu muusika jumalateenistusel; see oli midagi, millest sõltuda. Poiss nimega Eddie tuli nendega rääkima. Ta istus tagurpidi oma taburetil, pöörates end poolringides tõmblevalt ringi ning peatus ja pöördus siis uuesti ning mõne aja pärast küsis ta Connie käest, kas ta tahaks midagi süüa. Ta ütles, et tahaks ja nii koputas ta väljapääsul oma sõbra kätt - sõbranna tõmbas ta näo ülespoole vapraks, välimusega pilguks - ja Connie ütles, et kohtub temaga üksteist mööda teed."Ma lihtsalt vihkan teda niimoodi jätta," ütles Connie tõsimeeli, kuid poiss ütles, et ta pole kaua üksi. Niisiis läksid nad välja tema auto juurde ja teel ei suutnud Connie aidata, kuid laskis silmadel ringi rännata üle esiklaaside ja nägude, nägu sätendas rõõmust, millel polnud midagi pistmist Eddie ega isegi selle kohaga; see võis olla muusika. Ta tõmbas õlad püsti ja imes hinge puhtalt heameelega olla elus ning just sel hetkel juhtus ta heitma pilgu vaid mõne jala kaugusel tema näost. See oli räbalate mustade juustega poiss, kuldseks värvitud kabrioleti jalopiirkonnas. Ta vaatas teda ja siis läksid huuled muigeks. Connie lõi silmad tema poole ja pöördus kõrvale, kuid ta ei suutnud tagasi pilku heita ja seal ta oli, jälgides teda endiselt. Ta liputas näpuga ja naeris ning ütles: "Annan su, beebi," ja Connie pöördus uuesti, ilma et Eddie midagi märganud oleks. Ta veetis temaga kolm tundi, restoranis, kus nad sõid hamburgereid ja jõid kokse alati vaigistavates vahatopsides, ja siis umbes kilomeetri kaugusel asuvast alleest alla ning kui ta viis viisteist üheteistkümnega maha jättis, siis ainult filmimaja oli väljakul veel avatud. Tema tüdruksõber oli seal ja rääkis poisiga.Kui Connie tuli, naeratasid kaks tüdrukut üksteisele ja Connie ütles: "Kuidas filmil läks?" ja tüdruk ütles: "Sa peaksid teadma." Nad sõitsid koos tüdruku isaga unise ja rahulolevana ning Connie ei suutnud jätta tagasi vaatamata pimendatud ostuväljakule, kus oli suur tühi parkla ja selle sildid, mis olid nüüd tuhmunud ja kummituslikud, ning sissesõidurestoranis. kus autod veel väsimatult tiirutasid. Ta ei kuulnud muusikat sel kaugusel. Järgmisel hommikul küsis juuni temalt, kuidas film on, ja Connie ütles: "Nii-nii." Tema ja see tütarlaps ning aeg-ajalt mõni teine ​​tüdruk käisid mitu korda nädalas väljas ja ülejäänud aja veetis Connie maja ümber - see oli suvepuhkus -, sattudes ema moodi ja mõeldes, unistades tuttavatest poistest. Kuid kõik poisid kukkusid tagasi ja lahustusid ühtseks näoks, mis polnud isegi nägu, vaid idee, tunne, mis segunes muusika tungiva tungiva peksmise ja juuli niiske ööõhuga. Connie ema tiris teda pidevalt päevavalgele, leides talle tegemisi või ütles äkki: "Mis see Pettingeri tüdruk on?" Ja Connie ütles närviliselt: „Oh teda. See doping. " Ta tõmbas enda ja selliste tüdrukute vahele alati paksud selged jooned ning ema oli piisavalt lihtne ja lahke, et seda uskuda.Tema ema oli nii lihtne, arvas Connie, et võib-olla on julm teda nii palju petta. Tema ema käis vanades magamistoa sussides mööda maja ringi sebimas ja kaebas telefoni teel ühele õele teise üle, siis helistas teine ​​ja nad kahekesi kaebasid kolmanda üle. Kui juuni nime mainiti, oli tema ema toon heaks kiitev ja kui mainiti Connie nime, siis see oli tauniv. See ei tähendanud tegelikult seda, et ta Connie'le ei meeldinud, ja tegelikult arvas Connie, et ema eelistas teda juunile lihtsalt sellepärast, et ta oli ilusam, kuid nad mõlemad jätkasid teesklemist, et nad on pettunud ja tundsid, et nad tirisid ja võitlesid midagi väikest väärtus mõlemale neist. Mõnikord olid nad kohvi kõrvale peaaegu sõbrad, kuid midagi tuli ette - mingi pahandus, mis oli nagu kärbes, mis äkitselt ümber nende pea sumises, ja nende näod läksid põlgusega raskeks. Ühel pühapäeval tõusis Connie kell üksteist - keegi neist ei vaevunud kirikuga - ja pesi juukseid, et need saaksid terve päeva päikese käes kuivada. Tema vanemad ja õde käisid tädi juures grillimas ja Connie ütles, et ei, ta ei olnud sellest huvitatud, pööritades silmi, et ema teaks, mida ta sellest arvab. "Jää siis üksi koju," ütles ema teravalt.Connie istus murutoolil tagasi ja vaatas, kuidas nad minema sõitsid, isa oli vaikne ja kiilas, küürus ringi, et saaks auto tagasi viia, ema pilguga, mis oli ikka veel vihane ja polnud tuuleklaasi kaudu üldse pehmendatud, tagaistmel vana vana juuni, kõik riietatud nii, nagu ta ei teaks, mis on grill koos kõigi jooksvate karjuvate laste ja kärbestega. Connie istus suletud silmadega päikese käes, unistades ja uimastades end soojusest, nagu oleks see mingi armastus, armastuse paitused, ja tema mõte libises üle mõtteid poisist, kellega ta oli olnud eelmisel õhtul ja kui tore ta oli olnud, kui armas oli see alati, mitte see, nagu keegi juuni taoline arvab, vaid armas, õrn, nagu see oli filmides ja lubas lauludes; ja kui ta silmad avas, ei teadnud ta vaevalt, kus ta on, tagahoov jooksis umbrohule ja aiataolisele puudejoonele ning selle taga oli taevas täiesti sinine ja vaikne. Asbesti rantšo maja, mis oli nüüd kolm aastat vana, ehmatas teda - see nägi väike välja. Ta raputas pead, nagu oleks ärkvel. Oli liiga palav. Ta läks majja sisse ja lülitas raadio sisse, et vaikne ära uputada.Ta istus paljajalu oma voodi serval ja kuulas poolteist tundi programmi XYZ Sunday Jamboree, mis salvestas plaadi järel kõvasid, kiireid, hõiskavaid laule, millega ta koos laulis, sekka hüüded Bobby Kingilt. : "Vaadake siia, te Napoleoni tüdrukud - Poeg ja Charley soovivad, et te pööraksite sellele laulule eelseisvat tähelepanu!" Ja Connie pöördus ise tähelepanelikult, ujudes aeglaselt pulseeriva rõõmu kumas, mis näis muusikast endast salapäraselt välja kerkivat ja lebas igatsevalt õhutu väikese toa ümber, hingas iga rinna õrna tõusu ja languse korral sisse ja välja. Mõne aja pärast kuulis ta, kuidas auto sõitis üles. Ta tõusis ehmatusega korraga püsti, sest see ei saanud nii kiiresti tema isa olla. Kruus krudises kogu aeg teelt sisse - sissesõidutee oli pikk - ja Connie jooksis akna juurde. See oli auto, mida ta ei tundnud. See oli avatud jalopi, värvitud erksast kullast, mis püüdis päikesevalgust läbipaistmatult kinni. Ta süda hakkas kloppima ja sõrmed haarasid juukseid kontrollides ning sosistas: „Kristus. Kristus, ”imestades, kui halb ta välja nägi. Auto peatus külguksel ja sarvest kostus neli lühikest koputust, nagu oleks see signaal, mida Connie teadis. Naine läks kööki ja lähenes aeglaselt uksele, riputas siis ekraaniuksest välja, paljad varbad kõverdusid trepist alla.Autos oli kaks poissi ja nüüd tundis naine juhi ära: tal olid karvased, räbalad mustad juuksed, mis tundusid parukana hullumeelsed ja ta irvitas tema peale. "Ma ei hiline, eks ole?" ta ütles. "Kes sa arvad, et sa oled?" Ütles Connie. "Toldja, ma oleksin väljas, kas pole?" "Ma isegi ei tea, kes sa oled." Naine rääkis pahuralt, olles ettevaatlik, et ei pakuks huvi ega rõõmu, ja ta rääkis kiire, heleda monotooniga. Connie vaatas temast mööda teise poisi poole, võttes temaga aega. Tal olid heledad pruunid juuksed, lukuga, mis kukkus otsaesisele. Kõrvetised tõid talle ägeda ja piinliku ilme, kuid seni polnud ta isegi viitsinud teda pilgutada. Mõlemad poisid kandsid päikeseprille. Juhi prillid olid metallist ja peegeldasid kõike miniatuurselt. "Kas sa tahad sõitma tulla?" ta ütles. Connie muigas ja lasi juustel üle ühe õla lahti kukkuda. "Kas mu auto ei meeldi? Uus värvimistöö, ”ütles ta. "Hei." "Mida?" "Sa oled armas." Ta teeskles end pabistades ja ajas kärbseid uksest eemale. "Ära usu mind, või mis?" ta ütles. "Vaata, ma isegi ei tea, kes sa oled," ütles Connie vastikult. "Kuule, Ellie'l on raadio, vaata.Minu oma läks katki. ” Ta tõstis sõbranna käe üles ja näitas poisile väikest transistorraadiot, mida poiss hoidis, ja nüüd hakkas Connie muusikat kuulma. See oli sama programm, mis mängis majas. "Bobby King?" ta ütles. “Kuulan teda kogu aeg. Ma arvan, et ta on suurepärane. " "Ta on omamoodi vahva," ütles Connie vastumeelselt. "Kuule, see tüüp on suurepärane. Ta teab, kus tegevus on. ” Connie punastas veidi, sest prillide tõttu oli tal võimatu näha just seda, mida see poiss vaatas. Ta ei suutnud otsustada, kas ta meeldis talle või oli ta lihtsalt nõme, ja seetõttu puges ta ukseava sisse ega tulnud alla ega sisenenud tagasi. Ta ütles: "Mis kõik see värk teie autole on maalitud?" "Kas sa ei saa seda lugeda?" Ta avas ukse väga ettevaatlikult, nagu kardaks ta, et see võib maha kukkuda. Ta libises sama ettevaatlikult välja, istutades oma jalad kindlalt maapinnale, prillikestes olev pisike metallmaailm aeglustus nagu želatiini kõvenemine ja selle keskel Connie erkroheline pluus. "See on minu nimi, alustuseks, ütles ta. ARNOLD SÕBER oli kirjutatud tõrvaste mustade tähtedega küljele, millel oli ümmarguse muigava näo joonis, mis meenutas Connie'le kõrvitsat, välja arvatud see, et see kandis päikeseprille."Ma tahan ennast tutvustada, ma olen Arnoldi sõber ja see on minu tegelik nimi. Ma olen su sõber, kallis, ja auto Ellie Oscari sees on ta suht häbelik." Ellie tõi oma transistorraadio õlale ja tasakaalustas selle seal. "Nüüd on need numbrid salakood, kallis," selgitas Arnold Friend. Ta luges numbreid 33, 19, 17 ette ja kergitas talle kulme, et näha, mida naine sellest arvab, kuid naine ei mõelnud sellest palju. Vasak tagumine poritiib oli puruks pekstud ja selle ümber oli läikival kuldsel taustal kiri: TEHTUD HULLATA NAISEJUHTI. Connie pidi selle üle naerma. Arnold Friend oli tema naeru üle rahul ja vaatas talle otsa. "Teisel pool on palju muud - tahate neid vaatama tulla?" "Ei" "Miks mitte?" "Miks ma peaksin?" "Kas sa ei taha näha, mis autol on? Kas sa ei taha sõitma minna? " "Ma ei tea." "Miks mitte?" "Mul on asju teha." "Nagu mis?" "Asjad." Ta naeris, nagu oleks naine midagi naljakat öelnud. Ta lõi reitele. Ta seisis kummalisel moel ja nõjatus tagasi auto vastu, nagu oleks end tasakaalustanud.Ta ei olnud pikk, vaid tolli või nii pikem kui naine oleks, kui ta tema juurde tuleks. Connie'le meeldis riietus, mis oli nende kõigi riietus: mustadesse topitud kitsad pleekinud teksad, kammitud saabastesse, vöö, mis tõmbas talje sisse ja näitas, kui lahja ta oli, ja valge tõmmatav särk, mis oli veidi määrdunud ja näitas käte ja õlgade kõvasid väikseid lihaseid. Ta nägi välja nagu oleks ta ilmselt rasket tööd teinud, asju tõstnud ja tassinud. Isegi tema kael nägi välja lihaseline. Ja tema nägu oli kuidagi tuttav: lõualuu, lõug ja põsed tumenesid veidi, sest ta polnud päev-paar raseerinud, ja nina oli pikk ja kullilik, nuusutades nagu naine oleks maius, mida ta kavatseb ahmida ja see oli kõik nali. "Connie, sa ei räägi tõtt. See on teie päev, mis on ette nähtud minuga sõitmiseks ja teate seda, ”ütles ta endiselt naerdes. See, kuidas ta sirgus ja naermishoogust toibus, näitas, et see kõik oli võlts. "Kuidas sa tead, mis mu nimi on?" ütles ta kahtlustavalt. "See on Connie." "Võib-olla ja võib-olla ka mitte." "Ma tean oma Connie't," ütles ta näpuga vehkides. Nüüd meenutas ta teda veel paremini, tagasi restoranis, ja põsed soojendasid mõttest, kuidas ta oli just temast möödumisel hinge sisse imenud - kuidas ta talle vastu pidi olema. Ja ta oli teda mäletanud."Ellie ja mina tuleme siia välja just teie pärast," ütles ta. "Ellie võib istuda tagaistmes. Kuidas oleks? " "Kus?" "Kus mida?" "Kuhu me läheme?" Ta vaatas teda. Ta võttis päikeseprillid ära ja naine nägi, kui kahvatu oli tema silmade nahk nagu augud, mis ei olnud varjus, vaid hoopis valguses. Tema silmad olid nagu purustatud klaasikildud, mis püüdsid valgust sõbralikult. Ta naeratas. Tundus, nagu oleks idee minna kuhugi, kuskile sõitma, talle uus idee. "Ainult sõiduks, Connie kullake." "Ma ei öelnud kunagi, et mu nimi oleks Connie," ütles ta. "Aga ma tean, mis see on. Ma tean teie nime ja kõike teie kohta, palju asju, ”ütles Arnold Friend. Ta ei olnud veel liikunud, vaid seisis paigal, toetudes tagasi oma jalope küljele. "Ma tundsin erilist huvi teie vastu, nii kena tüdruk, ja sain teie kohta kõik teada - nagu ma tean, et teie vanemad ja õde on kusagil kadunud, ja ma tean, kuhu ja kui kaua nad kaovad, ja ma tean, kes olite koos eile õhtul ja teie parima tüdruksõbra nimi on Betty. Eks? " Ta rääkis lihtsa kõlksuva häälega, täpselt nagu loeks laulu sõnu. Naeratus kinnitas talle, et kõik on korras. Autos keeras Ellie oma raadio helitugevust ja ei vaevunud neile otsa vaatama."Ellie saab istuda tagaistmel," ütles Arnold Friend. Ta näitas sõbrannale juhuslikku lõuatõmmet, nagu Ellie ei loeks ja naine ei peaks temaga vaeva nägema. "Kuidas sa selle kogu teada said?" Ütles Connie. "Kuulake: Betty Schultz ja Tony Fitch ning Jimmy Pettinger ja Nancy Pettinger," ütles ta lauldes. "Raymond Stanley ja Bob Hutter -" "Kas sa tunned kõiki neid lapsi?" "Ma tunnen kõiki." "Vaata, sa teed nalja. Te pole siitpoolt. " "Muidugi." "Aga - kuidas me ei näinud sind kunagi varem?" "Kindlasti nägite mind ka varem," ütles ta. Ta vaatas saapaid alla, nagu oleks ta pisut solvunud. "Sa lihtsalt ei mäleta." "Ma mäletan sind vist," ütles Connie. "Jah?" Ta vaatas seda kiites üles. Ta oli rahul. Ta hakkas aega tähistama Ellie raadio muusikaga, koputades kergelt rusikatega. Connie vaatas naeratuselt pilgu autole, mis oli nii erksaks värvitud, et peaaegu vaevas tema silmi seda vaadates. Ta vaatas seda nime, ARNOLD SÕBER. Ja eesmise poritiiva juures oli tuttav väljend - MAN LENNEVAD TASUTAJAD. See oli väljend, mida lapsed olid kasutanud eelmisel aastal, kuid ei kasutanud sel aastal.Naine vaatas seda mõnda aega, nagu tähendaksid sõnad talle midagi, mida ta veel ei teadnud. "Mida sa mõtled? Ah?" Nõudis Arnold Sõber. "Kas pole muret selle pärast, et juuksed autos ringi puhuvad? "Ei" "Kas arvate, et ma ei oska head sõita?" "Kuidas ma tean?" "Sa oled raske tüdruk, kellega hakkama saada. Kuidas?" ta ütles. "Kas sa ei tea, et ma olen su sõber? Kas te ei näinud mind mööda minnes oma märki õhku panemas? " "Mis märk?" "Minu märk." Ja ta tõmbas X õhku, nõjatudes tema poole. Nad olid vahest kümne jala kaugusel. Pärast tema käe külili kukkumist oli X endiselt õhus, peaaegu nähtav. Connie lasi ekraani ukse sulgeda ja seisis selle sees täiesti paigal, kuulates oma raadio muusikat ja poisi segu. Ta vahtis Arnold Friendi. Ta seisis seal nii jäigalt lõdvestunult, teeseldes, et on lõdvestunud, ühe käega jõude ukselingil, justkui hoiaks ta ennast nii ja tal poleks kavatsust enam kunagi liikuda.Ta tundis enamiku tema kohta ära: kitsad teksad, millel olid näha tema reied ja tuharad, rasvased nahast saapad ja kitsas särk ning isegi tema libe sõbralik naeratus, see unine unine naeratus, millega kõik poisid harjusid mõtlema ei taha sõnadesse panna. Ta tunnistas seda kõike ja ka laululist viisi, kuidas ta rääkis, mõnitas veidi, tegi nalja, kuid oli tõsine ja pisut melanhoolne, ning tundis ära viisi, kuidas ta koputas ühte tema tagumist igavest muusikat. Kuid kõik need asjad ei tulnud kokku. Ta ütles äkki: "Kuule, kui vana sa oled?" Tema naeratus tuhmus. Ta nägi siis, et ta polnud laps, ta oli palju vanem - kolmkümmend, võib-olla rohkem. Selle teadmise peale hakkas tema süda kiiremini põksuma. "See on hull asi, mida küsida. Kas sa ei näe, et ma olen sinu vanune? " "Nagu pagan sa oled." "Või võib-olla paar aastat vanem. Ma olen kaheksateist. " "Kaheksateist?" ütles ta kahtlevalt. Ta muigas teda rahustamaks ja tema suunurkadesse ilmusid jooned. Ta hambad olid suured ja valged. Ta irvitas nii laialt, et silmad muutusid piludeks ja naine nägi, kui paksud ripsmed olid, paksud ja mustad, justkui musta tõrva moodi materjaliga maalitud. Siis näis tal äkki piinlik olevat ja vaatas üle õla Ellie poole."Tema, ta on hull," ütles ta. "Kas ta pole märatsemine? Ta on pähkel, tõeline tegelane. " Ellie kuulas endiselt muusikat. Tema päikeseprillid ei rääkinud midagi sellest, mida ta mõtles. Ta kandis pooleldi lahti nööpitud säravat oranži särki, mis näitas oma rinda, mis oli kahvatu, sinakas ja mitte lihaseline nagu Arnold Friend. Tema särgikrae oli ümberringi üles keeratud ja krae otsad osutusid tema lõuast mööda, nagu kaitseksid teda. Ta surus transistorraadiot kõrva äärde ja istus seal mingis uimasuses, otse päikese käes. "Ta on üsna kummaline," ütles Connie. "Hei, ta ütleb, et sa oled kuidagi imelik! Päris kummaline! " Arnold Sõber nuttis. Ta peksis auto peale, et Ellie tähelepanu võita. Ellie pöördus esimest korda ja Connie nägi ehmatusega, et ka tema pole laps - tal oli ilus karvutu nägu, põsed kergelt punetasid, justkui kasvaksid veenid naha pinnale liiga lähedale, neljakümne nägu -aastane laps. Connie tundis selle vaatepildi ajal peapöörituse lainet ja ta vahtis teda, justkui ootaks, et miski selle hetke šokki muudaks, saaks jälle kõik korda. Ellie huuled kujundasid muudkui sõnu, mõmisesid koos kõrva paukuvate sõnadega. "Võib-olla te lähete parem minema," ütles Connie nõrgalt. "Mida? Kuidas?" Arnold Sõber nuttis."Tuleme siia teid sõitma viima. On pühapäev. " Nüüd oli mehe hääl raadios. See oli sama hääl, mõtles Connie. "Kas te ei tea, et terve päev on pühapäev? Ja kallis, olenemata sellest, kellega sa eile õhtul olid, oled täna koos Arnoldi sõbraga ja kas sa ei unusta seda! Võib-olla parem astuge siit välja, ”ütles ta ja see viimane oli hoopis teise häälega. See oli veidi lamedam, nagu oleks lõpuks soojus temani jõudnud. "Ei. Mul on asju teha. " "Hei." "Te kaks lahkute parem." "Me ei lahku enne, kui tulete meiega kaasa." "Nagu pagan ma olen ..." "Connie, ära lolli minuga. Ma mõtlen - see tähendab, ärge lollitage, "ütles ta pead vangutades. Ta naeris uskumatult. Ta asetas päikeseprillid pea peale ettevaatlikult, justkui oleks ta parukat kandnud, ja tõi varred kõrvade taha. Connie vahtis teda, järjekordne peapöörituse ja hirmu laine tõusis temasse nii, et ta ei olnud hetkeks isegi fookuses, vaid oli lihtsalt udusus, mis seisis seal vastu oma kuldset autot, ja tal tekkis mõte, et ta oli sõitnud sõiduteele üles kõik korras, kuid olid enne seda tulnud kuskilt ja ei kuulunud kuhugi ning et kõik temas ja isegi muusikas, mis oli talle nii tuttav, oli ainult pooleldi reaalne."Kui mu isa tuleb ja näeb sind ..." "Ta ei tule. Ta on grillimas. " "Kuidas sa tead, et?" "Tädi Tillie oma. Praegu on nad uh - nad joovad. Ümber istudes, ”ütles ta ebamääraselt, kissitades, nagu vahtiks ta kogu linna ja edasi tädi Tillie tagahoovi. Siis näis nägemus selguvat ja ta noogutas energiliselt. "Jah. Istub ringi. Seal on su õde sinises kleidis? Ja kõrged kontsad, vaene kurb lits - ei midagi sellist nagu sina, kullake! Ja teie ema aitab mõnel paksul naisel maisiga, nad puhastavad maisi - koorivad maisi - "Mis paks naine?" Connie nuttis. "Kuidas ma tean, milline paks naine, ma ei tunne iga jumala rasva naist maailmas!" Arnold Sõber naeris. "Oh, see on proua Hornsby. . . . Kes teda kutsus? " Ütles Connie. Ta tundis end pisut uimasena. Tema hingamine tuli kiiresti. "Ta on liiga paks. Mulle ei meeldi nad paksud. Mulle meeldivad need, nagu sa oled, kallis, ”ütles ta naeratades talle uniselt. Nad vaatasid tükk aega ekraaniuksest üksteisele otsa. Ta ütles vaikselt: "Nüüd, mida sa teed, on see: sa tuled sellest uksest välja.Sa istud minuga ees ja Ellie hakkab taga istuma, paganama Ellie, eks? See pole Ellie kuupäev. Sa oled mu kohting. Ma olen su väljavalitu, kallis. " "Mida? Sa oled hull-" "Jah, ma olen su väljavalitu. Sa ei tea, mis see on, aga tead, ”ütles ta. "Ma tean seda ka. Ma tean kõike teie kohta. Aga vaata: see on tõeliselt tore ja te ei saa paluda kedagi paremat kui mina või viisakamat. Ma pean alati oma sõna. Ma ütlen teile, kuidas see on, ma olen alati esimene, esimene kord alati tore. Hoian teid nii kõvasti kinni, et te ei arva, et peate proovima pääseda või midagi teesklema, sest teate, et ei saa. Ja ma tulen sinu sisse, kus see kõik on saladus, ja sina annad mulle järele ja sa armastad mind ” "Jää vait! Sa oled hull!" Ütles Connie. Naine taganes uksest. Ta pani käed vastu kõrvu, nagu oleks ta kuulnud midagi kohutavat, midagi, mis pole tema jaoks mõeldud. "Inimesed ei räägi nii, sa oled hull," pomises naine. Tema süda oli nüüd rindkere jaoks peaaegu liiga suur ja selle pumpamine ajas higi üle kogu tema. Ta vaatas välja, et näha Arnold Friendi pausi ja astuda siis veranda poole, möllates. Ta peaaegu kukkus.Kuid nagu nutikas purjus mees, suutis ta tasakaalu saavutada. Ta kõigutas kõrgetes saabastes ja haaras kinni ühest verandapostist. "Kallis?" ta ütles. "Kas sa ikka kuulad?" "Pöörake siit!" "Ole kallis, kallis. Kuula. " "Kutsun politsei ..." Ta kõigutas uuesti ja suupoolest tuli kiire sülitus, mis ei olnud mõeldud tema kuulmiseks. Kuid isegi see “Kristus!” kõlas sunniviisiliselt. Siis hakkas ta jälle naeratama. Ta vaatas, kuidas see naeratus tuleb, kohmakas nagu naerataks ta maski seest. Kogu tema nägu oli mask, mõtles naine metsikult, pargiti kurku, kuid jooksis siis otsa, nagu oleks ta näole meikinud, kuid unustanud kurgu. "Kallis -? Kuulge, siin on, kuidas see on. Ma ütlen alati tõtt ja luban teile seda: ma ei tule sinna majja pärast teid. " "Parem mitte! Kutsun politsei, kui teie - kui te seda ei tee ... " "Kallis," ütles ta otse tema hääle kaudu rääkides, "kallis, ma ei tule sinna sisse, vaid sina tuled siit välja. Sa tead, miks?" Ta hingeldas.Köök nägi välja nagu koht, mida ta polnud kunagi varem näinud. Mõni tuba, kuhu ta oli sisse jooksnud, kuid mis polnud piisavalt hea, ei aitanud teda. Köögiaknal polnud kolme aasta pärast kunagi kardinat olnud ja kraanikausis olid nõud, mida ta teha pidi - ilmselt - ja kui sa käega üle laua lööd, tunned seal tõenäoliselt midagi kleepuvat. "Kuulad, kallis? Hei? " "- politseisse helistama minek -" "Varsti, kui telefoni puudutate, pole mul vaja oma lubadust täita ja võin sisse tulla. Sa ei taha seda. " Ta tormas edasi ja üritas ust lukustada. Ta sõrmed värisesid. "Aga miks see lukustada," ütles Arnold Friend õrnalt, rääkides otse näkku. "See on lihtsalt ekraaniuks. See pole lihtsalt midagi. " Üks tema saabasest oli kummalise nurga all, nagu poleks tema jalga selles. See osutas pahkluust painutatud vasakule. "Ma mõtlen, et igaüks saab vajadusel läbi murda ekraaniuksest ja klaasist ning puidust ja rauast või muust, eriti kõigist ja eriti Arnold Friendist. Kui see koht valgustuks tulega, kallis, tuleksid sa mulle sülle, otse minu sülle ja kodus seifi - nagu sa teadsid, et ma olen su väljavalitu, ja lõpetaksid lollitamise.Ma ei pahanda kena häbelikku tüdrukut, kuid mulle ei meeldi, kui lolliks lüüa. " Osa neist sõnadest öeldi kerge rütmilise nihkega ja Connie tunnistas need kuidagi ära - eelmise aasta laulu kaja, mis rääkis tüdrukust, kes poiss-sõbra sülle tormas ja jälle koju tuli - Connie seisis paljajalu linoleumipõrandal ja vahtis teda. "Mida sa tahad?" sosistas ta. "Ma tahan sind," ütles ta. "Mida?" "Nägin sind sel õhtul ja mõtlesin, et see on üks, jah, härra. Mul polnud kunagi vaja enam otsida. " "Aga mu isa tuleb tagasi. Ta tuleb mind tooma. Pidin kõigepealt juukseid pesema ... ”Ta rääkis kuiva, kiire häälega, vaevalt et ta neid kuulmiseks tõstis. "Ei, teie issi ei tule ja jah, te pidite juukseid pesema ja pesite need minu jaoks. See on kena ja särav ja kõik minu jaoks. Ma tänan sind kullake, ”ütles ta mõnitava kummardusega, kuid jällegi kaotas peaaegu tasakaalu. Ta pidi saapaid painutama ja sättima. Ilmselt ei läinud tema jalad lõpuni alla; saapad pidi olema midagi topitud, et ta pikemana tunduks. Connie vahtis teda ja tema taga autos olnud Ellie poole, kes paistis Connie parempoolse poole pööravat.See Ellie ütles, tõmmates sõnu üksteise järel õhust välja, nagu oleks ta neid lihtsalt avastamas: "Tahad, et ma telefoni välja tõmbaksin?" "Pange suu kinni ja hoidke kinni," ütles Arnold Friend, nägu punane kummardumisest või võib-olla piinlikkusest, sest Connie oli tema saapaid näinud. "See pole teie asi." "Mida - mida sa teed? Mida sa tahad?" Ütles Connie. "Kui ma helistan politseisse, saavad nad teid kätte, nad arreteerivad teid ..." "Lubadus oli mitte tulla sisse, kui te seda telefoni ei puuduta, ja ma täidan selle lubaduse," ütles ta. Ta taastas püstiasendit ja üritas oma õlgu tagasi suruda. Ta kõlas filmis nagu kangelane, kuulutades midagi olulist. Kuid ta rääkis liiga valjult ja justkui oleks ta rääkinud kellegagi Connie taga. "Ma ei ole plaaninud tulla sellesse majja, kuhu ma ei kuulu, vaid lihtsalt selleks, et tuleksite minu juurde välja nii, nagu peaksite. Kas sa ei tea, kes ma olen? " "Sa oled hull," sosistas naine. Naine taganes uksest, kuid ei tahtnud minna teise majaossa, nagu annaks see talle loa uksest sisse tulla. "Mida sa . . . sa oled hull, sina. . . . ” "Ah?Mida sa ütled, kallis? " Ta silmad hiilgasid köögis kõikjal. Ta ei mäletanud, mis see tuba oli. "Nii see on, kallis: tuled välja ja me sõidame minema, on mõnus sõit. Aga kui te välja ei tule, ootame, kuni teie inimesed koju tulevad, ja siis saavad nad kõik selle kätte. " "Kas soovite, et see telefon välja tõmmataks?" Ütles Ellie. Ta hoidis raadiot kõrvast eemal ja irvitas, nagu oleks ilma raadiota õhku tema jaoks liiga palju. "Ma ütlesin, et ole vait, Ellie," ütles Arnold Friend, "sa oled kurt, hanki kuuldeaparaat, eks? Parandage ennast. Sellel väikesel tüdrukul pole probleeme ja ta saab minu vastu tore olema, nii et Ellie hoia endale kindlaks, see pole ju sinu kohting? Ärge kandke mind sisse, ärge sigake, ärge purustage, ärge linnukoera, ärge mind jälitage, ”ütles ta kiire, mõttetu häälega, justkui jookseks läbi kõik väljendid, mida ta õppisin, kuid polnud enam kindel, kumb neist stiilne on, ja tormas siis uute juurde, tehes need suletud silmadega tasa."Ärge pugege minu aia alla, ärge pigistage minu chipmonki auku sisse, ärge nuusutage minu liimi, imege mu popsicle'i, hoidke enda rasvaseid näppe!" Ta varjutas silmi ja piilus Connie poole, kes oli köögilaua taga. "Ära pahanda teda, kallis, ta on lihtsalt pugeja. Ta on doping. Eks? Ma olen sinu jaoks poiss ja nagu ma ütlesin, tuled siit kena välja nagu daam ja annad mulle oma käe, ja keegi teine ​​ei saa haiget, ma mõtlen, su kena vana kiilaspäine isa ja muumia ning su õde tema kõrged kontsad. Sest kuulake: miks neid sellesse tuua? " "Jäta mind rahule," sosistas Connie. "Kuule, kas sa tead seda vana naist mööda teed, kanade ja muu kraamiga - kas sa tunned teda?" "Ta on surnud!" "Surnud? Mida? Sa tead teda?" Ütles Arnold Friend. "Ta on surnud ..." "Kas ta ei meeldi sulle?" "Ta on surnud - ta on - teda pole enam siin ..." Aga kas ta sulle ei meeldi, ma mõtlen, et sul on midagi tema vastu? Mõni viha vms? " Siis langes tema hääl nagu oleks ta teadlik ebaviisakusest. Ta puudutas pea kohal istuvaid päikeseprille justkui veendumaks, et need ikka seal on."Nüüd, ole hea tüdruk." 'Mida sa kavatsed teha?" "Ainult kaks asja või võib-olla kolm," ütles Arnold Friend. "Kuid ma luban, et see ei kesta kaua ja teile meeldib mulle see, kuidas teile lähedased inimesed meeldivad. Te saate. Teie jaoks on siin kõik läbi, nii et tulge välja. Sa ei taha ju, et su inimesed oleksid hädas? " Ta pöördus ja põrutas vastu tooli või midagi muud, tehes jalale haiget, kuid ta jooksis tagaruumi ja võttis telefoni. Midagi ragises kõrvas, pisike müristamine ja ta oli hirmust nii haige, et ei osanud muud teha kui seda kuulata - telefon oli kohmakas ja väga raske ning sõrmed käperdasid valimisnuppu, kuid olid liiga nõrgad, et seda puudutada. Ta hakkas karjuma telefoni, möirgamise peale. Ta hüüdis, ta nuttis ema järele, ta tundis, kuidas tema hing hakkas kopsudes edasi-tagasi tõmblema, justkui oleks see midagi, mida Arnold Friend sõbrustas teda ikka ja jälle ilma helluseta. Lärmav kurb hädaldamine tõusis tema ümber ja ta oli lukustatud selle sisse nii, nagu ta oli selle maja sees lukus. Mõne aja pärast kuulis ta uuesti. Ta istus põrandal märja seljaga vastu seina. Arnold Friend ütles uksest: "See on hea tüdruk. Pange telefon tagasi. ” Ta viskas telefoni endast eemale. "Ei kallis. Võtke see üles.Pange see paremale tagasi. " Ta võttis selle kätte ja pani tagasi. Valimistoon lakkas. "See on hea tüdruk. Nüüd tulete õue. " Ta oli õõnes sellest, mis oli olnud hirm, kuid mis oli nüüd vaid tühjus. Kõik see karjumine oli selle temast välja löönud. Ta istus, üks jalg krampis tema all ja sügaval ajus oli midagi valgusetappi sarnast, mis muudkui käis ega lasknud tal lõõgastuda. Ta arvas, et ma ei näe enam oma ema. Ta arvas, et ma ei hakka enam oma voodis magama. Tema erkroheline pluus oli kõik märg. Arnold Friend ütles leebe ja valju häälega, mis sarnanes lavahäälega: „Koht, kust tulite, pole enam olemas ja kuhu kavatsesite minna, tühistatakse. See koht, kus te praegu asute - issi majas - pole midagi muud kui pappkarp, mille saan igal ajal maha lüüa. Teate seda ja teadsite alati. Sa kuuled mind?" Ta arvas, et ma pean mõtlema. Olen õppinud, mida teha. "Me läheme välja kena põllule, siin maal, kus see lõhnab nii mõnusalt ja on päikseline," ütles Arnold Friend. "Mul on käed tihedalt ümber, nii et teil pole vaja proovida pääseda ja ma näitan teile, milline on armastus, mida see teeb. Pagan selle majaga! Tundub igati hea, ”sõnas ta.Ta libistas sõrme ekraanil ja müra ei pannud Conniet värisema, nagu see oleks eelmisel päeval olnud. "Nüüd pane käsi südamele, kallis. Kas tunnete seda? Ka see tundub kindel, kuid me teame paremini. Ole minu vastu kena, ole armas nagu suudad, sest mida muud on sinusugusel tüdrukul, kui olla armas ja ilus ja järele anda? - ja pääseda enne, kui tema inimesed tagasi tulevad? " Ta tundis oma südant. Tundus, et ta käsi piiras seda. Ta arvas esimest korda elus, et mitte miski ei kuulunud tema omasse, vaid lihtsalt üks kopsakas, elusolend selle keha sees, mis polnud ka tema oma. "Sa ei taha, et nad haiget saaksid," jätkas Arnold Friend. "Nüüd tõuse, kallis. Tõuse ise üles. " Ta seisis. "Nüüd pöörake seda teed. Täpselt nii. Tule siia minu juurde. - Ellie, pane see ära, kas ma ei öelnud sulle? Sa dopid. Sa armetu jube dope, ”ütles Arnold Friend. Tema sõnad ei olnud vihased, vaid olid vaid osa loitsust. Loits oli lahkelt."Tulge nüüd köögi kaudu minu juurde, kallis, ja vaatame naeratust, proovige seda, olete julge, armas väike tüdruk ja nüüd söövad nad väliteras lõhkemiseks küpsetatud maisi ja hot-doge ning nad ei tea sinust üht ja ei teadnud kunagi ja kallis, sa oled neist parem, sest keegi neist poleks seda sinu eest teinud. " Connie tundis linoleumi oma jalgade all; see oli lahe. Ta harjas juuksed silmadest tagasi. Arnold Friend lasi postist etteruttavalt lahti ja avas talle käed, küünarnukid üksteise poole ja randmed lonkamas, näitamaks, et see oli piinlik embus ja väike pilkamine, ta ei tahtnud teda enesekindlaks muuta. teadvusel. Ta sirutas käe vastu ekraani. Ta vaatas, kuidas ta lükkas ukse aeglaselt lahti, nagu oleks ta kuskil teises ukses tagasi turvaline, jälgides seda keha ja seda pikkade juustega pead päikesevalguse kätte liikumas, kus Arnold Friend ootas. "Mu armas väike sinisilmne tüdruk," ütles ta pooleldi lauldud ohkega, millel polnud midagi pistmist tema pruunide silmadega, kuid tema sama suur ja päikesepoolne maastik võttis tema selja tagant ja igalt poolt üles. - nii palju maad, mida Connie polnud kunagi varem näinud ega teadnud, välja arvatud teadmine, et ta sinna läheb. | Kasutustingimused

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