Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter II
Dyke,stillalittledazed,satdownbyoneofthetables,preoccupied,sayingbutlittle,andCaraherasamatterofcoursesetthewhiskeybottleathiselbow.
Ithappenedthatatthissamemoment,Presley,returningtoLosMuertosfromBonneville,hispocketsfullofmail,stoppedinatthegrocerytobuysomeblackleadforhisbicycle.Inthesaloon,ontheothersideofthenarrowpartition,heoverheardtheconversationbetweenDykeandCaraher.Thedoorwasopen.Hecaughteveryworddistinctly.
“Tellusallaboutit,Dyke,”urgedCaraher.
ForthefiftiethtimeDyketoldthestory.Alreadyithadcrystallisedintoacertainform.Heusedthesamephraseswitheachrepetition,thesamesentences,thesamewords.Inhisminditbecameset.Thushewouldtellittoanyonewhowouldlistenfromnowon,weekafterweek,yearafteryear,alltherestofhislife—“AndIbasedmycalculationsonatwo-centrate.SosoonastheysawIwastomakemoneytheydoubledthetariff—allthetrafficwouldbear—andImortgagedtoS.Behrman—ruinedmewithaturnofthehand—stuck,cinched,andnotonethingtobedone.”
Ashetalked,hedrankglassafterglassofwhiskey,andthehonestrage,theopen,above-boardfuryofhismindcoagulated,thickened,andsunktoadull,evilhatred,awicked,obliquemalevolence.Caraher,surenowofwinningadisciple,replenishedhisglass.
“Doyoublameusnow,”hecried,“usothers,theReds?Ah,yes,it’sallverywellforyourmiddleclasstopreachmoderation.Icoulddoit,too.
