JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 392 из 425She knows how unwise that is, but she can’t help it—she’s never been able to help her laughter, any more than she’s ever been able to help the way men like this look at her breasts and bottom. Blame it on God. “Why, I walk where I do,” she says. “I was told this was common ground, ain’t nobody got a right to keep me out. Ain’t nobody has. You seen em doin it?”
“IOU see us now,” George Armbruster says, trying to sound tough. Sara looks at him with a species of kindly contempt that makes George shrivel up inside. His cheeks glow hot red. “Son,” she says, “you only come out now because the decent folks is all somewheres else. Why do you want to let this old filla tell you what to do? Act decent and let a lady walk.” I see it all. As Devore fades and fades, at last becoming nothing but eyes under a blue cap in the rainy afternoon (through him I can see the shattered remains of my swimming float washing against the embankment), I see it all. I see her as she starts jrward, walking straight at Devore. If she stands here jawing with them, something bad is going to happen. She Jels it, and she never questions her tidings. And if she walks at any of the others, ole massa’ll bore in on her from the side, pulling the rest after. Ole massa in the little ole blue cap is the wheeldog, the one she must face down. She can do it, too. He’s strong, strong enough to make these boys one creature, his creature, at least jr the time being, but he doesn’t have herjrce, her determination, her energy. In a way she welcomes this conjontation.
Reg has warned her to be careful, not to move too fast or try to make real friends until the rednecks (only Reggie calls them “the bull gators”) show themselves—how many and how crazy—but she goes her own course, trusts her own deep instincts. And here they are, only seven of em, and really just the one bull gator.
I’m stronger than you, ole massa, she thinks, walking toward him. She fixes her eyes on his and will not let them drop,’ his are the ones that drop, his the mouth that quivers uncertainly at one corner, his the tongue that comes out as quick as a lizard’s tongue to wet the lips, and all that’s good… but even better is when he falls back a step. When he does that the rest of them cluster in two groups of three, and there it is, her way through. Faint and sweet are the Methodists, faithy music carrying across the lake’s still surface. A droner of a hymn, yes, but sweet across the miles.
When we walk with the Lord in the light of His word, what a glory He sheds on our way…
I’m stronger than you, sugar, she sends, I’m meaner than you, you may be the bull gator but I’m the queen bee and if you don’t want me stingin on you, you best clear me the rest of my path.
“IOU see us now,” George Armbruster says, trying to sound tough. Sara looks at him with a species of kindly contempt that makes George shrivel up inside. His cheeks glow hot red. “Son,” she says, “you only come out now because the decent folks is all somewheres else. Why do you want to let this old filla tell you what to do? Act decent and let a lady walk.” I see it all. As Devore fades and fades, at last becoming nothing but eyes under a blue cap in the rainy afternoon (through him I can see the shattered remains of my swimming float washing against the embankment), I see it all. I see her as she starts jrward, walking straight at Devore. If she stands here jawing with them, something bad is going to happen. She Jels it, and she never questions her tidings. And if she walks at any of the others, ole massa’ll bore in on her from the side, pulling the rest after. Ole massa in the little ole blue cap is the wheeldog, the one she must face down. She can do it, too. He’s strong, strong enough to make these boys one creature, his creature, at least jr the time being, but he doesn’t have herjrce, her determination, her energy. In a way she welcomes this conjontation.
Reg has warned her to be careful, not to move too fast or try to make real friends until the rednecks (only Reggie calls them “the bull gators”) show themselves—how many and how crazy—but she goes her own course, trusts her own deep instincts. And here they are, only seven of em, and really just the one bull gator.
I’m stronger than you, ole massa, she thinks, walking toward him. She fixes her eyes on his and will not let them drop,’ his are the ones that drop, his the mouth that quivers uncertainly at one corner, his the tongue that comes out as quick as a lizard’s tongue to wet the lips, and all that’s good… but even better is when he falls back a step. When he does that the rest of them cluster in two groups of three, and there it is, her way through. Faint and sweet are the Methodists, faithy music carrying across the lake’s still surface. A droner of a hymn, yes, but sweet across the miles.
When we walk with the Lord in the light of His word, what a glory He sheds on our way…
I’m stronger than you, sugar, she sends, I’m meaner than you, you may be the bull gator but I’m the queen bee and if you don’t want me stingin on you, you best clear me the rest of my path.