JК
Bullet Park :: Cheever John
Страница: 122 из 131He remembered it all as intimate, human and pleasant, compared to this anxious wasteland through which one raced the barbarians.
They turned off 61 at Venable, bought some bait in the village, and started into the woods. It was a walk of about two miles and Tessie limped along gallantly although it was a struggle for the old bitch. Coming down into a valley they heard the sound of the stream. It was explicitly the sound of laughter-nothing else. Giddy laughter, the laughter of silly girls and nymphs, rang through the bleak spring woods. The stream was shallow-this would account for the asinine and continuous laughter-and they walked upstream until they found a deep pool. "I'll go further up and fish down," Nailles said. "Why don't we plan to meet here at around noon. I want to get back for lunch." Off he went with Tessie.
When they met at noon Nailles had taken two trout. Hammer had caught nothing. They both carried flasks of bourbon and they sat on the banks of the stream-immersed in the sound of watery laughter-and had a drink. They were about the same weight, height and age, and they both wore a size-eight shoe. Nailles's hair was dark and long enough to fall over his brow. He had a habit of combing it or pushing it up with his fingers. His father had criticized this gesture and he may have clung to it as a sign of rebelliousness and independence. Hammer's hair was brown and cut very short. Nailles's face was the broadest and most open. Hammer's face was thin and he frequently touched it with his fingers-a sort of groping gesture as if he were looking for something he had lost. His right hand moved over his face from time to time as one's hand moves over a shelf in a dark closet where a key has been left. His laughter was sharp-three harsh, explosive sounds. He had a nervous way of shifting his head, setting his teeth and bracing his shoulders as if his thinking consisted of a series of resolves and decisions. I must cut down on my smoking. (Teeth-setting.) Life can be beautiful. (Shoulder bracing.) I am often misunderstood. (A sudden lifting of the head.) Nailles's manner was much more serene.
The force of friendship-a force that Nailles had never seen described-was nearly as important to him as love although there was no resemblance at all between the two. Love with its paraphernalia of sexuality, jealousy, nostalgia and exaltation was easier to recognize than friendship, which seemed to have (excepting athletic equipment) no paraphernalia at all. Nailles had enjoyed a large number of friends for as long as he could remember. Most of his friends were partners in games-skiing, fishing, cards or drinking.
They turned off 61 at Venable, bought some bait in the village, and started into the woods. It was a walk of about two miles and Tessie limped along gallantly although it was a struggle for the old bitch. Coming down into a valley they heard the sound of the stream. It was explicitly the sound of laughter-nothing else. Giddy laughter, the laughter of silly girls and nymphs, rang through the bleak spring woods. The stream was shallow-this would account for the asinine and continuous laughter-and they walked upstream until they found a deep pool. "I'll go further up and fish down," Nailles said. "Why don't we plan to meet here at around noon. I want to get back for lunch." Off he went with Tessie.
When they met at noon Nailles had taken two trout. Hammer had caught nothing. They both carried flasks of bourbon and they sat on the banks of the stream-immersed in the sound of watery laughter-and had a drink. They were about the same weight, height and age, and they both wore a size-eight shoe. Nailles's hair was dark and long enough to fall over his brow. He had a habit of combing it or pushing it up with his fingers. His father had criticized this gesture and he may have clung to it as a sign of rebelliousness and independence. Hammer's hair was brown and cut very short. Nailles's face was the broadest and most open. Hammer's face was thin and he frequently touched it with his fingers-a sort of groping gesture as if he were looking for something he had lost. His right hand moved over his face from time to time as one's hand moves over a shelf in a dark closet where a key has been left. His laughter was sharp-three harsh, explosive sounds. He had a nervous way of shifting his head, setting his teeth and bracing his shoulders as if his thinking consisted of a series of resolves and decisions. I must cut down on my smoking. (Teeth-setting.) Life can be beautiful. (Shoulder bracing.) I am often misunderstood. (A sudden lifting of the head.) Nailles's manner was much more serene.
The force of friendship-a force that Nailles had never seen described-was nearly as important to him as love although there was no resemblance at all between the two. Love with its paraphernalia of sexuality, jealousy, nostalgia and exaltation was easier to recognize than friendship, which seemed to have (excepting athletic equipment) no paraphernalia at all. Nailles had enjoyed a large number of friends for as long as he could remember. Most of his friends were partners in games-skiing, fishing, cards or drinking.