Invisible man: читать книгу онлайн полностью и бесплатно

"You're wonderful," I said. "Tell me about George. Tell me about that great master mind of social change."

She steadied her gaze, frowning. "Who, Georgie?" she said, looking at me out of one bleary eye. "Georgie's blind 'sa mole in a hole 'n doesn't know a thing about it. 'D you ever hear of such a thing, fifteen years! Say, what're you laughing at, boo'ful?"

"Me," I said, beginning to roar, "just me ..."

"I've never seen anyone laugh like you, boo'ful. It's wonderful!"

I was slipping her dress over her head now and her voice came muffled through the shantung cloth. Then I had it down around her hips and her flushed face wavered through the collar, her hair down in disorder again.

"Boo'ful," she said, blowing the word, "will you do it again sometimes?"

I stepped away and looked at her. "What?"

"Please, pretty boo'ful, please," she said with a wobbly smile.

I began to laugh, "Sure," I said, "sure ..."

"When, boo'ful, when?"

"Any time," I said. "How about every Thursday at nine?"

"Oooooh, boo'ful," she said, giving me an old-fashioned hug. "I've never seen anyone like you."

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Really, I haven't, boo'ful ... Honor bright ... believe me?"

"Sure, it's good to be seen, but we've got to go now," I said seeing her about to sag to the bed.

She pouted. "I need a lil nightcap, boo'ful," she said.

"You've had enough," I said.

"Ah, boo'ful, jus' one ..."

"Okay, just one."

We had another drink and I looked at her and felt the pity and self-disgust returning and was depressed.

She looked at me gravely, her head to one side.

"Boo'ful," she said, "you know what lil ole Sybil thinks? She thinks you're trying to get rid of her."

I looked at her out of a deep emptiness and refilled her glass and mine. What had I done to her, allowed her to do? Had all of it filtered down to me? My action ... my -- the painful word formed as disconnectedly as her wobbly smile -- my responsibility? All of it? I'm invisible. "Here," I said, "drink."

"You too, boo'ful," she said.

"Yes," I said. She moved into my arms.

I MUST have dozed. There came the tinkling of ice in a glass, the shrill of bells. I felt profoundly sad, as though winter had fallen during the hour. She lay, her chestnut hair let down, watching through heavy-lidded, blue, eye-shadowed eyes. From far away a new sound arose.

"Don't answer, boo'ful," she said, her voice coming through suddenly, out of time with the working of her mouth.

"What?" I said.

"Don't answer, let'er ring," she said, reaching her red-nailed fingers forth.

I took it from her hands, understanding now.