American Skin
- Автор: Бруен Кен
- Год: 2008
- Язык: английский
- Год: Brandon
- ISBN: 978-0-86322-379-2
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «American Skin». Краткое содержание книги:
Tommy signalled for another round, the band had launched into “I Never Will Marry” as if they knew the story. One of those odd moments of serendipity. Tommy said,
“There’s a point here and I’ll eventually make it. The guy, he loads his pockets with stones and the Wellingtons.”
Tommy’s on his feet now, moving his legs sluggishly, attempting to walk, the stones weighing him down, continues,
“The guy can hardly move but he manages to wade in the water, fighting the current, the fucker is determined, these Connemara men, they’re warriors, bro, and eventually, gets to where he’s under the water. Can you see it, Steve?”
“Jesus, not sure I want to.”
The drinks came, clouds rising from the hot glasses, brown sugar melting on the bottoms, black pints riding point. I gave the guy a bunch of notes, he’s staring at Tommy, who’s gasping for breath, the water in his mouth, strangling his lungs, his eyes closed, he says,
“And he’s standing on the bottom, weighed down but upright because of the stones and he drowns, facing out.”
Tommy opened his eyes, sweat on his forehead and I go,
“Some story.”
He selects a fresh pint, inspects the head, then takes a sip, says,
“He left a note.”
“Aw, come on!”
Tommy looks offended, then,
“It was in the paper. The guy said he wanted to be a sentinel, standing there forever, facing America.”
My mood was ebbing so I tried,
“Well, god knows, he was dressed for it.”
Tommy was staring at the ocean, said,
“He’s out there, looking to America, waiting.”
The band took a break, headed to the bar so I asked,
“Waiting for what?”
Tommy pulled his eyes back to me, was silent, then,
“Godot, fuck’s sakes, you don’t get it, do you?”
“What’s to get?”
He drained the pint, up, swallow, down, one motion, then,
“You need an explanation, it’s gone, forget it.”
End of the evening, the band, finished with Christy Moore’s “Ride On.” The girl sang it with such yearning, such loss that I felt a lump in my throat. We got outside, waiting for a cab, the night air hit us like a banshee, catapulting us into another level of intoxication. I pointed at the coast, said,
“You’re thinking of him, the sentinel, out there.”
And got that look from him, he was five years old again, he said,
“Fuck no, I’m thinking of fish and chips.”
Me, I’m Irish, I love music. I’m a huge fan of Springsteen. “Meeting Across the River,” I played that track for Tommy once, he goes,
“Shit, again.”
Three more times, he’s mouthing the lyrics, then says, his version of the line,
“Could be you’re carrying a mate.”
“... There’s a darkness on the edge of town.”