"Disch, Thomas M - Descending" - читать интересную книгу автора (Disch Thomas M)Descending
by Thomas M. Disch Catsup, mustard, pickle, relish, mayonnaise, two kinds of salad dressing, bacon grease, and a lemon. Oh yes, two trays of ice cubes. In the cupboard it wasn't much better: jars and boxes of spices, flour, sugar, salt—and a box of raisins! An empty box of raisins. Not even any coffee. Not even tea, which he hated. Nothing in the mailbox but a bill from Underwood's: Unless we receive the arrears on your account.… $4.75 in change jingled in his coat pocket—the plunder of the Chianti bottle he had promised himself never to break open. He was spared the unpleasantness of having to sell his books. They had all been sold. The letter to Graham had gone out a week ago. If his brother intended to send something this time, it would have come by now. —I should be desperate, he thought. —Perhaps I am. He might have looked in the Times. But, no, that was too depressing—applying for jobs at $50 a week and being turned down. Not that he blamed them; he wouldn't have hired himself himself. He had been a grasshopper for years. The ants were on to his tricks. He shaved without soap and brushed his shoes to a high polish. He whitened the sepulchre of his unwashed torso with a fresh, starched shirt and chose his somberest tie from the rack. He began to feel excited and expressed it, characteristically, by appearing statuesquely, icily calm. Descending the stairway to the first floor, he encountered Mrs. Beale, who was pretending to sweep the well-swept floor of the entrance. "Good afternoon—or I s'pose it's good morning for you, eh?" "Good afternoon, Mrs. Beale." "Your letter come?" "Not yet." "The first of the month isn't far off." "Yes indeed, Mrs. Beale." At the subway station he considered a moment before answering the attendant: one token or two? Two, he decided. After all, he had no choice but to return to his apartment. The first of the month was still a long way off. —If Jean Valjean had had a charge account, he would have never gone to prison. Having thus cheered himself, he settled down to enjoy the ads in the subway car. Smoke. Try. Eat. Give. See. Drink. Use. Buy. He thought of Alice with her mushrooms: Eat me. At 34th Street he got off and entered Underwood's Department Store directly from the train platform. On the main floor he stopped at the cigar stand and bought a carton of cigarettes. "Cash or charge?" "Charge." He handed the clerk the laminated plastic card. The charge was rung up. · · · · · |
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