"Burial at sea 1961" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Hunter S)

Sobbing with pain and frustration, he groped in his shaving kit for the razor. It took him several minutes to sever the half-inch rope. He cut himself several times before the rope finally parted.

He shoved away, leaving bloody fingerprints on the Sebastian's hull. His hands hurt so badly that he could barely row, and his groans floated across the dark water.

When he got to the pier he climbed out of the dingy and shoved it away, hoping some wandering tide would carry it out to sea. He stood there and looked out at the boat, a long ghostly shape several hundred yards away. Then, for a brief instant, he thought he saw a light - maybe a match, or a cigarette lighter. It enraged him to think they'd been standing there on the deck, watching him row away and listening to his groans. "You bastards!" he screamed, waving his fist in the air. "You rotten bastards! You scum!"

He heard his voice echo around the harbor and waited for a reply. When none came, he jerked his suitcase off the pier and hurried past the yacht club to the dark street.

There were no cars on the road to the city and he walked for more than an hour. Finally, numb with exhaustion, he collapsed in a field beside the road and slept until morning.

A Negro driving a bakery truck gave him a ride into the city the next day and he took a cab to the airport. By noon he was o his way to New York. He would be there in a few hours, then change planes for Cleveland. According to his ticket, he would be home by nine-thirty that night.

by
Hunter S. Thompson