"Чарльз Буковски. Бутерброд с дерьмом (engl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

There were continual fights. The teachers didn't seem to know anything
about them. And there was always trouble when it rained. Any boy who brought
an umbrella to school or wore a raincoat was singled out. Most of our
parents were too poor to buy us such things. And when they did, we hid them
in the bushes. Anybody seen carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat was
considered a sissy. They were beaten after school. David's mother had him
carry an umbrella whenever it was the least bit cloudy.
There were two recess periods. The first graders gathered at their own
baseball diamond and the teams were chosen. David and I stood together. It
was always the same. I was chosen next to last and David was chosen last, so
we always played on different teams. David was worse than I was. With his
crossed eyes, he couldn't even see the hall. I needed lots of practice. I
had never played with the kids in the neighborhood. I didn't know how to
catch a hall or how to hit one. But I wanted to, I liked it. David was
afraid of the ball, I wasn't. I swung hard, I swung harder than anybody but
I could never hit the ball. I always struck out. Once I fouled a hall off.
That felt good. Another time I drew a walk. When I got to first, the first
baseman said, "That's the only way you'll ever get here." I stood and looked
at him. He was chewing gum and he had long black hairs coming out of his
nostrils. His hair was thick with vaseline. He wore a perpetual sneer.
"What arc you looking at?" he asked me. I didn't know what to say. I
wasn't used to conversation.
"The guys say you're crazy," he told me, "but you don't scare me. I'll
be waiting for you after school some day."

I kept looking at him. He had a terrible face. Then the pitcher wound
up and I broke for second. I ran like crazy and slid into second. The ball
arrived late. I he tag was late.
"You're out!" screamed the boy whose turn it was to umpire. I
got up, not believing it.
"I said, YOU'RE OUT!"' the umpire screamed. Then I knew that I was not
accepted. David and I were not accepted. I he others wanted me "out" because
I was supposed to be "out." They knew David and I were friends. It
was because of David that I wasn't wanted. As I walked off the diamond I saw
David playing third base in his knickers. His blue and yellow stockings had
fallen down around his feet. Why had he chosen me? I was a marked man. That
afternoon after school I quickly left class and walked home alone, without
David. I didn't want to watch him beaten again by our classmates or by his
mother. I didn't want to listen to his sad violin. But the next day at lunch
time, when he sat down next to me I ate his potato chips.
My day came. I was tall and I felt very powerful at the plate. I
couldn't believe that I was as bad as they wished me to be. I swung wildly
but with force. I knew I was strong, and maybe like they said, "crazy." But
I had this feeling inside of me that something real was there. Just hardened
shit, maybe, hut that was more than they had. I was up at bat. "Hey, it's
the STRIKEOUT KING! MR. WINDMILL!" The ball arrived. I swung and I felt the
bat connect like I had wanted it to do for so long. The hall went up, up and
HIGH, into left held, 'way OVER the left holder's head. His name was Don
Brubaker and he stood and watched it fly over his head. It looked like it
was never going to come down. Then Brubaker started running after the ball.