"Вуди Гасри. Bound for glory (engl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

but the colored boy run and managed to stay on his feet.
I made a run for the door of the same boxcar again, and put my hand
down on an iron bolt and tried to run along with the train and swing myself
up again. Men's hands reached out the door trying to grab me and help me in,
but my guitar was going wild and I had to drop my hold on the bolt and trot
off to the edge of the cinders. I was giving up all hopes of getting back
in, when I looked behind me and saw my colored partner gripping onto the
iron ladder on the end of the car. Holding the ladder with one hand, he was
waving his other one in the air and yelling, "Pass me yo' guitah!"
As he went by me I got a running start on the cinders and held the
guitar up to him. He caught it by the neck and clumb up onto the roof of the
car. I swung the ladder and went over the top just at his heels.
"Hurry on up heah! You wanta see dat fella in th' lake?"
He pointed back down along the string of cars picking up speed again.
"Off at d' side of dat little clump of trees there, there! Wadin' out
yondah? See 'im? See! Boy, I bet you dat dip sobered i'm up!"
Both of us was standing side by side propping each other up. The roof
of the car moved and bounced rougher than the floor inside.
The Negro friend grinned over at me with the sun in his eyes. He still
hadn't lost his little greasy brown cap and was holding it down on his head
while the wind made a few grabs at it.
"Whoooee! Dat wuz a close one! Boy, you set fo' a good fas' ride on
top? Sho' ain't no way gettin' back down inside dat cah when this roller
gits ridin' ag'in!"
I squatted down cross-legged and took hold of the boards on the runwalk
on top of the car. He laid down with his hands folded back of his head. We
laughed at the way our faces looked with the cement all over them, and our
eyes watering. The black coal dust from the locomotive made us look like
white ghosts with black eyes. Lips chapped and cracked from the long ride in
the hot sun and hard wind.
"Smell dat cool aih?"
"Smells clean. Don't it? Healthy!"
"Me 'n' you's sho' in fo' a soakin', ourselves!"
"Makes ya think?"
"I knows. Boy, up heah in dis lake country, it c'n cloud up an' rain in
two seconds flush!"
"Ain't no rain cloud I can see!"
"Funny thing 'bout dese Minnesoty rain clouds. Evah cloud's a rain
cloud!"
"Gonna go hard on my guitar." I played a few little notes without
really noticing what I was doing. The air turned off cooler as we rolled
along. A second later I looked up and saw two kids crawl from an open-top
car just behind us: a tall skinny one about fifteen, and a little scrawny
runt that couldn't be over ten or eleven. They had on Boy Scout looking
clothes. The older one carried a pack on his back, and the little kid had a
sweater with the sleeves tied together slung around his neck.
"Hiyez, men?" The tall one saluted and dumped his pack down a couple of
feet from us.
The little feller hunched down and set picking his teeth with a rusty
pocket knife, talking, "Been wid 'er long?"