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

little windburnt, sunbaked brats had mounted the top of our car and were
caught in the cloudburst like drowned rats. Men fighting against men. Color
against color. Kin against kin. Race pushing against race. And all of us
battling against the wind and the rain and that bright crackling lightning
that booms and zooms, that bathes his eyes in the white sky, wrestles a
river to a standstill, and spends the night drunk in a whorehouse.
What's that hitting me on the back of the head? Just bumping my head
against the roof of the car. Hey! Goddam you! Who th' hell do you think
you're a hittin', mister? What are you, anyhow, a dam bully? You cain't push
that woman around! What's all of these folks in jail for? Believing in
people? Where'd all of us come from? What did we do wrong? You low-down cur,
if you hit me again, I'll tear your head off!
My eyes closed tight, quivering till they exploded like the rain when
the lightning dumped a truckload of thunder down along the train. I was
whirling and floating and hugging the little runt around the belly, and my
brain felt like a pot of hot lead bubbling over a flame. Who's all of these
crazy men down there howling out at each other like hyenas? Are these men?
Who am I? How come them here? How the hell come me here? What am I supposed
to do here?
My ear flat against the tin roof soaked up some music and singing
coming from down inside of the car:

This train don't carry no rustlers,
Whores, pimps, or side-street hustlers;
This train is bound for glory, This train.

Can I remember? Remember back to where I was this morning? St. Paul.
Yes. The morning before? Bismarck, North Dakota. And the morning before
that? Miles City, Montana. Week ago, I was a piano player in Seattle.

Who's this kid? Where's he from and where's he headed for? Will he be
me when he grows up? Was I like him when I was just his size? Let me
remember. Let me go back. Let me get up and walk back down the road I come.
This old hard rambling and hard graveling. This old chuck-luck traveling. My
head ain't working right.
Where was I?
Where in the hell was I?
Where was I when I was a kid? Just as far, far, far back, on back, as I
can remember?
Strike, lightning, strike!
Strike, Goddam you, strike!
There's lots of folks that you cain't hurt!
Strike, lightning!
See if I care! .
Roar and rumble, twist and turn, the sky ain't never as crazy as the
world.
Bound for glory? This train? Ha!
I wonder just where in the hell we're bound.
Rain on, little rain, rain on!
Blow on, little wind, keep blowin'!