emb.seethemdie-第14部分

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　The　whistles　that　came　from　Zip　and　Cooch　did　not　help　her　at　all。　She　suddenly　clutched　at　the　small　red　jacket　in　an　attempt　to　close　it　over　her　thrusting　breasts。　The　boys　whistled　again；　and　Jeff　turned　to　watch　the　girl；　fascinated　by　the　tautness　of　the　yellow　skirt　and　the　bobble　of　her　backside。　The　girl　began　walking　faster；　just　as　lost；　just　as　confused；　and　the　whistles　followed　her　up　the　street　until　she　was　out　of　sight。
　Zip　began　laughing。
　And　then　his　laughter　stopped　when　he　realized　the　sailor　was　laughing　too。
　〃What　was　that？〃　Jeff　asked。
　〃Argh；　a　Marine　Tiger；〃　Luis　said。
　〃A　what？〃
　〃Marine　Tiger。　Fresh　from　the　island；　her　first　day　here　probably。　Marine　Tiger。　That　was　the　name　of　one　of　the　first　boats　to　take　Puerto　Rican　immigrants　to　the　mainland。〃
　〃Boy；　that　was　really　something；〃　Jeff　said。
　〃Did　you　see　that　hair？〃　Luis　waved　his　hands　around　his　head　in　demonstration。　〃And　now　she'll　ride　the　subway；　and　everyone　will　think　all　Puerto　Ricans　are　like　her。〃　He　shook　his　head。　〃I　need　more　soup　out　here；〃　he　said　vaguely　and　went　into　the　back　of　the　shop。
　〃I　wouldn't　have　minded　dumping　her　on　her　back；　huh；　sailor？〃　Zip　said。
　〃Well；　she's　not　exactly　my　type；〃　Jeff　said。　He　turned　back　to　the　counter。　He　did　not　like　talking　to　this　boy；　and　he　did　not　wish　to　encourage　a　friendship　which；　now　that　he　was　sober　and　now　that　he　had　met　China；　seemed　hardly　necessary。
　〃Not　your　type；　huh？〃　Zip　said。　〃What's　the　matter？　You　don't　like　Spanish　girls？〃
　〃I　didn't　say　that。〃
　Zip　lighted　a　cigarette　and　blew　out　a　stream　of　smoke。　He　considered　his　next　words　carefully。　He　did　not　know　why；　but　the　sailor　was　beginning　to　annoy　him　immensely。　At　one　and　the　same　time；　he　wanted　the　sailor　to　desire　a　Spanish　girl；　and　yet　wanted　him　to　have　nothing　to　do　with　a　Spanish　girl。　The　conflict　disturbed　him。　He　frowned　as　he　began　speaking。
　〃I've　got　a　few　minutes　to　kill。　You　still　interested　in　a　girl；　I　can　fix　you　up　with　something　real　nice。〃
　〃I'm　not　interested；〃　Jeff　said。
　〃No？〃　The　frown　got　deeper。　〃Why　not？　You　got　something　against　Puerto　Rican　girls？〃
　〃No。　I'm　just　not　interested　any　more。〃
　〃What'd　you　e　up　here　for？　A　girl；　right？〃
　〃That's　right；〃　Jeff　said。
　His　answer　angered　Zip。　〃So　why　won't　you　let　me　get　you　one？〃
　〃I　told　you。　I'm　not　interested　any　more。〃
　〃Then　why　are　you　hanging　around　here？〃
　〃That's　my　business；〃　Jeff　said　curtly。
　〃If　you　ain't　interested　any　more；　why　don't　you　get　out　of　the　neighborhood？〃
　〃You　ask　a　lot　of　questions；〃　Jeff　said。
　〃Yeah；　that's　right。　What　about　it？〃
　〃Suppose　you　answer　one；〃　Jeff　said。
　〃I　don't　have　to　an…〃
　〃Why'd　you　pass　out　those　guns？〃
　Zip's　eyes　opened　wide。　〃What？〃
　〃You　handed　an　arsenal　to　those　two　kids。　Who　do　you　plan　on　shooting？〃
　They　sat　side　by　side　on　adjacents　stools；　Jeffs　fists　bunched　on　the　counter；　Zip's　eyes　narrowing　as　the　sailor's　words　penetrated。　The　other　boys；　with　the　exception　of　Sixto；　had　moved　away　from　the　jukebox；　and　advanced　towards　their　leader。
　〃You　got　big　eyes；　Grandma；〃　Zip　said；　as　he　suddenly　struck　Jeff　full　in　the　face　with　his　closed　fist。　Jeff；　surprised　by　the　blow；　tried　to　maintain　his　balance　on　the　stool；　realized　intuitively　that　it　would　be　a　mistake　to　fall；　a　mistake　to　be　on　the　ground。　He　clutched　for　the　counter　top；　but　the　imbalance　was　plete　and　his　hand　slid　over　the　Formica　top　as　he　went　over　and　back；　his　foot　hooked　into　the　stool's　rung；　the　asphalt　tile　floor　ing　up　to　meet　his　back。　He　caught　the　force　of　the　fall　with　his　shoulder　blades；　snapping　his　head　so　that　it　wouldn't　collide　with　the　floor。　He　was　struggling　to　get　his　foot　free　of　the　rung　when　the　first　kick　exploded　against　the　side　of　his　head。
　He　brought　up　his　hands　instinctively；　trying　to　free　his　foot；　squirming　to　get　his　foot　loose　from　this　ridiculously　foolish　position；　and　the　second　kick　caught　him　in　the　rib　cage；　and　he　felt　all　the　breath　in　his　body　escape　from　his　mouth　in　a　grunt；　and　then　another　kick　caught　the　side　of　his　neck；　and　now　the　kicks　were　ing　with　methodical　precision　and　his　foot　was　still　hooked　into　that　goddamn　rung；　a　boot　connected　with　his　right　eye　and　he　felt　shocking；　stabbing　pain　and　then　the　warmth　of　blood　and　he　thought　I'm　going　to　be　kicked　to　death　on　the　floor　of　this　goddamn　luncheonette　and　then　he　heard　Luis　shouting；　〃What　are　you　doing？　Bastards；　what　are　you　doing？〃　And　above　that；　or　beyond　it；　around　it；　circling　it；　filling　the　air；　the　high　penetrating　wail　of　a　police　siren。
　
　
　
　8
　
　Hernandez　had　seen　this　apartment　before；　had　been　inside　it。　Not　this　one；　exactly；　but　countless　others　like　it　in　buildings　of　the　precinct　This　could　have　been　the　very　apartment　he　had　lived　in　as　a　boy。
　The　front　door　opened　into　the　kitchen。　There　was　the　usual　police　lock；　the　first　plate　screwed　to　the　door；　the　second　plate　embedded　in　the　floor；　and　the　unbending　steel　bar　which；　when　wedged　into　its　triangular　place　between　the　two；　made　forcible　entry　impossible。　A　window　was　at　the　far　end　of　the　kitchen。　It　opened　on　the　interior　shaftway　of　the　tenement。　There　was　linoleum　on　the　kitchen　floor；　a　spatter　pattern。　It　had　been　scrubbed　clean　but　left　unwaxed。　It　had　worn　through　in　patches　near　the　door；　the　icebox；　and　the　stove。　A　white　enamel…topped　table　was　on　the　wall　opposite　the　stove。　A　picture　of　Jesus　in　supplication　was　above　the　table。　The　walls　were　painted　a　pale　green；　but　the　grime　of　countless　meals　in　preparation　had　worn　itself　into　the　walls　so　that　the　green　seemed　darker；　bile…like。　The　paint；　too；　was　beginning　to　flake　off　in　several　places　on　the　walls　and　on　the　ceiling。　A　toaster　was　on　the　table。　A　plastic　shield　covered　it。　The　room　seemed　shoddy　but　clean。　It　was　a　room　he　remembered　well。
　On　winter　days；　when　he　was　a　boy；　he　would　sit　on　the　floor　by　the　stove；　playing　with　his　soldiers　on　the　clean　worn　linoleum。　His　mother　had　miraculously　managed　to　cook　her　meals　with　him　underfoot。　The　smells　of　arroz　con　potto　would　fill　the　kitchen；　and　it　was　cozy　by　the　stove　where　he　endowed　each　of　his　metal　men　with　a　personality　and　an　identity。　There　was　warmth　in　the　kitchen　of　the　Hernandez　home；　warmth　from　the　stove　and　the　smell　of　cooking　food；　warmth　in　the　gentle　voice　of　his　mother　as　she　went　about　her　work；　warmth　in　the　monologues　the　boy　Frankie　addressed　to　the　metal　men　surrounding　him。
　There　was　no　warmth　in　the　Gomez　kitchen　on　that　day　in　July；　no　warmth　but　the　suffocating　heat　of　summer。　Outside；　they　could　hear　the　wail　of　the　siren。　Mrs。　Gomez　went　to　the　window　and　closed　it。　The　sound　withdrew。
　〃Always　fires；〃　she　said。　〃Always　the　sirens。　Never　a　day　without　a　fire。〃　She　shook　her　head。　〃And　it's　worse　in　the　winter。〃
　〃Where's　the　boy？〃　Hernandez　asked。
　〃In　the　bedroom。　Frankie；　please　go　easy　with　him。　This　thing　he　is　in；　it　is　great　trouble。　But。。。　he　is　hard　to　know。〃
　〃I'll　go　easy；〃　Hernandez　said。
　She　led　him　through　the　apartment；　into　the　〃parlor〃　furnished　with　a　three…piece　living…room　suite；　a　television　set；　a　floor　lamp；　the　fixture　in　the　ceiling　boasting　three　light　bulbs　of　different　colors。　When　he　was　a　boy；　he　had　done　his　homework　in　the　parlor；　stretched　out　on　the　floor。　There　had　been　no　television　in　those　days。　In　those　days；　the　〃William　Tell　Overture〃　had　announced　the　arrival　of　the　Lone　Ranger。　In　those　days；　there　was　Omar　the　Mystic；　and　The　Witch's　Tale；　and　Renfrew　of　the　Mounted；　and；　of　course；　on　Sundays　…　the　Shadow。　He　had　grown　up　with　the　idea　that　Lament　Cranston　was　the　most　glorious　name　in　the　entire　world。　He　now　laughed　whenever　anyone　mentioned　it　and　yet；　despite　his　sophisticated　laughter；　the　name　still　touched　a　core　of　envy　and　awe　somewhere　deep　within　him。　Lamont　Cranston　…　the　Shadow。　Memories　of　a　boy；　the　howl　of　a　wolf　and　then　the　words；　〃Rennnnnnn…frew　offfffff　the　Mounnnnnnn…ted；〃　Dick　Tracy　every　afternoon　at　…　five　was　it？　…　five…fifteen？　…　milk　on　the　kitchen　table　and　chocolate…covered　graham　crackers；　the　memories　of　a　boy。　And　now；　the　same　living…room；　called　a　〃parlor〃　as　it　was　in　Puerto　Rico；　the　same　colored