[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
bottle with obvious belligerence, and making sucking noises with his thick lips, drained it
completely.
He threw back his head, closed his eyes, and belched ferociously. He belched again, and opening
his eyes, threw the bottle out through the open door.
"Well, now," he said, and reached into his pocket. "I didn't know I was gonna have company in this
box."
"We're going to Philadelphia," Kitty said, pulling her skirt down around her legs all the more.
"No, I don't think so," said the big man, and it was the final clincher for Ernie. He had
suspected this guy was trouble, and now he was sure of it, with the first verbal assurance the man
had given.
"Maybe you and me will, girlie, but these two bums ain't goin' nowhere but out that door."
He advanced on them, and abruptly there was a shocked electricity in the car. Ernie was screaming
inside himself: No, damn you, you ain't gonna take my meal ticket away from me! I been milkin' 'em
for fifty miles. Get outta here, you lousy sonofabitch!
Usurpation on the high road. He had planned to boot the guy out the door in a few miles when they
got to the next little town. That way he wouldn't have far to walk to get to civilization, but far
enough so they would be near Philly and he could have enjoyed himself at his leisure with the
broad. But now this! Damn you!
The newcomer stalked toward them, and Kitty shied back, her hand to her mouth. Her scream split up
the silence of the car, accompanied by the rattling of the freight, and then Cappy came off the
floor, his legs driving him hard. The kid hit the bigger man with an audible thwump! and carried
him backward in a linebacker's tackle. They went down in a heap amid the pig scum, and for a long
minute there was nothing to see but flailing arms and legs.
The kid showed for an instant, and his arm was cocked back. The fist went down into the pile of
flesh, and Ernie heard the bigger man's deep voice: "Aaawww!"
Then they were tumbling again, and the big man reached into the same pocket he had gone for
earlier, and came up with a vicious switchblade.
He held the knife aloft an instant--an instant enough to press the stud. The blade came out with a
snick; he fisted the knife overhand, and drew back to plunge it into the kid's throat.
Kitty screamed insanely, over and over again, and her face was white as maggot's flesh. She
grabbed at Feathertop's sleeve and shrieked in his ear, "Help him! Help him! Do something!"
Do? Do? Feathertop Ernie Cargill was plastered to the cotton bales with fright. He wasn't gonna do
a thing. It was the kid's fight. He should of known better than to bring a girl on the freights.
It was his own--
The kid grabbed the wrist as it came down, bringing the rusty death with it, and he twisted the
arm back back back as far as he could. The big man was off-balance, and at that instant the train
hit a curve. The big man fell over, and the kid was on top of him. In one flashing, lightning
movement Cappy had the knife in his own hand, and he did not hesitate.
He brought it up and down and up and down again, and there was red on the blade, and red on the
big man's shirt, and red on his chest, and red on the floorboards.
Kitty shrieked maddeningly, and fainted.
The kid got off the corpse, and dropped the knife with stunned disbelief. "He--he's d-dead.
"OhmiGod ..." the kid murmured. "Who'll believe me? I been in trouble before, but never like this.
What'll I do?"
Kitty moaned, and the kid rushed to her side, cradling her head in his lap. "Kitty, we--we gotta
get outta here ... we gotta get away before we get to a town or someth--"
"We're in a town now." Ernie pointed to the rail yards that had taken form around them. His hand
froze where it was pointing. It was aimed dead at a railroad switchman who was staring in at them
through the open door of the boxcar, who was cupping his hands, who was screeching at a group of
gandy dancers farther down the tracks. The men glanced at the freight train slowing to a stop, and
they began hopping the tracks, running for the boxcar in a group.
"Rail dicks!" Ernie screamed, and leaped to run.
The kid was rocking back and forth with Kitty's head in his lap, whispering, "Good-bye, honey,
file:///F|/rah/Harlan%20Ellison/Ellison,%20Harlan%20-%20Love%20Ain't%20Nothing.txt (36 of 148) [1/15/03 6:37:33 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Harlan%20Ellison/Ellison,%20Harlan%20-%20Love%20Ain't%20Nothing.txt
good-bye ..."
Ernie stopped as he pulled open the sliding door on the other side of the boxcar. He stopped, and
a strange feeling came over him. He looked at the kids, and memories crowded in on him. He
remembered Midge, and the child, and the years in the bands, and all the freights and all the
booze, and there was a choking in his throat.
He bent down and lifted the knife from the floor. He wiped the handle--but not the blade--clean on
his jacket, and then gripped it firmly.
Stooping, he lifted the boy by his underarms, and stood him on his feet. Then he helped Kitty to
rise.
"Go out the other door, and don't stop running till you're a long ways from here. You understand?"
"But I--" Cappy began, looking from Ernie to the body of the big man.
"Go on!" Ernie hit him in the arm. "Go on, and be good to her! You stupid son of a bitch!" He
shoved them toward the open door on the opposite side of the boxcar, and as the train came to a
shuddering halt, they leaped free, and ran off across the rail yards.
The yard bulls and linemen were running up to the boxcar as Ernie sat down on the cotton bales.
It wasn't so bad. He could holler self-defense. It might be okay. But either way, his time had
passed. He was a young man, but so old, and so tired. It wouldn't of been right for them kids. Not
right at all.
Some people are meant to ride the dark train out, and others not. That's the way it's got to be.
He pushed the feathery hair from his eyes.
He was tired, and the dead guy had polished off the last of the Sweet Lucy, damn him. And he
smelled of pig shit. But not permanently.
--Elizabethtown, Kentucky, 1959
VALERIE: A TRUE MEMOIR
Here's one I think you'll like. In this one I come off looking like a schmuck, and don't we all
love stories in which the invincible hero, the all-knowing savant, the omnipotent smartass is
condignly flummoxed? It's about Valerie.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]