"Thompson, Jim - Pop. 1280" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

"I guess not," I said. "I'm kind of out of the mood."
"We-el. Maybe, I could get you back in the mood. Hmmmm?"
I said I guessed not. Anyways, I had to catch a train, and I'd have to grab a bite to eat first.
"Nick," she said, sort of nervous-like. "You--you wouldn't do anything foolish, would you?Just because you're angry with me."
"No, I wouldn't," I told her. "No more'n you would, Myra."
"Well. Have a nice day, dear."
"The same to you ma'am," I said. And then I went on downstairs, into the courthouse proper, and out the front door.
I almost took a header as I came out into the dusky haze of early morning. Because the danged place was being painted, and the painters had left their ladders and cans scattered all over everywhere. Out on the sidewalk, I looked back to see what kind of progress they'd been making. The way it looked to me, they hadn't made hardly any at all in the last two, three days--they were still working on the upper front floor--but that wasn't none of my butt-in.
I could have painted the whole building myself in three days. But I wasn't a county commissioner, and I didn't have a painting contractor for a brother-in-law.
Some colored folks had a cook-shack down near the railway station, and I stopped there and ate a plate of corn bread and fried catfish. I was too upset to eat a real meal; too worried about my worries. So I just ate the one plateful, and then! bought another order with a cup of chicory to take on the train with me.
The train came and I got on. I got a seat next to the window, and began to eat. Trying to tell myself that I'd really got Myra told off this morning and that she'd be a lot easier to get along with from now on.
But I knew I was kidding myself.
We'd had showdowns like the one this morning a lot of times. She'd threaten what she was going to do to me, and I'd point out that she had plenty to lose herself. And then things would be a little better for a while--but not really better. Nothing that really mattered was any better.
It wasn't, you see, because it wasn't a fair stand-off between me and her.
She had the edge, and when things came to a showdown, she knew I'd back away.
Sure, she couldn't lose me my job without being a loser herself. She'd have to leave town, her and her low-down half-wit of a brother, and it'd probably be a danged long time before she had it as nice as she had it with me. Probably she'd never have it as nice.
But she _could_ get by.
She'd have _something_.
But me . . .
All I'd ever done was sheriffin'. It was all I could do. Which was just another way of saying that all I could do was nothing. And if I wasn't sheriff, I wouldn't have nothing or be nothing.
It was a kind of hard fact to face--that I was just a nothing doing nothing. And that brought up something else for me to worry about. The worry that maybe I could lose my job without Myra saying or doing anything.
Because I'd begun to suspect lately that people weren't quite satisfied with me. That they expected me to do a little something instead of just grinning and joking and looking the other way. And me, I just didn't quite know what to do about it.
The train took a curve and began to follow the river a ways. By craning my neck,! could see the unpainted sheds of the town whorehouse and the two men-- pimps--sprawled on the little wharf in front of the place. Those pimps had caused me a sight of trouble, a powerful sight of trouble. Only last week, they'd accidentally-on-purpose bumped me into the river, and a few days before they'd accidentally-on-purpose tripped me up in the mud. And the worst thing of all was the way they talked to me, calling me names and poking mean fun at me, and not showing me no respect at all like you'd naturally expect pimps to show a sheriff, even if he was shaking 'em down for a little money.
Something was going to have to be done about the pimps, I reckoned. Something plumb drastic.
I finished eating and went up to the men's lounge. I washed my hands and face at the sink, nodding to the fella that was sittin' on the long leather bench.
He wore a classy black-and-white checked suit, high-button shoes with spats and a white derby hat. He gave me a long slow look, letting his eyes linger for a moment on my pistol belt and gun. He didn't smile or say anything.
I nodded at the paper he was reading. "What do you think about them Bullshevicks?" I said. "You reckon they'll ever overthrow the Czar?" -
He grunted, still not saying anything. I sat down on the bench a few feet away from him.
The fact was, I wanted to relieve myself. But I wasn't sure that I ought to go on into the toilet. The door was unlocked swinging back and forth with the motion of the train, and it looked like it must be empty. Still, though, here this fella was, and maybe that's what he was waiting for. So even if the place was empty, it wouldn't be polite to go in ahead of him.
I waited a little while. I waited, squirming and fidgeting, until finally I couldn't wait any longer.
"Excuse me," I said. "Were you waiting to go to the toilet?"
He looked startled. Then ,he gave me a mean look, and spoke for the first time. "That's some of your business?"
"Of course not," I said. "I just wanted to go to the toilet, and I thought maybe you did, too. I mean, I thought maybe someone was already in there, and that's why you were waiting."
He glanced at the swinging door of the toilet; swinging wide now so that you could see the stool. He looked back at me, kind of bewildered and disgusted.
"For God's sake!" he said.
"Yes, sir?" I said. "I don't reckon there's anyone in there, do you?"
I didn't think he was going to answer me for a minute. But then he said, yeah, someone was in the toilet. "She just went in a little while ago. A naked woman on a spotted pony."
"Oh," I said. "But how come a woman's using the men's toilet?"
"On account of the pony," he said. "He had to take a leak, too."
"I can't see no one from here," I said. "It's funny I couldn't see 'em in a little place like that."
"You calling me a liar?" he said. "You saying a naked woman on a spotted pony ain't in there?"
I said, no, of course not. I wouldn't say nothing like that. "But I'm in kind of a hurry." I said. "Maybe I better go up to one of the other cars."
"Oh, no, you don't!" he said. "No one's calling me a liar and getting away with it!"
"I'm not," I said. "I didn't mean it that way at all. I just--"
"I'll show you! I'll show you I'm telling the truth! You're gonna sit right there until that woman and her pony comes out."
"But I gotta pee!" I said. "I mean, I really got to, sir."
"Well, you ain't leaving here," he said. "Not until you see I'm telling the truth."
Well, sir, I just didn't know what to do. I just didn't know. Maybe you would have, but I didn't.
All my life, I've been just as friendly and polite as a fella could be. I've always figured that if a fella was nice to everyone, why, they'd be nice to him. But it don't always work out that way. More often than not, it seems like, I wind up in a spot like! was in now. And I just don't know what to do.
Finally, when I was about to let go in my britches, the conductor came through taking up tickets, and I had a chance to get away. I tore out of there in such a hurry that it was maybe a minute before I could get the door open to the next car. And I heard a burst of laughter from the rest room behind me. They were laughing at me, I guess--the conductor and the man in the checked suit. But I'm kind of used to being laughed at, and anyway I didn't have time to think about it right then.