"Чарльз Буковски. Бутерброд с дерьмом (engl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

down. "Get up and fight him, Billy,"
said Stanley Greenberg. Stanley lifted Billy up and pushed him toward
me. I punched Billy in the mouth and he grabbed his mouth with both hands.
"O.K.," said Stanley, "I'll take his place!"
The boys cheered. I decided to run, I didn't want to die. But then a
teacher came up. "What's going on here?" It was Mr. Hall.
"Henry picked on Billy," said Stanley Greenberg.
"Is that right, boys?" asked Mr. Hall.
"Yes," they said.
Mr. Hall took me by the ear all the way to the principal's office. He
pushed me into a chair in front of an empty desk and then knocked on the
principal's door. He was in there for some time and when he came out he left
without looking at me. I sat there five or ten minutes before the principal
came out and sat behind the desk. He was a very dignified man with a mass of
white hair and a blue bow tie. He looked like a real gentleman. His name was
Mr. Knox. Mr. Knox folded his hands and looked at me without speaking. When
he did that I was not so sure that he was a gentleman. He seemed to want to
humble me, treat me like the others.
"Well," he said at last, "tell me what happened."
"Nothing happened."
"You hurt that boy, Billy Sherril. His parents are going to want to
know why."
I didn't answer.
"Do you think you can take matters into your own hands when something
happens you don't like?"
"No."
"Then why did you do it?"
I didn't answer.
"Do you think you're better than other people?"
"No."

Mr. Knox sat there. He had a long letter opener and he slid it hack and
forth on the green felt padding of the desk. He had a large bottle of green
ink on his desk and a pen holder with four pens. I wondered if he would beat
me.
"Then why did you do what you did?"
I didn't answer. Mr. Knox slid the letter opener back and forth. The
phone rang. He picked it up.
"Hello? Oh, Mrs. Kirby? He what? What? Listen, can't you
administer the discipline? I'm busy now. All right, I'll phone you when
I'm done with this one . . ."
He hung up. He brushed his fine white hair back out of his eyes with
one hand and looked at me.
"Why do you cause me all this trouble?"
I didn't answer him.
"You think you're tough, huh?"
I kept silent.
"Tough kid, huh?"
There was a fly circling Mr. Knox's desk. It hovered over his green ink
bottle. Then it landed on the black cap of the ink bottle and sat there