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

Heavy split through the car knocking men out of his way hollering,
"Hey! Cut it! Cut!"
"You fat pimp, keep outta dis!" A dirty-looking, dark-complected man
was pulling a little oily cap down over his eyes and making for Heavy.
Heavy grabbed him by the throat and busted the back of his head up
against the wall about a dozen times cussing, "I'll teach you that you
cain't call no decent man a pimp! You snaky-looking hustler!"
All down the line it started and spread, "You said I wouldn't work fer
my livin', huh? I'll bat your eyes out!"
"Who wuz it yez called da loafer?"
Shirts and pants ripped and it sounded like everybody was getting their
duds tore off them.
"I didn't lak ya dam looks frum da very start!"
Five and then ten other couples dove in.
"Where's that low-life bastid that called me a bum?"
Men walked up and down the car pushing other men off of their feet,
heaving others to one side, looking at the few that was still riding along
on the floor.
"They're goin' an' blowin'!"
'There ye air, ye foul-mouth cur, you!"
I saw six or eight reaching down and grabbing others by their shirt
collars, jerking them to the middle of the floor. Fists sailing in the air
so fast I couldn't see which fist was whose.
"I knowed you was nuthin' but a lousy chiselin' snake when I first seen
yuh climb on this train! Fight! Goddam yuh! Fight!"
Shoe soles cracked all around over the car and heads banged against the
walls. Dust flew up in the air as if somebody was dumping it in with trucks.
'I'm a tramp, am I?"
Men's heads bobbed around in the dust like balloons floating on the
ocean. Most everybody shut their eyes and gritted their teeth and swung wild
haymakers up from the cement and men flattened out on the floor. Water
bottles flew through the air and I could see a few flashes that I knew was
pocketknife blades. Lots of the men jerked other men's coats up over their
heads to where they couldn't see nor use their arms, and they fought the air
like windmills, blind as bats. A hard fist knocked a fellow stumbling
through the dust. He waved his hands trying to keep balanced, then fell,
spilling all kinds of junk and trash out of his pockets over five or six
other men trying to keep out of the fight. For every man who got knocked
down, three more jumped up and roared through the mob taking sidelicks at
any head that popped up.
"Boy!" My colored friend was shaking his head and looking worried. "You
sho' as hell bettah not git yo' music box mixed up in dis!"
"I've got kicked in th' back about nine times. 'Nother good poke an'
I'll sail plumb out this door inta one of them there lakes!" I was fighting
to get myself braced again. "Here, let's me an' you hook our arms together
so we can hold each other in th' dam car!" I clamped my hands together in
front of me holding the guitar on my lap. "Be hell of a thing if a feller
was ta git knocked outta this dern boxcar goin' this pace, wouldn't it? Roll
a week. Hey! Look! Tram's slowin' down."
"Believe she is at that." He squinted his eyes up and looked down the