Voices

Начало книги

a theater of gravitation. In school they teach us to believe what we hear. Then they tell us to speak clearly.

::::::::::::::::::::

I found Jacob hiding in that place he always hung out. He had dirt on his hands and more dirt on his hair. His shoulders shook, and he pressed deeper into the corner, back here where it smelled like shit, where the spiders were. He told me to be quiet and get down, it isn’t safe. I got down.

"What’s going on?"

He shook. Getting down. I didn’t care to know. From the distance came pounding feet, wind and breath, sweat, dust, eyes and hands. He shook, fearing. I asked if he was okay, but he didn’t know how to answer. A cardboard box rolled over: stained, covered in creases. It made a sound and he jumped, hugging the dumpster.

"How many are there?"

He made fingers. Five. Wouldn’t tell me what he'd done, but I already knew. I asked if he could stand. He couldn’t, but I forced him. I handed him a pipe. The pipe didn’t look quite right when he held it (shaking, knobby, he wasn’t breathing well), but that was fine too.

Читать дальше →