Fo'castle Waltz

Начало книги

NOW, WHY SHOULD A FAT, SOFT GUY WITH GLASSES BE WAITING for (believe it or not) a Brooklyn streetcar at six o'clock on a brilliant, hot July morning? That's what I asked myself as I leaned against a cast-iron lamppost still warm from yesterday's sun. And as I idly squinted up the sun-slashed street I found my answer in the fear-widened eyes of a flapper kitten who had backed herself into the corner of a building as a protection from a lecherous old tomcat.

There were many answers why I was taking the trolley, if it ever came along, to that Bay Ridge dock to board the freighter, the S.S. Hermanita. For one, there had been some dame. I knew that wasn't the real reason for sticking my neck out. I had no feeling left for her; for these past six months I'd been stretching my emotional concern. Besides, I'd been reading a lot of Conrad and Melville lately that should have acted as an antidote for this kind of adventure—the men I'd read about were hard, competent people, hardly my type of schlemiel.

Читать дальше →