All Flesh is Grass читать онлайн

Maybe, I thought, he had made another touch or two, waiting to start drinking until he had cash enough to really hang one on.

“Stiffy,” I said sharply, “what the hell's the matter?”

Опять нализался. Пьян вдрызг, в стельку, и как он умудрился допиться до такого состояния на тот мой несчастный доллар? А может, он сперва выпросил и еще у двоих или троих, чтобы уж сразу налакаться всласть?

— Грант,  — зло повторил я,  — какого черта?

I was plenty sore at him. He could get plastered as often as he liked and it was all right with me, but he had no right to come busting in on me.

Stiffy moaned again, then he fell out of the chair and sprawled untidily on the floor. Something that clattered and jangled flew out of the pocket of his ragged jacket and skidded across the worn-out linoleum.

Я обозлился всерьез. Пусть его пьет, сколько влезет, это не моя забота, но по какому праву он врывается ко мне в дом?

Шкалик опять простонал, свалился с табурета и нелепой кучей тряпья шмякнулся на пол.

Что-то выпало из кармана его драной куртки, забренчало, зазвенело и покатилось по истертому линолеуму.

I got down on my knees and tugged and hauled at him and got him straightened out. I turned him over on his back. His face was splotched and puffy and his breath was jerky, but there was no smell of liquor. I bent close over him in an effort to make certain, and there was no smell of booze.

“Brad?” he mumbled. “Is that you, Brad?”

Я опустился на колени и с немалым трудом кое-как перевернул пьянчугу на спину, физиономия у него была распухшая, вся в багровых пятнах, дыхание неровное, прерывистое, но перегаром от него не пахло.

Не веря себе, я наклонился пониже  — нет, он явно трезвый!

— Брэд!  — пробормотал он.  — Это ты, Брэд?

“Yes,” I told him. “You can take it easy now. I'll take care of you.”

“It's getting close,” he whispered. “The time is coming dose.”

“What is getting close?”

— Я, я, не волнуйся. Сейчас я тебе помогу.

— Уже скоро,  — зашептал он.

  — Времени в обрез.

— Что скоро?

But he couldn't answer. He had a wheezing fit. He worked his jaws, but no words came out. They tried to come, but he choked and strangled on them.

I left him and ran into the living-room and turned on the light beside the telephone. I pawed, all fumble-fingered, through the directory, to find Doc Fabian's number. I found it and dialled and waited while the phone rang on and on.

Но он не ответил. Его одолел приступ удушья.