The Postman Always Rings Twice / Почтальон всегда звонит дважды. Джеймс КейнЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Then I saw her. She had been in the kitchen, but she came in to gather up my dishes. Except for the figure, she really wasn't any raving beauty[5], but her lips stuck out in a way that made me want to kiss them hard.

      “Meet my wife.”

      She didn't look at me and just went out with the dishes. I nodded at the Greek, and that was all. I left, then, but in five minutes I was back, to leave a message for the guy in the Cadillac. A half hour later, I was in the filling station, fixing flats[6].

      “What's your name, hey?”

      “Frank Chambers.”

      “Nick Papadakis, mine.”

      We shook hands, and he went. In a minute I heard him singing. He had a good voice.

      Chapter 2

      Soon a guy came along that was furious because somebody had pasted a sticker on his wind wing[7]. I had to go in the kitchen to clean it for him.

      “You got a cloth? That I can put to this thing?”

      “That's not what you meant.”

      “Sure it is.”

      “You think I'm Mex.”

      “Nothing like it.”

      “Yes, you do. You're not the first one. Well, get this. I'm just as white as you are, see? I may have dark hair and look a little that way, but I'm just as white as you are.”

      “Why, you don't look Mex.”

      “I'm telling you. I'm just as white as you are.”

      “No, you don't look even a little bit Mex. Those Mexican women, they all got big hips and legs and breasts up under their chin and yellow skin and hair that looks like it had bacon fat on it. You don't look like that. You're small, and got nice white skin, and your hair is soft and curly, even if it is black. Only thing you've got that's Mex is your teeth. They all got white teeth, you've got to hand that to them[8].”

      “My name was Smith before I was married. That don't sound much like a Mex, does it?”

      “Not much.”

      “What's more, I don't even come from around here.

      I come from Iowa[9].”

      “Smith, hey. What's your first name?”

      “Cora. You can call me that, if you want to.”

      I knew for certain, that her Greek husband made her feel she wasn't white, and she was even afraid I would begin calling her Mrs. Papadakis.

      “Cora. Sure. And how about calling me Frank?”

      She came over and began helping me with the wind wing. She was so close I could smell her. I said it right close to her ear, almost in a whisper. “How come you married this Greek[10], anyway?”

      She jumped like I had cut her with a whip. “Is that any of your business?”

      “Yeah. Plenty.”[11]

      “Here's your wind wing.”

      “Thanks.”

      I went out. I had what I wanted. From now on, it would be business between her and me. She might not say yes, but she wouldn't stop me. She knew what I meant.

      That night at supper, the Greek got sore at her for not giving me more fried potatoes. He wanted me to like it there, and not walk out on him like the others had.

      “Give a man something to eat.”

      “They're right on the stove. Can't he help himself?”

      “It's all right. I'm not ready yet.”

      We sat at the kitchen table, he at one end, she at the other, and me in the middle. I didn't look at her. But I could see her dress. It was one of these white nurse uniforms[12], like they all wear, whether they work in a dentist's office or a bakeshop. It had been clean in the morning, but it was a little bit dirty now. I could smell her.

      “Well for heaven's sake[13].”

      She got up to get the potatoes. Her dress fell open for a second, so I could see her leg. When she gave me the potatoes, I couldn't eat. “Well there now. After all that, and now he doesn't want them.”

      “Hokay. But he have'm, if he want'm[14].”

      “I'm not hungry. I ate a big lunch.”

      He acted like he had won a great victory, and now he would forgive her. “She is a all right. She is my little white bird. She is my little white dove.”

      He winked and went upstairs. She and I sat there, and didn't say a word. When he came down he had a big bottle and a guitar. He poured some out of the bottle, but it was sweet Greek wine, and made me sick to my stomach. He started to sing. He had a tenor voice, not one of these little tenors like you hear on the radio, but a big tenor, and on the high notes he put in a sob like on a Caruso record[15]. But I couldn't listen to him now. I was feeling worse by the minute.

      He saw my face and took me outside. “Out in a air, you feel better.”

      “'S all right. I'll be all right.”

      “Sit down. Keep quiet.”

      “Go ahead in. I just ate too much lunch. I'll be all right.”

      He went in, and I threw up. It was like hell the lunch[16], or the potatoes, or the wine. I wanted that woman so bad[17] I couldn't even keep anything on my stomach.