Once Upon a Time in America (The Hoods) / Однажды в Америке (Бандиты). Гарри ГрейЧитать онлайн книгу.
very good, but wouldn’t you rather continue school?” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Well, yes or no?” I shrugged again.
“Look. I want to help you. I can help you if you change your ways. Keep away from your companions, continue going to school. Only by learning —” I cut him off. “I can’t finish school. I gotta go to work. My father ain’t working.”
“How long has your father been out of work?”
“How long? About three months.”
“Hmmmm.” O’Brien rubbed his chin. “Well, I have an idea and I’ll do it in your case. You’re intelligent and fundamentally all right.”
He hesitated. Then he added, “I think, you can still develop into a good and successful citizen. I’ll have a social agency look into your case and help your family, so that you can continue your schooling. Keep away from bad companions.” A confident smile broke over his face. He thought he’d solved the problem. “Well? Isn’t that a good thing? They will help you to help yourself. You will continue your studies, and by behaving yourself you can succeed. I see you’re pretty good in mathematics. Why not continue and try to be a bookkeeper, possibly an accountant? Specialized knowledge is like a sharp knife. It will help you cut your way through the problems of life to your goal. To success. You understand what I mean?”
Yeh, I knew what he meant, but I played dumb[38]. “Yeh, I’ll get myself a big knife,” I said.
He got angry for the first time.
“Damn your stupidity,” he exploded. “I thought you knew what I was talking about.”
I shrugged. I was getting annoyed.
“Well?” his voice was agitated.
“What?” I made out I didn’t understand.
He stared at me. I lowered my eyes. Then he knew that I understood what he meant.
Yeh, I knew what he meant. He wanted me to continue school, break away from Max and miss out on the million bucks we’re gonna make on heists and everything. I’m gonna get help from a social agency? Huh! Everybody will look down on us. Charity, feh. What good is education? I had enough for what I wanted to do. I can write. I know arithmetic. I can read. I’m smart. I use my noodle. Yeh, that’s why people call me Noodles. Yeh, and I’ll get me a real sharp knife. That’ll be my knife of specialized knowledge.
O’Brien stood in front of me, a stern expression on his face.
I stood up. I felt heroic. “I don’t want or need your charity. I’m quitting school.”
He was a pretty good guy. I felt sorry for him. He seemed so sad for me, for all of us kids.
“All right, all right, that’s all, son.” He patted me on the back. I walked towards the door.
I turned and said, “Well, will I get my working papers?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me and sighed hopelessly. I was insistent. “I want them, Mr. O’Brien,” I said.
He nodded sadly. “You will have them.” My friends were waiting downstairs.
“What did the old cluck want?” Maxie asked.
“Nothing much. He was talking to himself mostly. He wanted me to continue school.”
We walked down the street. Suddenly, we stopped and stared: there was the biggest man in the world. He was bigger in our eyes than George Washington was to most school kids. He was looking right at us.
“Hello, kids,” he said.
We stopped in awe[39]. Maxie answered, “Hello, Monk.” It was Monk, the toughest man on the East Side, and, as far as we were concerned[40], in the world.
“I want you kids to do me a favor[41],” Monk said.
“Anything you say, Monk,” Max said.
“O.K., follow me.” He gestured with his hand.
We would have followed our hero to hell if he had ordered. He led us into a saloon on Ludlow Street where ten husky guys were sitting around drinking beer.
Monk laughed and said to them, “How do you like my new gang?”
They looked at us and smiled. “Tough looking gang, all right, Monk. How about some beer, kids?” one of them said.
It was the first time we had drunk the stuf.f It tasted awful, but we drained our glasses, feeling a little dizzy and important.
Monk Eastman explained what he wanted us for. We were given two baseball bats each and told to meet him and his gang in Jackson Street Park. A gang of Irish hoodlums[42] had made a habit of coming to the park and annoying the old Jews who met there. This time, the Irish were in for a surprise[43]. Monk had gathered together the ace man from every neighborhood on the East Side for this event. It was an all-star gang, all big-name guys.
If Monk and his men were to carry the bats through the streets and into the park, it would be a giveaway[44] to the cops and to the Irish mob. That was the reason we were invited along.
Monk and his men got into the park one by one. They sat on benches, with the older members of their religion, took Jewish newspapers out of their pockets, and buried their heads deep in the papers so they wouldn’t be recognized. We stood a little distance away ready with the bats. We didn’t have long to wait. From the river side of the park we saw the Irish coming – about fifteen tough-looking guys. Immediately, the religious Jews left the park.
Abie Cabbagehead, one of Monk’s gang, was closest to the advancing mob[45]. Abie was famous for his large head, which wasn’t soft like a cabbage. It was as hard as a rock. The biggest of the Irish gang walked over to Abie and growled, “Out of the park, you goddamn kike[46].”
Abie rose slowly from the bench, as though he was about to leave. Then, with his head lowered, he charged in like a bull[47]. We didn’t wait for any signal from Monk. We ran in with the bats. Monk and his men jumped off their benches. Each grabbed a bat from us, and the slaughter began. We stood watching, with rocks in our hands. If an Irish head came into view, the five of us would conk[48] him. We were having a hell of a good time.
That’s where we first laid eyes on Pipy, Jake the Goniff, and Goo-Goo. Maxie was the first one to notice something strange. Three kids about our own age were jumping in and out of the thickest part of the fighting. Max said to me, “Watch them, they’re working together. They’re up to something[49], sure enough.”
They would be in the middle of one fighting group; then they would break away and dive into another.
I said, “They aren’t fighting, what are they up to?” Maxie shrugged his shoulders.
The police wagon finally came along, the cops in their high helmets swinging their clubs. Everybody who could, ran.
Maxie and I grabbed a bat apiece. Max shouted for the rest to follow, and we started chasing the kids. We cornered them by the East River.
“Didn’t
прикинулся дурачком
в страхе
как мы считали
оказать услугу
хулиганы
ирландцев поджидал сюрприз
рассекречивание планов
банда
жид
набросился на него
дать по башке
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