The Atlas полностью

They got to the white boy's house, and the prostitute and the white boy were kissing. The john looked away.

While the prostitute was in the bathroom the white boy said: Come into the bedroom for a minute. Why don't you sit down on the bed with me for a minute?

You sure I'm not in your way? the john said. You paid for her. I didn't. I can take off anytime.

Let's you and me do her together, the white boy whispered.

Sure, the john said. You go first. That's only fair. Besides, it's your place.

No no no, you don't get it. Let's do her together.

Oh, I'm not exactly into that, said the john, watching to see if the white boy might suddenly scream in rage and pull out a knife or gun. — I only do girls.

I'm not queer or anything, the white boy pleaded. There's nothing to it. We just turn out the lights, get under the covers, and you won't even know whose mouth it is.

Well, I'll have to think that one over, the john said, wondering if he would be able to knock the white boy down and run if the white boy turned out to be coeval with the white boy in the newspaper who kept other boys' heads in his refrigerator. He decided that he could take the white boy easily. The white boy was very pale and puffy and unhealthy. If he had a gun, of course, that would be different.

Please, the white boy said. If you don't do her with me, my whole evening will be ruined.

The white boy was weeping. Because he had broken so easily, the john felt fairly sure now that he must not be dangerous. He put his hand on the white boy's shoulder and said: I just don't think I can do what you ask. I'm really sorry. How can I make it up to you?

Never mind, the white boy said in a desolate voice.

The prostitute was still in the bathroom. The white boy went and opened the door.

Can't you see I'm tryin' to shit? said the prostitute.

I just wanted to give you this T-shirt, the white boy said, peering in eagerly. I thought you might like it.

Thank you, the prostitute said. I appreciate that. You're a real dynamite guy.

When she came out, the john said: Well, I have to go.

What's wrong, baby? said the prostitute. Come on. Smoke a little rock with us and relax.

She took some of the white boy's crack and gave him a nice big hit. He felt the feeling again, the happy excited feeling, and for a moment it was so strong that he couldn't talk. He exhaled through his nostrils, and his nose went numb. He could no longer feel the weight of his body's sadness.

Why don't you stay over? the white boy said. It's so late. You don't wanna be out on the street.

Maybe I'll just take a stroll around the block, he said.

He put his coat on, and the prostitute gave him another rock, holding him tighdy so that he could not get away. — He's my baby, she said to the white boy, embracing the John desperately. He's the best. He's dynamite.

I guess I'll go now, said the john.

What's the matter, baby? said the prostitute. Listen, come on into the bedroom and tell me what's going on. Excuse us for a second, Danny.

Sure, the white boy said dully.

Now what's goin' on? said the prostitute, sitting beside him on the bed with her hand on his knee, looking into his eyes like a worried mother whom he must not disappoint.

He wants him and me to do you at the same time, he said, in a low voice because the bedroom door was open and he did not want to hurt the white boy's feelings. I just can't. I'm sorry.

He said that? cried the prostitute in amazement. I don't do that!

It's okay, he said. Anyway I'm going to go.

She sat motionless on the bed.

The white boy walked him to the door. He looked back and she was sitting on the bed crying. — Please come 'ere, she said.

He went back to her, hesitated, and said: I love you. Then he strode out without looking back.

She could open soda bottles with her teeth. Her plump and delicious lips, her nipples swollen from nursing babies, her succulent clitoris, these and other dainties enthralled her customers all night, until at last they must snatch greedy gobbets of sleep. She never let anyone fuck her up the ass because that would be trying to fool God.

When he asked her if she loved him, she opened her eyes wide in the bed and said: My God! How can you ask me that? I treat you like my own husband!

One night he was chewing khat with her and her sister, holding each one's hand in the theater's darkness. Her hand was hot and excitingly sweaty. The sister's was cool and getting colder, because the sister chewed khat too much. She said: When I chew khat, I can't stop. Just want to chew more!

He remembered the boy at the Twenty-Four-Hour Green Bar, fallen asleep with his head on the table, pale like riverbottom sand. — From smoking brown sugar, the sister whispered.

The sister caught the smooth red skin of a khat stalk between her teeth and pulled, ripping it away from the bad green flesh inside, like a hyena nuzzling the dirt sideways to snap rotten meat in his jaws.