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“I’ll tell you,” Max said. “We’re going to kill a Swede. Do you know a big Swede named Ole Andreson?”
“Yes.”
“He comes here to eat every night, don’t he?”
“Sometimes he comes here.”
“He comes here at six o’clock, don’t he?”
“If he comes.”
“We know all that, bright boy,” Max said.
“Talk about something else. Ever go to the movies?”
“Once in a while.”
“You ought to go to the movies more. The movies are fine for a bright boy like you.”
“What are you going to kill Ole Andreson for? What did he ever do to you?”
“He never had a chance to do anything to us. He never even seen us.”
“And he’s only going to see us once,” Al said from the kitchen.
“What are you going to kill him for, then?” George asked.
“We’re killing him for a friend. Just to oblige a friend, bright boy.”
“Shut up,” said Al from the kitchen. You talk too goddam much.”
“Well, I got to keep bright boy amused. Don’t I, bright boy?”
“You talk too damn much,” Al said. “The nigger and my bright boy are amused by themselves. I got them tied up like a couple of girl friends in the convent.”
“I suppose you were in a convent?”
“You never know.”
“You were in a kosher convent. That’s where you were.”
Swede [swi:d] oblige [∂`blaıdż] convent [`konv∂nt]
George looked up at the clock.
“If anybody comes in you tell them the cook is off (åñëè êòî-íèáóäü ïðèäåò, òû èì ñêàæåøü, ÷òî ïîâàð óøåë: «ñâîáîäåí /îò ðàáîòû/, íà ïåðåðûâå»; off – óêàçûâàåò íà óäàëåíèå èëè ïðåêðàùåíèå ÷åãî-ëèáî), and if they keep after it (à åñëè îíè áóäóò íàñòàèâàòü), you tell them you’ll go back (÷òî òû ïîéäåøü íà êóõíþ: «â çàäíþþ êîìíàòó») and cook yourself (è ïðèãîòîâèøü ñàì). Do you get that (òû ïîíÿë: «ïîëó÷èë» ýòî), bright boy?”
“All right,” George said. “What you going to do with us afterward (÷òî âû ñäåëàåòå ñ íàìè ïîñëå)?”
“That’s depend (ýòî çàâèñèò = ñìîòðÿ ïî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâàì),” Max said. “That’s one of those things you never know at the time (ýòî îäíà èç âåùåé, êîòîðûå íèêîãäà íå çíàåøü â äàííîå âðåìÿ = çàðàíåå)."
George looked up the clock. It was a quarter past six (÷åòâåðòü ïîñëå øåñòè = ÷åòâåðòü ñåäüìîãî). The door from the street opened (äâåðü ñ óëèöû îòêðûëàñü). A street-car motorman came in (âîøåë òðàìâàéíûé âîæàòûé).
“Hello, George,” he said. “Can I get supper (ïîóæèíàòü ìîæíî: «ìîãó ÿ ïîëó÷èòü óæèí»)?”
“Sam’s gone out (âûøåë),” George said. “He’ll be back in about half an hour (îí âåðíåòñÿ ïðèìåðíî ÷åðåç ïîë÷àñà).”
“I’d better go up the street (ÿ, ïîæàëóé, ëó÷øå ïîéäó ââåðõ ïî óëèöå = ïîéäó åùå êóäà-íèáóäü),” the motorman said. George looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes past six.
“That was nice (ýòî áûëî ñëàâíî /ïðîäåëàíî/), bright boy,” Max said. “You’re a regular little gentleman (íàñòîÿùèé ìàëåíüêèé äæåíòåëüìåí).”
“He knew I’d blow his head off (îí çíàë, ÷òî ÿ åìó ãîëîâó ñíåñó = ïðîñòðåëþ; to blow – äóòü),” Al said from the kitchen.
“No,” said Max. “It ain’t that (íå ïîýòîìó, íå â ýòîì äåëî). Bright boy is nice. He’s a nice boy. I like him (îí ìíå íðàâèòñÿ).”
Äàòà äîáàâëåíèÿ: 2015-09-10; ïðîñìîòðîâ: 27 | Ïîìîæåì íàïèñàòü âàøó ðàáîòó | Íàðóøåíèå àâòîðñêèõ ïðàâ |