Читать книгу The Stray - Alessio Chiadini Beuri - Страница 9

Elizabeth's train was the 19:37 to Manhattan, from Pelham Parkway to Bleecker Street Martha had been very thorough. Every night, except on Thursdays when the office closed in the early afternoon, she and Elizabeth walked a little way together, a couple of blocks, then Martha took Allerton ave., flanking Bronx Park, while Elizabeth continued to the underground.

Mason thought the station would be crowded, but instead there were only thirty or so people on the platform, mostly middle-aged housewives and workers in their stained overalls, a few gentlemen hooded up to their chins, their wristwatches under their noses, checking the time, and kids who looked like emperors of the world.

They were Elizabeth's people, the ones who crowned her every day.

With whom had she exchanged a few words? With whom had she shared a smile? Who had given up their seat to her? Who had been fascinated by her beauty, who had been enraptured by her gentle ways?

There was no way a girl like that could go unnoticed, he himself had not been able to escape her charms.

After the arrival of the train, Mason let all the passengers’ parade before boarding: habits had to manifest themselves without his presence altering them.

He stayed out of the way for the entire journey, holding on to the handles. The roll of the journey would certainly have knocked him out if he had leaned over. None of the passengers aroused his suspicions: with few exceptions, no one paid any attention to him. A train full of spirits invisible to each other. The day had extinguished sociability. Only the young people still had the energy for the hubbub. Perhaps it was age, perhaps it was life. There were a couple of squabbles over unused seats and one push too many, but all you could get out of it was frustration. People did not understand each other and had no intention of trying to do so. Individuals only a few palms apart were miles apart. Being born and dying alone was part of existence. Living alone was a choice.

He thought not of himself but of Elizabeth. None of the people he had listened to had yet been able to tell him anything useful or meaningful, anything personal to help him enter his world, to see the hidden threads behind the curtain. Perhaps he had not asked the right questions. Perhaps he had not asked the right people. Samuel Perkins must have been one of them.

"How much longer are you going to stare at me, soldier boy?"

A guy with a neck set in broad docker shoulders had approached him from the back of the carriage, now only half full.

"My mistake, mate." Mason still towered over him by a hat. It wasn't him his attention had been on for the last five minutes but a petty thief just behind whom he'd pinched trying to lighten an old lady's purse. He had managed to dissuade him without approaching her with his gaze.

"I don't know what to do with your apology."

"I didn't apologise."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"I wouldn't dare."

"What's your stop?"

"I live here, man. The third seat on the right is my bedroom. The fifth one on the left is where I relax on hard days. You're standing with your feet in my toilet right now, just for the record."

The man went right up to his nose. He smelled of sweat and sardines and the impetus with which he spoke made him spit.

"You think you're funny, soldier boy? I'll give you a pass on being a comedian."

"I'll give it a rest, thanks. I wouldn't want any of your syllables to end up in my mouth."

"You're good with words, let's see how good you are with actions." He was well placed, just wide enough to fill the space between himself and the corridor. Mason could have done a number of things to him: some would have interfered with his ability to walk, others would have made him forgetful.

"Sorry, mate. Here, here's to me." Mason handed him a note and a smile. He still remembered how to do it. He wanted to get back to the car, stop by the office, maybe get a few hours' sleep. There was no time to slaughter the brawlers. First duty, then pleasure.

The astonished man took the money, stuffed it in his pocket and walked away without ceasing to look at him in puzzlement.

A number of people came down to Bleecker St, including the pickpocket who slipped through the crowd and disappeared before Mason Stone could see what direction he had taken. He had missed him like a rookie.

He continued out of the station. From there to where he had left the car was a couple of blocks. A few young men in suits hurried to the party they'd been talking about nonstop the whole way; a woman and her little girl went to the charity event at their parish, even though the girl didn't want to and her shoes hurt; a hooded man scurried off, muttering and running over the man in front of him. Mason walked a short distance down the street, following the quarrel of two lovers from a distance and ahead of a woman carrying shopping bags.

He had an uncomfortable feeling about him. He had had it ever since he got off the train. The boyfriends turned the corner and continued to argue about how to get permission from their parents. Mason, however, crossed the street. Something was wrong. His bones were telling him. When he reached the opposite pavement, he turned to his right to look at the intersection where the kids had stopped fighting and were now hugging each other. He thought he saw a shadow beyond the parked cars. He stepped back off the pavement. The sound of the paper bag collapsing and scattering the groceries on the ground distracted him from his thoughts long enough to notice the car being thrown at him. Mason Stone threw himself to the side, sure that if the car had continued in that direction, that move would have been for nothing. He glanced at the driver but the taxi's headlights exploded in his head. The tyres slammed into the kerb, pushing the car back onto the road and the bumper missed his head by a whisker. With his hand on the revolver, he leapt for the rear door, just grazing the handle. The car accelerated in a screech of wheels. Mason could not read the number plate because he turned before the flecks of light burned into his eyes faded.

All he could make out was the company emblem on the side. Sunshine Cab.