Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 12

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The Tooth, the Whole Tooth.

Paper Boy woke before the sun warmed the room. He smelled of minty, waxy peaches as he writhed on the carpet in his blue underwear, all flossed up with nowhere to go.

Rick and Serge were sawing themselves to sleep.

He picked and frayed and broke the floss, along with one of his good straight teeth. A bottle opener freed his ankles, then his shaky fingers collected a thin line of red-and-white string. He found his pants and jacket beside the toilet. His soppy T-shirt was fit for the tub. He didn’t look in the mirror, and he didn’t look in the mirror of the Checker Cab he called from the lobby. He tried to erase the lines on his wrists. Silly doodles in red pen. Tracing gums with his tongue, he realized he’d swallowed part of a good straight tooth.

Paper Boy let out a crinkle, paying the cabbie slightly less than was due. Dollar bills, quarters and nickels. He felt thin and shy. Parched.

‘That’s enough, buddy. Don’t give me all your damn change.’ With a paternal glint, the cabbie continued, ‘Go wash your face, and maybe you should sleep some. It’s supposed to rain today anyway. Christ, boy, you don’t look so hot. Should I take you to the hospital?’

Paper Boy hid his wrists with the cuffs of his jacket. He left the cab door open behind him, and his voice box seized up. A broken crank. Without a thank you, he spat blood to the curb.

He was missing his watch, a good Timex, with a band that buckled. His rubbery muscles sprang and sprung toward the river. The Demerol in his veins numbed his legs from the knees down. After the cabbie stretched his strong arm behind the front seat to shut the open door, Paper Boy turned around to wave, to check if his wrist still worked. An elastic band waiting to snap a question. A pensive palm bent slightly.

‘You can’t wear a watch now anyway,’ he said to his wrist.