Читаем Black Chalk полностью

I start to walk aimlessly, my mind whirling pointlessly without anything physical that might nudge me toward remembering her. Emilia or Dee? Dee or Emilia? My system has failed me. Or maybe I have failed my system. I loiter in a drugstore staring at its shelves of cigarettes. I go into a liquor store to pore over its bottles of whisky. And then I stand outside a women’s clothes store blinking at the window display, its crowd of draped mannequins. But nothing comes back to me.

Evening has arrived when I find myself in the park.

And that’s when it happens.

*

I hear a voice calling out, Hey! Hey, you! The voice is getting louder. Looking up, I see a young man staring angrily at me, striding closer and closer. When he is in front of me, he pushes my shoulder and yells, I said, asshole, you owe me twenty bucks.

I look at my shoulder and then the young man. I have no idea who you are, I say.

Bullshit, motherfucker. Twenty bucks now. He pushes my shoulder again, harder this time.

And I try to push him back. Get off me, I say. But, the final word is swallowed as I feel a sudden pain in the left side of my face. I stumble forward, something catches my shin and I fall, my head hits the ground with a hollow thud.

I roll over and the young man is above me. He has my lapels in his fists. Twenty bucks now, he says. His face is dark against the sky bright above. The pain rings out in my head. And that’s when it comes back to me with a jolt. I let out a laugh of childish delight. Yes, I say, yes, I do owe you twenty dollars.

So where is it?

Let me get up, I say.

The young man keeps a hold of one of my lapels as we get to our feet.

I reach into my back pocket and find a twenty-dollar bill. I laugh again as I hand it to the young man. There we go, twenty dollars, I say. And thank you, so much.

The young man looks nervous now, confused as he takes the money, pushing me away as he lets go of my shirt. Dude, you’re on some serious crack, he says.

You’re right, I say, tapping my head as if my finger is the needle of a sewing machine. You’re absolutely right, I say.

The young man examines the bill in his hand and starts to back away from me. When he turns, he puts a little more speed in his step.

And now I know. It came to me quickly, behind the pain. The whole scene played itself out in my mind in the space of less than a second.

*

How about we make it interesting? I say. Twenty bucks a game?

Sure, the young man replies. Whatever, dude. One of his friends begins to massage his shoulders.