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.Theyfumbled.Perhaps my scream surprised him.Anyhow,I had time for a second scream, and this one made theechoes roll.The next time the hand reached for my mouth I bitit.I wasn t afraid; all my anger and worry and frustra-tion boiled over into an exhilarating paroxysm of sheerfury.I didn t have breath enough to scream anymore,but it was almost a pleasure having something I couldhit, with my fists, as hard as I could.I kicked him inthe shins, which was a mistake, because I forgot I waswearing sandals.He grabbed my wrists, and I pulledmy head back and brought it forward.It hit him onthe nose.That was where I made my second mistake.A blowon the nose is not incapacitating, it hurts just enoughto make the victim good and mad.An arm that feltlike a large python coiled around my shoulders andsqueezed.His other hand still The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits / 191held my left wrist; it twisted sharply, and I shriekedagain, this time with pain.But this time there was a response.A light hit mefull in the face, and a voice yelled something in Span-ish.Andres let out a single, heartfelt expletive, anddropped me.Things got a little blurry after that.Ithought I heard a car engine start up, but it might havebeen the ringing in my ears.I sat on the sidewalk with my legs doubled up underme until the policemen arrived beautiful tanned po-licemen in beautiful tan uniforms.They had a flash-light.One of them didn t speak any English.He heavedme to my feet and crooned at me solicitously.Theother man had a few words.He sounded like a list ofuseful phrases for tourists. Who? Where? What? You are hurt? No, I said, answering the question that requiredonly one word. Who? my rescuer began again. What& ? I did hurt, in fact.There was a cut on my lip, whereit had got mashed against my teeth, and my shouldersand wrists were sore. Tom Andres, I said, that s who.Damn his eyes! The monolingual cop said something, and the otherone shrugged.I could see we weren t getting anywhere,so I tried again. Hotel, I said, wishing to God I had taken Spanishinstead of World Philosophy in my junior 192 / Elizabeth Petersyear. Hotel that one, I live there.Take me home&. And then I did what I probably should have donein the first place, since nobody could understand meanyhow.I burst into tears.I created a sensation in the lobby when I limped in,surrounded by cops and believe me, two policemencan surround you pretty thoroughly.I thought for aminute that the clerk behind the desk, a very primyoung man with a British accent, was going to faint.One fat woman shook her head and said in an audiblevoice, See, Frank, they can t keep out of trouble, thesekids, even here. One thing, though.Ivan s friend the guide was rightabout people.Most of them are pretty nice.Half adozen total strangers asked if they could do anything.They weren t even all Americans.A German doctorand a Bolivian lawyer offered their services, and I hadto fight off an international brigade of middle-agedladies who wanted to bandage me, baby-sit me for thenight, and feed me everything from sleeping pills toGrandma s special toddy for jangled nerves.The desk clerk, who told me to call him Al, turnedout to be another testimonial to the human race.Afterhe had translated, explained, tact The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits / 193fully disposed of unwanted Samaritans, and chap-eroned the hotel doctor while he checked me for brokenbones, he shooed everybody out of the room; and thenhe said, addressing the thin air above my head, Your friend, Mr.Linton don t you think he d wantto be let in on this? I ll call him, if you like. Never mind, I said. He isn t there.He s out. His key isn t in the box. Then he must have taken it with him, he s alwaysdoing that. I didn t see him leave.Of course I might not havenoticed&. I m sure he s out. Well, then, I ll watch out for him when he doescome in. Please don t say anything to him.He isn t I mean,we aren t I mean, there isn t anything he can doabout it.It can wait till morning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Theyfumbled.Perhaps my scream surprised him.Anyhow,I had time for a second scream, and this one made theechoes roll.The next time the hand reached for my mouth I bitit.I wasn t afraid; all my anger and worry and frustra-tion boiled over into an exhilarating paroxysm of sheerfury.I didn t have breath enough to scream anymore,but it was almost a pleasure having something I couldhit, with my fists, as hard as I could.I kicked him inthe shins, which was a mistake, because I forgot I waswearing sandals.He grabbed my wrists, and I pulledmy head back and brought it forward.It hit him onthe nose.That was where I made my second mistake.A blowon the nose is not incapacitating, it hurts just enoughto make the victim good and mad.An arm that feltlike a large python coiled around my shoulders andsqueezed.His other hand still The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits / 191held my left wrist; it twisted sharply, and I shriekedagain, this time with pain.But this time there was a response.A light hit mefull in the face, and a voice yelled something in Span-ish.Andres let out a single, heartfelt expletive, anddropped me.Things got a little blurry after that.Ithought I heard a car engine start up, but it might havebeen the ringing in my ears.I sat on the sidewalk with my legs doubled up underme until the policemen arrived beautiful tanned po-licemen in beautiful tan uniforms.They had a flash-light.One of them didn t speak any English.He heavedme to my feet and crooned at me solicitously.Theother man had a few words.He sounded like a list ofuseful phrases for tourists. Who? Where? What? You are hurt? No, I said, answering the question that requiredonly one word. Who? my rescuer began again. What& ? I did hurt, in fact.There was a cut on my lip, whereit had got mashed against my teeth, and my shouldersand wrists were sore. Tom Andres, I said, that s who.Damn his eyes! The monolingual cop said something, and the otherone shrugged.I could see we weren t getting anywhere,so I tried again. Hotel, I said, wishing to God I had taken Spanishinstead of World Philosophy in my junior 192 / Elizabeth Petersyear. Hotel that one, I live there.Take me home&. And then I did what I probably should have donein the first place, since nobody could understand meanyhow.I burst into tears.I created a sensation in the lobby when I limped in,surrounded by cops and believe me, two policemencan surround you pretty thoroughly.I thought for aminute that the clerk behind the desk, a very primyoung man with a British accent, was going to faint.One fat woman shook her head and said in an audiblevoice, See, Frank, they can t keep out of trouble, thesekids, even here. One thing, though.Ivan s friend the guide was rightabout people.Most of them are pretty nice.Half adozen total strangers asked if they could do anything.They weren t even all Americans.A German doctorand a Bolivian lawyer offered their services, and I hadto fight off an international brigade of middle-agedladies who wanted to bandage me, baby-sit me for thenight, and feed me everything from sleeping pills toGrandma s special toddy for jangled nerves.The desk clerk, who told me to call him Al, turnedout to be another testimonial to the human race.Afterhe had translated, explained, tact The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits / 193fully disposed of unwanted Samaritans, and chap-eroned the hotel doctor while he checked me for brokenbones, he shooed everybody out of the room; and thenhe said, addressing the thin air above my head, Your friend, Mr.Linton don t you think he d wantto be let in on this? I ll call him, if you like. Never mind, I said. He isn t there.He s out. His key isn t in the box. Then he must have taken it with him, he s alwaysdoing that. I didn t see him leave.Of course I might not havenoticed&. I m sure he s out. Well, then, I ll watch out for him when he doescome in. Please don t say anything to him.He isn t I mean,we aren t I mean, there isn t anything he can doabout it.It can wait till morning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]