Love Story / История любви. Эрик Сигал
Читать онлайн.| Название | Love Story / История любви |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Эрик Сигал |
| Жанр | |
| Серия | Abridged Bestseller |
| Издательство | |
| Год выпуска | 2019 |
| isbn | 978-5-907097-51-3 |
“I tried too hard.”
And I went back to watching my teammates.
“Is this a big disgrace?”
“Jenny, please, I’m trying to concentrate!”
“On what?”
“On how I’m going to total that bastard Al Redding!”
I looked out onto the ice to give moral support to my colleagues.
“Are you a dirty player? Would you ever ‘total’ me?”
I answered her without turning.
“I will right now if you don’t shut up.”
“I’m leaving. Good-bye.”
By the time I turned, she had disappeared. As I stood up to look further, I was informed that my two-minute sentence was up. I leaped the barrier, back onto the ice.
The crowd welcomed my return. Wherever she was hiding, Jenny could hear the big enthusiasm for my presence. So who cares where she is.
Where is she?
As I skated after the puck, I thought I had a second to glance up at the stands to search for Jenny. I did. I saw her. She was there.
The next thing I knew I was on my ass.
Two Green bastards had slammed into me, my ass was on the ice, and I was – Christ! – really embarrassed. What would Jenny think?
Dartmouth had the puck around our goal again. Kennaway pushed it at Johnston, who passed it to me (I had stood up by this time). I took the puck and sped all out across Dartmouth’s blue line. Two Dartmouth defensemen were coming straight at me.
“Go, Oliver, go! Knock their heads off!”
I heard Jenny’s shrill scream above the crowd. It was really loud. I faked out one defenseman, slammed the other so hard he lost his breath and then I passed off to Davey Johnston, who had come up the right side. Davey slapped it into the nets.
Harvard score!
In an instant, we were hugging. Me and Davey Johnston and the other guys. The crowd was screaming. This really broke Dartmouth’s back. (That’s a metaphor; the defenseman got up when he caught his breath.) We creamed[16] them 7–0.
If I were a sentimentalist, and cared enough about Harvard to hang a photograph on the wall, it would not be of Winthrop House[17], or Mem Church[18], but of Dillon. Dillon
Field House[19]. If I had a spiritual home at Harvard, this was it. Every afternoon of my college life I walked into that place, greeted my friends, took off the trappings of civilization and turned into a jock. How great to put on the pads and the good old number 7 shirt, to take the skates and walk out toward the Watson Rink.
The return to Dillon was even better. Peeling off the sweaty gear, walking naked to the supply desk to get a towel.
“How did it go today, Ollie?”
“Good, Richie. Good, Jimmy.”
Then into the showers to listen to who did what to whom how many times last Saturday night.
And I was privileged to enjoy a private place of meditation. I had a bad knee and I had to give it some whirlpool after playing. As I sat and watched the rings run round my knee, I could think about anything or nothing.
I let my body slide into the whirlpool, closed my eyes and just sat there, up to my neck in warmth. Ahhhhhhh.
Jesus! Jenny must be waiting outside. I hope! Still! Jesus! She was out there in the Cambridge cold! I set a new record for getting dressed. I wasn’t even quite dry as I pushed open the center door of Dillon.
The cold air hit me. It was freezing. And dark. There was still a small group of fans. Mostly old hockey fans, the graduates who have never mentally taken off the pads.
I took three or four steps away from the fans, searching desperately. Suddenly she jumped out from behind a bush. Her face was wrapped in a scarf, only her eyes were showing.
“Hey, Preppie, it’s cold as hell out here.”
Was I glad to see her!
“Jenny!”
Like instinctively, I kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Did I say you could?” she said.
“What?”
“Did I say you could kiss me?”
“Sorry. I was carried away.”
“I wasn’t.”
We were all alone out there, and it was dark and cold and late. I kissed her again. But not on the forehead, and not lightly. It lasted a long nice time. When we stopped kissing, she was still holding on to my sleeves.
“I don’t like it,” she said.
“What?”
“The fact that I like it.”
As we walked all the way back (I have a car, but she wanted to walk), Jenny held on to my sleeve. Not my arm, my sleeve. Don’t ask me to explain that. At the doorstep of her dorm, I did not kiss her good night.
“Listen, Jen, I may not call you for a few months.”
She was silent for a moment. A few moments.
Finally she asked, “Why?”
“Though I may call you as soon as I get to my room.”
I turned and began to walk off.
“Bastard!” I heard her whisper.
I turned again and scored from a distance of twenty feet.
“See, Jenny, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it![20]”
My roommate, Ray Stratton, was playing poker with two football buddies as I entered the room.
“Hello, animals.”
They responded with appropriate grunts.
“What did you get tonight, Ollie?” Ray asked.
“An assist and a goal,” I replied.
“Off[21] Cavilleri.”
“None of your business,” I replied.
“Who’s this?” asked one of the monsters.
“Jenny Cavilleri,” answered Ray. “Wonky music type.”
“I know that one,” said another. “A real tight-ass[22].”
I ignored these bastards as I took the phone into my bedroom.
“She plays piano with the Bach Society[23],” said Stratton.
“What does she play with Barrett?”
“Probably hard to get[24]!”
The animals were laughing.
“Gentlemen,” I announced as I took leave, “up yours[25].”
I closed my door, took off my shoes, lay back on the bed and dialed Jenny’s number.
We spoke in whispers.
“Hey, Jen…”
“Yeah?”
“Jen… what would you say if I told you…”
I hesitated. She waited.
“I
Одно из двенадцати зданий, где проживают успешные студенты, названное в честь колониста Джона Уинтропа и его праправнука Джона Уинтропа, профессора математики и естественной истории Гарвардского университета; находится в южной части гарвардского двора
The Memorial Church of Harvard University или Harvard Memorial Church – Гарвардская мемориальная церковь, построенная в 1932 г. в честь студентов и преподавателей Гарвардского университета, погибших в ходе Первой мировой войны
Спорткомплекс, в котором находятся раздевалки для спортсменов и комнаты для тренеров; хранится спортивный инвентарь; имеются душевые кабины; на втором этаже – зал, в котором проводят дружеские встречи после спортивных матчей
Bach Society Orchestra of Harvard University – главный камерный оркестр Гарвардского университета, все участники которого, включая дирижёра, – студенты