Transcribe
Translate
Shangri-La, issue 5, March-April 1948
Page 3
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
THE WIND IS BLOWING ON MY EYE by WILLIAM BATTERSBY I never did find out what his name was, but I always think of him as Morton. Not that the name fits him, particularly, but i like to do things like that. AT first, I didn't think that there was anything unusual about Morton. I thought that he was just drunk. It was about 3:30 one morning in a joint called The Club Ramble. I was sitting at a table by the piano, talking to Red Foster, the piano player. I wasn't having a good time. And the others in my group weren't having a good time, either, but they were still trying. Somebody was dancing with Ann, and I was alone at the table, when Morton came and sat down. After he sat down, he looked at me intently for awhile. Apparently he found me worthy of his confidence, for he leaned forward and spoke. "The wind," he said, "is blowing on my eye." "Yeah?" I said, wrinkling my forehead and inclining my head sympathetically. I never contradict drunks. He took out his handkerchief and rubbed his right eye---hard. Even the dim light I could see that he looked frightened. He had the same expression in his eyes that our cocker spaniel, Sarah, used to have in her eyes o the Fourth of July. It was just then that Dave, who was over playing Fourteen, got in an argument with some fellow who was twice his size. I went over and told Dave to shut up, and, when I came back, Morton was gone. I asked Red where the little guy that I'd been talking to had gone, but he hadn't noticed. - 3 -
Saving...
prev
next
THE WIND IS BLOWING ON MY EYE by WILLIAM BATTERSBY I never did find out what his name was, but I always think of him as Morton. Not that the name fits him, particularly, but i like to do things like that. AT first, I didn't think that there was anything unusual about Morton. I thought that he was just drunk. It was about 3:30 one morning in a joint called The Club Ramble. I was sitting at a table by the piano, talking to Red Foster, the piano player. I wasn't having a good time. And the others in my group weren't having a good time, either, but they were still trying. Somebody was dancing with Ann, and I was alone at the table, when Morton came and sat down. After he sat down, he looked at me intently for awhile. Apparently he found me worthy of his confidence, for he leaned forward and spoke. "The wind," he said, "is blowing on my eye." "Yeah?" I said, wrinkling my forehead and inclining my head sympathetically. I never contradict drunks. He took out his handkerchief and rubbed his right eye---hard. Even the dim light I could see that he looked frightened. He had the same expression in his eyes that our cocker spaniel, Sarah, used to have in her eyes o the Fourth of July. It was just then that Dave, who was over playing Fourteen, got in an argument with some fellow who was twice his size. I went over and told Dave to shut up, and, when I came back, Morton was gone. I asked Red where the little guy that I'd been talking to had gone, but he hadn't noticed. - 3 -
O VENTO ESTÁ SOPRANDO EM MEUS OLHOS por WILLIAM BATTERSBY Eu nunca descobri qual era seu nome, mas sempre penso nele como Marton. Não que o nome se adeque a ele, particularmente, mas gosto de fazer coisas assim. De início não achei que ouvesse nada incomum sobre Marton. Achei que estivesse apenas bebado. Era por volta das três e meia da manhã em uma junta chamada O Clube da Caminhada. Eu estava sentado em uma mesa perto do piano, conversando com Red Foster, o pianista. Eu não estava curtindo tanto. E os outros no meu grupo também não, mas ainda estavam tentando. Alguém estava dançando com Ann, e eu estava sozinho na mesa, quando Marton veio e se sentou. Depois de se sentar, ele me olhou nos olhos intensamente por um momento. Aparentemente ele me julgou como digno de sua confiança, pois se inclinou em minha direção e falou. "O vento," ele disse, "está soprando no meu olho. " "Ah é?" Eu disse, enrrugando minha testa e inclinando a cabeça simpaticamente. Eu nunca contradigo bebados. Ele pegou seu lenço e esfregou seu olho direito - intensamente. Até mesmo sob a luz fraca eu pude ver que ele parecia assutado. Ele possuia a mesma expressão em seus olhos que nossa cozinheira spaniel, Sarah, costumava ter no Quatro de Julho. Foi apenas aí que Dave, que estava jogando Fourteen, se envolveu em uma discussão com um sujeito que era duas vezes o seu tamanho. Eu fui lá e disse a Dave para calar a boca, e quando voltei, Morton havia saido. Perguntei a Red para onde o pequeno sujeito com que eu estivera conversando tinha ido, mas ele não havia se dado conta. - 3 -
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
