Anjelika9: переводы

→“Say your prayers, muthafucka.”

→“I’m in labor,” I heard Tamu’s voice squeak over the phone. “Are you coming here?”

→“Tell her I ain’t here,” I would tell family members when she called or came by.

→“Yes, pregnant,” she replied matter of factly.

→“Pregnant?” I asked in disbelief.

→“No, his real name.”

→“It betta be!”

→And we left.

→“It’s there–”

→“I ain’t scared, I just–”

→The seriousness of what I had done that evening did not dawn on me until I was alone at home that night. My heart had slowed to its normal pace and the alcohol and pot had worn off. I was left then with just myself and the awesome flashes of light that lit up my mind to reveal bodies in abnormal positions and grotesque shapes, twisting and bending in arcs that defied bone structure. The actual impact was on my return back past the bodies of the first fallen, my first real look at bodies torn to shreds. It did little to me then, because it was all about survival. But as I lay wide awake in my bed, safe, alive, I felt guilty and ashamed of myself. Upon further contemplation, I felt that they were too easy to kill. Why had they been out there? I tried every conceivable alibi within the realm of reason to justify my actions. There was none. I slept very little that night.

→Also from that point on Tray Ball became my mentor, friend, confidant, and closest comrade. He allowed me acts of aggression that made my name soar with alarming effects.

→“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I said. And I had heard him and never forgot nothing he said from that point on.

→By now, of course, I had acquired my own weapon–a blue steel .44 Bulldog. It was small and fit into my pocket. I kept it on me at all times.

→I’ve never told anyone of these feelings before.

→* * *

→I sat straight backed and hung on every word Tray Ball said.

→“Naw, Mom, I beat my case. They let me out.”

→“Boy, you done broke out of jail!”

→“Fo’ what? I ain’t done nothin’.”