雙語(yǔ)·摸彩：雪莉·杰克遜短篇小說(shuō)選 珍妮絲

Janice

First, to me on the phone, in a half-amused melancholy:“Guess I'm not going back to school...”

“Why not, Jan?”

“Oh, my mother. She says we can't afford it.” How can I reproduce the uncaring inflections of Janice's voice, saying conversationally that what she wanted she could not have? “So I guess I'm not going back.”

“I'm so sorry, Jan.”

But then, struck by another thought: “Y'know what?”

“What?”

“Darn near killed myself this afternoon.”

“Jan! How?”

Almost whimsical, indifferent: “Locked myself in the garage and turned on the car motor.”

“But why?”

“I dunno. 'Cause I couldn't go back, I suppose.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the fellow that was cutting our lawn heard the motor and came and got me. I was pretty near out.”

“But that's terrible, Jan. What ever possessed—”

“Oh, well. Say—” changing again, “—going to Sally's tonight?”

And, later, that night at Sally's where Janice was not the center of the group, but sat talking to me and to Bob: “Nearly killed myself this afternoon, Bob.”

“What!”

Lightly: “Nearly killed myself. Locked myself in the garage with the car motor running.”

“But why, Jan?”

“I guess because they wouldn't let me go back to school.”

“Oh, I'm sorry about that, Jan. But what about this afternoon? What did you do?”

“Man cutting the grass got me out.”

Sally coming over: “What's this, Jan?”

“Oh, I'm not going back to school.”

Myself, cutting in: “How did it feel to be dying, Jan?”

Laughing “Gee, funny. All black.” Then, to Sally's incredulous stare: “Nearly killed myself this afternoon, Sally...”