Read Online The 25th Hour by David Benioff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Benioff
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appears to be an electronics shop.
‘Goddamn,’ says Slattery, rocking back and forth on the sofa. ‘Look at that mother go!’
The soldiers begin firing their rifles – loud, echoing retorts – and the video image shakes before being replaced on screen by a Thai military spokesman standing behind a lectern, explaining the day’s events.
‘They killed it?’ asks Jakob.
‘Oh, yes,’ says Slattery, ‘they did indeed. Poor fuck went for a walk in the wrong part of town.’
Jakob wonders what caused the animal to snap: old age, faulty synapses in the brain, the long-resisted urge to take an afternoon stroll down the avenue? He tugs the bill of his Yankees cap lower on his forehead.
‘What time is Monty coming over?’
‘He’s not. He’s eating with his dad. We’re going to meet him later on.’
How can Monty eat? Jakob wonders. How can he swallow his food?
The television screen goes black for a moment between commercials, and Jakob sees his face reflected in the glass. ‘Do you think I look like a ferret?’
‘A ferret?’ Slattery laughs. ‘That’s good, I hadn’t thought of that before.’
‘So do I?’
‘One of the kids in your class told you that?’
Jakob frowns. ‘Nobody told me. I was just wondering.’
‘Somebody must have said something. You wouldn’t just think, all of a sudden, Hey, I look like a ferret. You’ve been looking at your face for twenty-six years.’
‘Actually,’ says Jakob, ‘let’s drop it.’
‘I don’t even know what a ferret looks like. But yeah, you might resemble one.’
‘Fine, thanks. You’re a wonderful human being.’
Slattery pats Jakob on the head. ‘And you’re not bad for a ferret. I’m going to take a crap and then we can go eat.’ He lifts himself from the sofa with a groan. He squats low to the ground for a moment and then straightens up, left knee creaking loudly. ‘Christ,’ he says, limping to the bathroom.
Jakob sits alone with the television, staring sullenly at the square-jawed anchorman, angry without knowing the exact cause of his anger. Sometimes he is fairly sure that he doesn’t like Slattery, that he never liked him, even if Slattery is his best friend. Jakob remembers the first day of ninth grade, walking through the school gates, uneager to spend another year with the tanned boys who milled in the courtyard wearing loosely knotted ties and boat shoes. When he met Frank and Monty he thrilled at their Brooklyn accents, their carefully combed hair the opposite of traditional prep school dishevelment. Both of them had been in scores of fistfights, which mesmerized Jakob, who had been in exactly zero. But they were out of their element here, nervous around the diffident poise of the oldtimers, intimidated by the casual displays of wealth. They immediately fastened upon Jakob as a sympathetic figure who knew his way around. During the convocation that opened the school year, Monty nudged Jakob with his elbow and motioned to an older boy sitting several pews in front of them. ‘That’s a Ralph Lauren jacket the guy’s wearing. Thing costs four hundred bucks.’ Jakob was delighted by the immediate intimacy, by the presumption that they came from similar backgrounds and that both of them would be shocked by a high school junior wearing a four-hundred-dollar jacket. Three months went by before Jakob had his two new friends over to his apartment. He feared they would lump him with the rest of the soft aristocrats in their grade. But by the time Monty and Frank showed up at the Elinsky household, they had already been to parties at triplexes on Fifth Avenue, townhouses on Park, a spectacular beach cottage in the Hamptons – and Jakob’s place, though perfectly nice, was far from intimidating.
The other old-timers in the class at first affected disdain for the newcomers, the ‘F.A.s,’ students receiving Financial Assistance, two Irish, two Puerto Rican, and four black, shipped in from Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx.
‘Goddamn,’ says Slattery, rocking back and forth on the sofa. ‘Look at that mother go!’
The soldiers begin firing their rifles – loud, echoing retorts – and the video image shakes before being replaced on screen by a Thai military spokesman standing behind a lectern, explaining the day’s events.
‘They killed it?’ asks Jakob.
‘Oh, yes,’ says Slattery, ‘they did indeed. Poor fuck went for a walk in the wrong part of town.’
Jakob wonders what caused the animal to snap: old age, faulty synapses in the brain, the long-resisted urge to take an afternoon stroll down the avenue? He tugs the bill of his Yankees cap lower on his forehead.
‘What time is Monty coming over?’
‘He’s not. He’s eating with his dad. We’re going to meet him later on.’
How can Monty eat? Jakob wonders. How can he swallow his food?
The television screen goes black for a moment between commercials, and Jakob sees his face reflected in the glass. ‘Do you think I look like a ferret?’
‘A ferret?’ Slattery laughs. ‘That’s good, I hadn’t thought of that before.’
‘So do I?’
‘One of the kids in your class told you that?’
Jakob frowns. ‘Nobody told me. I was just wondering.’
‘Somebody must have said something. You wouldn’t just think, all of a sudden, Hey, I look like a ferret. You’ve been looking at your face for twenty-six years.’
‘Actually,’ says Jakob, ‘let’s drop it.’
‘I don’t even know what a ferret looks like. But yeah, you might resemble one.’
‘Fine, thanks. You’re a wonderful human being.’
Slattery pats Jakob on the head. ‘And you’re not bad for a ferret. I’m going to take a crap and then we can go eat.’ He lifts himself from the sofa with a groan. He squats low to the ground for a moment and then straightens up, left knee creaking loudly. ‘Christ,’ he says, limping to the bathroom.
Jakob sits alone with the television, staring sullenly at the square-jawed anchorman, angry without knowing the exact cause of his anger. Sometimes he is fairly sure that he doesn’t like Slattery, that he never liked him, even if Slattery is his best friend. Jakob remembers the first day of ninth grade, walking through the school gates, uneager to spend another year with the tanned boys who milled in the courtyard wearing loosely knotted ties and boat shoes. When he met Frank and Monty he thrilled at their Brooklyn accents, their carefully combed hair the opposite of traditional prep school dishevelment. Both of them had been in scores of fistfights, which mesmerized Jakob, who had been in exactly zero. But they were out of their element here, nervous around the diffident poise of the oldtimers, intimidated by the casual displays of wealth. They immediately fastened upon Jakob as a sympathetic figure who knew his way around. During the convocation that opened the school year, Monty nudged Jakob with his elbow and motioned to an older boy sitting several pews in front of them. ‘That’s a Ralph Lauren jacket the guy’s wearing. Thing costs four hundred bucks.’ Jakob was delighted by the immediate intimacy, by the presumption that they came from similar backgrounds and that both of them would be shocked by a high school junior wearing a four-hundred-dollar jacket. Three months went by before Jakob had his two new friends over to his apartment. He feared they would lump him with the rest of the soft aristocrats in their grade. But by the time Monty and Frank showed up at the Elinsky household, they had already been to parties at triplexes on Fifth Avenue, townhouses on Park, a spectacular beach cottage in the Hamptons – and Jakob’s place, though perfectly nice, was far from intimidating.
The other old-timers in the class at first affected disdain for the newcomers, the ‘F.A.s,’ students receiving Financial Assistance, two Irish, two Puerto Rican, and four black, shipped in from Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx.
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