（外文电子版资料）Steven Gould - Peaches for Mad Molly.pdf

PEACHES FOR MAD MOLLY by Steven Could Sometime during the night the wind pulled a one-pointer off the west face of the building up around the 630th floor. I heard him screaming as he went by, very loud, like this was his last chance to voice an opinion, but it was all so sudden that he didnt know what it was. Then he hit a microwave relay off 542 ... hard, and the chance was gone. Chunks of him landed in Buffalo Bayou forty-five seconds later. The alligators probably liked that. I dont know if his purchase failed or his rope broke or if the sucker just couldnt tie a decent knot. He pissed me off though, because I couldnt get back to sleep until Id checked all four of my belay points, the ropes, and the knots. Now if hed fallen without expressing himself, maybe? No, I would have heard the noise as he splattered through the rods of the antennae. Stupid one-pointer. The next morning I woke up a lot earlier than usual because someone was plucking one of my ropes, adagio, thrum, thrum, like the second movement of Ludwigs seventh. It was Mad Molly. You awake, Bruce? she asked. I groaned. I am now. My name is not Bruce. Molly, for some reason, calls everyone Bruce. Shto etta, Molly? She was crouched on a roughing point, one of the meter cubes sticking out of the tower face to induce the micro-turbulence boundary layer. She was dressed in a brightly flowered scarlet kimono, livid green bermuda shorts, a sweatshirt, and tabi socks. Her belay line, bright orange against the gray building, stretched from around the corner to Mollys person where it vanished beneath her kimono, like a snake hiding its head. I got a batch to go to the Bruce, Bruce. I turned and looked down. There was a damp wind in my face. Some low clouds had come in overnight, hiding the ground, but the towers shadow stretched a long ways across the fluffy stuff below. Jeeze, Molly. You know the Bruce wont be on shift for another hour. Damn, she had me doing it! Oh, hell. Il