"Bowes-ShadowAndGunman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bowes Richard)

RICHARD BOWES - The Shadow And The Gunman

PART ONE

IN THE AUTUMN OF MY senior year of high school my Shadow spoke to me. The summer
before that, John F. Kennedy was nominated/or president and my mother died
behind the wheel of her car.

Until then my Shadow had been vague, hard to pinpoint, a secret friend who
slipped in sometimes to get me into trouble. My mother's Shadow, on the other
hand, was clear and mean and often appeared when she drank. It wasn't just two
sides of the same person. As a little kid, at least a few times, I saw Mother
and Shadow together.

Her death hardly gave me pause. Since she had been drinking, I managed to tell
myself it was the Shadow who had died. As always, my mother would show up
sweetly apologizing for being late for the funeral.

Aged sixteen, I told no one any of this. The Code of Silence for the Boston
Irish was simple. Certain things you didn't tell other people. Lots of things
you didn't even tell yourself.

When he came to the wake, my stepfather had little to say. His divorce from my
mother when I was ten was devastating. Not that Frank was all that great.
Usually he ignored me. What I appreciated about him was that, like most people,
he had no Shadow. While he was around we looked like a TV family.

All around me, aunts and cousins broke down. Gramny, my grandmother, aged
visibly at the death of her youngest. Grand-Aunt Tay was badly shaken. I alone
was dry-eyed.

On one occasion or another at the wake, each of my uncles, Bob the lawyer, Mike
the cop, Jim who had the bar in Field's Comer, got lit and talked to me about
Ellen, their little sister. She had been their father's favorite. I was the
first and favorite grandchild. Terrible Tom Malloy, my grandfather, had founded
the bar and the family fortune, such as it was. His sons had gone in fear of
him.

Jim, the eldest, shook his head sadly. "They had hopes for you, Kevin. School
and all. When you have time to recover, you have to think about your future."

My plans included college but otherwise were vague. I thought sometimes about a
.38 that rested in the upstairs hall closet.

The day of the funeral Aunt Tay hugged me. I don't think anyone else has ever
been called that. Teresa was her given name, like the saint, and she was very
proud of it. But when, as first grandchild, I called her Aunt Tay, it stuck.
Even Gramny, her sister, began calling her Tay.