"Bukowski, Charles - Short Stories Collection" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bukowski Charles)

"WHO IS IT?"
There was no answer.
Henry rose wide-eyed, as if in a trance, and flung the door open,
forgetting his nakedness. He stood there transfixed in thought for some
time, but it was obvious to her that nobody was therein his state of undress
there would have been quite a commotion or, at the very least, some
sophisticated comment.
Then he closed the door. He had a strange look on his face, a round-
eyed almost dull look and he swallowed once as he faced her. His pride,
perhaps?
"I've decided," he announced, "that I'm not going to turn into a woman
after all."
"Well, that will help matters between us considerably, Henry."
"And I'll even take you to see Van Gogh. No wait, I'll let you take
me."
"Either way, dear. It doesn't matter."
"No," he said, "you'll have to take me!"
He marched into the bathroom and closed the door.
"Don't you wonder," she said through the door, "who that was?"
"Who what was?"
"Who that was at the door? Twice?"
"Hell," he said, "I know who it was."
"Who was it, then?"
"Ha!"
"What?"
"I said, 'Ha!' I'm not telling!"
"Henry, you simply don't know who it was, anymore than I do. You're
simply being silly again."
"If you promise to take me to see Van Gogh, I'll tell you who was at
the door."
"All right," she humored him along, "I promise."
"O.K., it was me at the door!"
"You at the door?"
"Yes," he laughed a silly little laugh, "me looking for me! Both
times."
"Still playing the clown aren't you, Henry?"
She heard the water running in the basin and knew he was going to
shave.
"Are you going to shave, Henry?"
"I've decided against the beard," he answered.
He was boring her again and she simply opened her book at a random page
and began reading:
You don't want any more of me?
I want us to break off-you be free of me, I free of you.
And what about these last months?
I don't know. I've not told you anything but what I thought was true.
Then why are you different now?
I'm not-I'm the same-only I know it's no good going on.
She closed the book and thought about Henry. Men were children. You had
to humor them. They could take no hurt. It was a thing every woman knew.