"Clark, Brian - The Man Who Walked On The Ceiling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clark Brian)

Her eyebrows rose. "Are you alright, George?"
"Of course. Why?"
"Since when have you read anything other than that
trash you have been collecting?"
George sighed. "Speculative fiction is not trash, Ma."
"Speculative fiction, is it? In that case, my house is
a mansion." Emmaline Kalewiski changed the subject. "And why
is that rope wrapped around your waist?"
He glanced down, licked his lips. "It's ah--" He
swallowed. "Ma, can it wait until later?"
She sniffed, and the thin line of her lips became even
thinner. Her silent disapproval was almost a shout.
When they pulled up outside the house, George had
barely set the brake before his mother was out of the car
and marching up the walk to the front door. Although he knew
she had a key in her purse, she stood tapping a foot
impatiently while he eased himself out of the Plymouth,
threaded the rope through the door handle, removed her bag
from the back seat, closed the door, and then paid out the
rope as he backed up the walk.
Ada Grierson's window opened. "Hello Emmaline. Was it a
nice wedding?"
"Very nice, Ada. Did my son behave himself while I was
gone?"
"If he did not, Emmaline, then I must say he was very
quiet about it. Although I do wonder about--" A pair of pale
eyes gleamed maliciously. "--that mysterious business with
the rope."
"I am also wondering about that, Ada."
"Why don't you drop over tomorrow morning? About ten?
We will have a cup of tea and a chat."
'We'll swig beer and swap the latest dirt', George
translated sourly.
"Thank you, Ada, I will."
"Good. See you tomorrow then."
"See you tomorrow, Ada."
Meanwhile George retrieved the rope, used his own key
to open the door, picked up the bag and entered the house.
Stern faced, his mother followed. "You are not very nice to
Ada, George."
"I am not nasty to her either, Ma. I just don't have
much to say to the lady."
"Perhaps you should. It is unhealthy for young people
to be so much on their own. Ada needs human companionship
too, you know."
George tried to imagine himself sharing a bed with that
bag of bones, and found it as impossible as it was horrible.
"Yes Ma," he said wearily.
His mother pointed. "Now tell me about the rope."
He decided the best way to shut her up was to tell the