"Thomas M. Disch - The Priest" - читать интересную книгу автора (Disch Thomas M)

bearing.
A black car, a very nice one, long and expensive-looking, glided into
view and moved toward her with a sound of crunching gravel. It came to a stop
like a boat butting up to a dock, and when the driver got out she could see,
even this far away, that he was a priest. It was almost as though her guilt
had summoned him here. The priest lifted his right hand, greeting her or
blessing her, she couldn't tell which. She waved back and then, lowering her
hand, felt the back of her head to be sure her hair was presentable.
When he'd come near enough not to have to raise his voice, he said, "I
thought I might find you here."
How to reply? He seemed to know who she was, but she couldn't return the
compliment, though there was something vaguely familiar about him. Perhaps he
just had that kind of averagely good-looking face, less than a movie star,
more than a nobody. Mousy brown hair with the part a little off center like
the younger sort of TV personality. Well dressed, of course, but what priest
isn't, really, in his uniform of black suit and Roman collar? The shoes,
however, struck a false note. They were sneakers disguised to look like proper
shoes by being all black. A priest shouldn't be wearing sneakers, even black
sneakers.
"Father," she said, "how nice to see you."
He stopped beside Alphonse Burdett's gravestone and gave her a peculiar
look, a mix of puzzled and peeved. "Mother," he said softly, "how nice to see
_you_."
She realized at once and with a keen sense of embarrassment that she'd
done it again, forgotten everything. But even with him there before her,
calling her his mother, she didn't recognize him. Her memory was as useless as
a dead lightbulb.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Oh yes, I'm fine. It's such lovely weather." Then, when he just stood
there with the same perplexed smile, she asked, "And how are you?"
"Worried, actually. They called from the Home right after breakfast when
they realized you were missing, but I was away from the rectory all morning.
So it wasn't until noon that I finally heard from them, and then there was a
parish business meeting I had to be at."
"I'm not _missing_," she insisted, a little resentfully. "I'm _here_."
"No one knew that, Mother."
"Well, I knew it."
For no good reason she began to cry. The warmth of the tears on her
cheek was an actual comfort. A luxury, like the sunlight and the smooth, mowed
lawn. Maybe in heaven you would also cry a lot.
The priest took a small package of Kleenex from the inside breast pocket
of his suit, removed a tissue, and offered it to her. It seemed unpriestlike
to be giving someone a Kleenex instead of a clean handkerchief. But she
accepted it and dabbed at each cheek, blotting up the tears, which,
obediently, ceased to flow.
"I don't know why I do that," she declared, forcing a smile.
The odd thing was that she did know that she was prone to such outbursts
but that she didn't know a basic fact like her own name. Couldn't remember,
even now, this man who'd addressed her as his mother. A priest!
Did she have other children as well? A husband somewhere? She'd no idea.