"Suzette Haden Elgin - Lest Levitation Come Upon Us" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elgin Suzette Haden)

"It won't be in the papers," she said.
"The hell it won't."
"It won't," she insisted.
"One reason why not, ValeriaтАФjust one!"
"Because, when people see something like that, they won't admit it. Not to each other, not to
themselves ... not to the papers. By the time they've all finished eating they'll be convinced they didn't see
anything at all, or they'll think it was a stunt for my birthday with the waiters throwing roses at me or
something. I assure you."
"You think so?"
"Julian, if any of those people were to suddenly look up and see an angel, twenty feet tall and with a
wingspread like a 747, you know what they'd say? 'Biggest damned bird I ever saw,' that's what they'd
say. And then they'd order another strawberry daiquiri."
"You really thinkтАФ"
"I really do, dear heart. There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about. Even the WhatsitsтАФ"
"Tabbitts. They were a damned good case, Valeria."
"Even the Tabbitts ... they won't be three blocks away before they've convinced themselves they
didn't see anything either."
She saw the tightness go out of his shoulders. She patted his hand, and waited.
When they pulled into the driveway he finally asked her, tentatively, if she couldтАФmaybeтАФexplain
it.
"No, Julian," she said calmly, "I'm afraid I can't. But I'm sure it won't happen again."
"Like those stories you read about it raining frogs."
"Something like that."
Valeria was quite wrong. It happened over and over again. The children didn't appreciate rose
petals in their breakfast pancakes when it happened while she was cooking. Julian set out for her logically
the reasons why, since he differed from almost every other American husband by not snoring, it was
unfair and unreasonable for her to keep him awake by glowing at him in the dark. Her protests that she
had no control over it at all, and no warning either, didn't help matters, and Julian suggested to her that
she stay home as much as possible until they could work something out.

She was at home when the cookies thing occurred. It was Charlotte's turn to have Camp Fire Girls,
and Maryann Whipple's mother was supposed to have sent the refreshments; but, Mrs. Whipple being
the sort of woman she was (not Maryann's fault, and a nicer child you couldn't have asked for), there
weren't nearly enough cookies to go around. There Valeria was with a plate of cookiesтАФstore-bought,
too, and not a bakery, eitherтАФwith only one dozen cookies on it. And seventeen Camp Fire Girls
holding glasses of Kool-Aid and looking at her expectantly.
She had just opened her mouth to excuse herself, meaning to go to the kitchen and see what she had
in her cooky jar, when she heard Charlotte make a funny little strangled noise and cover it with a cough.
"Oh, how nice of your Mama!" the child saidтАФshe was one quick thinker, was CharlotteтАФand
before Valeria could say anything to confuse the issue, Charlotte had whisked the plate out of her hands
and was passing it around just as bland as you please. If any of the girls had seen the one dozen
nondescript lemon supermarket cookies on that plate suddenly become a pyramid of dainty little cakes,
each one with its own icing and its own trim of chopped nuts or candied cherries or silver sprinkles, that
girl hadn't mentioned it. So far as Valeria knew, it was just herself and Charlotte who had seen it happen,
and Mrs. Whipple would never remember that she'd sent a plain white plate and gotten back good china
with a narrow rim of gold, and that made two things to be thankful for.
"Really, Mother!" Charlotte had said, when the door closed behind the last of the Camp Fire Girls.
"Really!"
"You handled it very well, dear, I must say," said Valeria. "I was impressed."
"Thank you, Mother," said Charlotte, tight-lipped and fuming, her arms folded over her chest just