"Carol Emshwiller - I Live with You" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emshwiller Carol)

as though stolen from somebody's garbage. I'm shivering. (No wonder he's out. I suppose it's not easy to
shave. He'd have to heat the water on the hot plate.)

He needs a cat. Something to sleep on his chest to keep him warm like your cat does with me.

I have our groceries in my backpack. I leave two oranges and a doughnut in plain sight beside the hot
plate. I leave several of our quarters.
I leave a note: I put in our address. I sign your name. I write: Come for Christmas. Two o'clock. I'll be
wearing red leather pants! Your neighbor, Nora.

(I wonder which of us should wear those pants.)

I clean up a little bit but not so much that he'd notice if he's not a noticing person. Besides, people only
notice when things are dirty. They never notice when things are cleaned up.

As I walk home, I see you on your way out. We pass each other. You look right at me. I'm wearing your
green sweater and your black slacks. We look at each other, my brown eyes to your brown eyes. Only
difference is, your hair is pushed back and mine hangs down over my forehead. You go right on by. I
turn and look back. You don't. I laugh behind my hand that you had to wear those red leather pants and
a black and white striped top.

He's too timid and too self-deprecating to come. He doesn't like to limp in front of people and he's
ashamed not to have enough money hardly even for his food, and not to have a chance to shave and take
a bath. Though if he's scared by me coming into his room, he might come. He might want to see who
Nora is and if the address is real. His pretext will be that he wants to thank you for the food and quarters.
He might even want to give them back. He might be one of those rich people who live as if they were
poor. I should have looked for money or bank books. I will next time.

When the doorbell rings, who else could it be?

You open the door.

"Are you Nora?"

"Yes?"

"I want to thank you."

I knew it. I suppose he wants more money.

"But I want to bring your quarters back. That was kind of you but I don't need them."

You don't know what to say. You suspect it's all because of me. That I've, yet again, made your life
difficult. You wonder what to do. He doesn't look dangerous but you never can tell. You want to get
even with me some way. You suppose, if he is dangerous, it would be bad for both of us so it must be all
right. You ask him in.

He hobbles into your living room. You say sit down, that you'll get tea. You're stalling for time.

He still holds the handful of quarters. He puts them on the coffee table.