"Nancy Etchemendy - Want's Bridge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Etchemendy Nancy)

law. As a witness, she could be easily discredited. I take a breath. For a moment,
relief makes me dizzy. Maybe I don't have to do what I fear after all. It was bad
enough, the others, my wife and child here in the creek bed. They were a
disappointment to me, and God helped with his advice. Still, it wasn't easy. If I have
to do this one, too, I wish I could rest a while first. But there wouldn't be time. The
police have already come to my house, eyeing me and asking courteous questions.
"I won't give you anything," I tell her.
She backs off a foot or two, gazing at me like a bird. She caresses the muzzle of the
gun. "Of course not. It isn't in your nature to give. Your nature is all desire and
seeking. I'm the one who'll do the giving."
She says it so seductively that for an awful moment I expect her to lie down and
spread her legs. The idea is so revolting it makes me cringe.
She chuckles. It's an oddly pleasant laugh that makes me wonder what her life was
like before this. She tucks something into my hand. It feels like a smooth stone, only
it's warm and it makes me tingle. I try to drop it, but I can't. I try to cry out, but I
can't. She grabs me by the collar and shoves me out from under the bridge, into the
night beyond the fire. Her strength amazes me.
"How does the world look now, Mr. Want?" she whispers. She stands up to her full
height, surprisingly tall, and waves an arm over her head. "The Sacred Present," she
says. "See?" Above us, the stars are out. I hadn't noticed before. It's a clear autumn
night, and they dance above us in mysterious arrangements far older than history. I
can even see the Milky Way. I can't recall the last time I thought about stars.
"What do you smell? Hear? Feel?" she says.
I realize abruptly that pungent willow juxtaposes itself with tar and exhaust fumes
from the bridge; I remember a car trip I took with my parents long ago, how we
drove to a river and picnicked there, and my father taught me to fish. I have hated
him so long. I thought I never could please him. But I had forgotten this moment,
and others like it. The cricket noise I thought chaotic becomes a brilliant chorus
joined by frogs and a distant mockingbird, its rhythms resonating with those of my
own heart. A feeling rises in me, utterly foreign. Is this what it's like to be satisfied? I
wonder. Am I happy now?
She's beside me again, wrenching the stone from my hand. The world flashes back
to what I've always thought of as normal. Only now I see how I've lived. A stormy
surf of pain rolls over me. More than pain. Agony. Suffering. I drop the gun, grab
my head and cry out.
I hear her insistent whispering in my ear. "I saw the murders. I've seen them all. It's
more than just you, you know. Creatures like you, they're everywhere. They prey on
each other. All of you are consumed with want--this reward or that reward, you don't
care who you hurt to get it. But once you have it, you always find an excuse to want
more."
My eyes are squeezed tight, but in my mind I see her waltzing around me, leaning
close to speak softly. "Sometimes you are men, sometimes women. Old or young,
black, white, brown. All kinds. All with things in your pockets. Razors, knives,
wires. Sometimes you even take lives with your own teeth. Keep wanting. The others
can smell it, like dogs. Sooner or later one of them will find you, and the worst thing
is, you'll be glad."
"No!" I scream.
Through bright sheets of pain I begin to understand. God said I'd be happy once
they were gone. He didn't say it would only last a moment.
Sweet Jesus, what have I done? I writhe in the mud, trying to breathe between