"Fish, Patricia - The Chipmunk Rat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fish Patricia)

unconcern, tossed the storeТs retail garbage behind the store and in that
shared alley.
УItТs a rat! HeТs just sitting there!Ф
Joana came running from the kitchen early that morning and declared the
presence of a rat. My mother, frightened more than us of the vermin,
immediately hopped onto the back of a chair in our living room.
Joana jumped onto my lap and we both huddled in terror on the couch.
The house had a УrailroadФ architecture design, in that each room was directly
behind the other. WeТd enter the house through the living room, then the
dining room, then the kitchen. The upstairs bedrooms were УstackedФ in much
the same manner. The rat of our torment was in the kitchen that horrible day.
It was apparently very sick. My father regularly left out rat poison and this
rat had evidently consumed some.
УIf you see a rat moving slow and acting strange, get the hell out of there,Ф
my father had warned Joana and me. УRats donТt like to be cornered and if the
poison hasnТt killed them yet, theyТre liable to attack you in desperation. It
a rat canТt run, it goes for your throat.Ф
So when Joana saw the half-dead rat moving slowly across the kitchen floor,
she followed our fatherТs advice. We all did.
My mother sat on the back of the living room chair, hugging her knees and
sobbing. Joana and I held onto each other.
УMom, we should try to get to the phone. Call Dad or something.Ф
My mother continued to sob quietly.
УWell if youТre not going to do anything, IТll go into the kitchen and call
for help. We just can't sit here all day.Ф
My mother's sobs filled the room.
She just couldnТt take it, our mother. She was a good woman. She packed our
lunches, made our dinners. She loved Joana and me.
But she never protected us. She never protected herself.
We were all, two sisters and a weak mother, unsafe from the man in our lives.
УRemember you ran into the kitchen that day, all brave?Ф Joana asked to shake
me from my reverie.
УMom wasnТt doing much good. Some protector she was,Ф I said. We had returned
to my house after our annual cemetery visit. JoanaТs daughter, Rudy, was out
playing in my yard.
УWe were just so scared of the rats,Ф Joana whispered. I clunked ice in tall
glasses and tried to drown her out.
УIТd never seen a chipmunk before, Mare. HowТd I know thatТs what it was?Ф
I squinted into the bowels of my refrigerator, plotting how to extract a
pitcher of iced tea by moving the fewest objects.
УDad never shoulda showed you that gun, thatТs the problem Joana. We were city
kids. What did we know from guns?Ф
УI shouldnТt have got it down. He told me not to. He told me to never play
with it.Ф
I pulled my head from the refrigerator.
УWell, Dad was no paragon of virtue,Ф I said quietly.
Joana turned in her chair and regarded me soberly.
He regularly beat our mother, dear old Dad; not that she wasnТt a perfect
punching bag. But he also did. . .other things. IТve never asked Joana about
these other things, but I knew she would know.