"Madeline L' Engle - A Live Coal in the Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Engle Madeleine)

the professor was Grantley Grange, nicknamed Red after the football player.
Someone had had to explain to Camilla who the original Red Grange was.
Football,
basketball, baseball, meant nothing to her. She had been in an Italian
convent
school during high school. When she came to college her friends laughed at
her
and told her to keep her head in the stars.
She had been confused. 'So there was another Red Grange?' she asked one day
after astronomy class.
One of her friends had answered patiently, 'Yes, Camilla. There was the real
one, a famous football player.'
'So what about Professor-'
'Professor Grange has red hair, and he just borrowed the nickname. Wanted to
be
named after somebody famous, maybe? though I can't imagine Professor Grange
with
a football.
'I don't know anything about football.'
'Relax. It's okay. Our Red Grange, the professor, is a topnotch teacher, and
if
he wants to call himself Red I don't suppose it does any harm.'
-Naive, she thought. -I was unpardonably naive.
She left Luisa's room, and climbed the final flight of stairs to her own room
and closed the door, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. She loved her
room, a cubbyhole under the eaves, one of the few singles in the house, with
dormer windows, and the bed pushed against the slant of the roof. Luisa had
called it an Emily Bronte room.
She undressed, took towel and robe, and went to the washroom with its long
rows
of basins and showers and, thank heavens, one ancient tub. She lay back in
the
water, relaxing until she was pink except where her knees rose above the
surface, suddenly surprised because the face of the young man
wound. 'I'm going to take a bath.' Camilla fled. She could get away from
Luisa.
She could not get away from her mother.
And that, it seemed, was true for all her life, Rose's shadow thrown darkly
across it, even after her death. Even now, Camilla thought as she sat in the
pleasant living room of her
campus house with Raffi, even now Rose's presence was there. Genetically she
was
visible in neither Camilla nor Raffi. Camilla's hair had been black, her skin
clear and very fair; Rafferty Dickinson had had some Welsh forebears. Raffi
looked like Raffi. Perhaps her triangular face with high cheekbones came from
her mother, Thessaly, but her bright hair and eyes were uniquely her own. Her
eyes were hidden now as she took her fork and ran it idly around her empty
plate.
Camilla said, "My mother was so beautiful artists kept wanting to paint her."
"Some did, didn't they?" Raffi asked. "Isn't there one by Carroll at MoMA?"