"George R. R. Martin - Portraits of His Children" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

It was past midnight and Cantling was rereading the leather-bound copy of ByeLine when he heard ice
cubes clinking together in the kitchen. "Help yourself, Barry," he called out.

Leighton came through the swinging door, tumbler in hand. "I did," he said. He looked at Cantling
through heavily lidded eyes, and gave a little snort. "You look old enough to be my father," he said. "I
didn't think anybody could look that old."

Cantling closed the book and set it aside. "Sit down," he said. "As I recall, your feet hurt."

"My feet always hurt," Leighton said. He settled himself into an armchair and swallowed a mouthful of
whisky. "Ah," he said, "that's better."

Cantling tapped the novel with a fingertip. "My eighth book," he said. "Michelle skipped right over three
novels. A pity. I would have liked to meet some of those people."

"Maybe she wants to get to the point," Leighton suggested.

"And what is the point?"

Leighton shrugged. "Damned if I know. I'm only a newspaperman. Five Ws and an H. You're the
novelist. You tell me the point."

"My ninth novel," Cantling suggested. "The new one."

"The last one?" said Leighton.

"Of course not. Only the most recent. I'm working on something new right now."

Leighton smiled. "That's not what my sources tell me."

"Oh? What do your sources say?"

"That you're an old man waiting to die," Leighton said. "And that you're going to die alone."

"I'm fifty-two," Cantling said crisply. "Hardly old."

"When your birthday cake has got more candles than you can blow out, you're old," said Leighton dryly.
"Helen was younger than you, and she died five years ago. It's in the mind, Cantling. I've seen young
octogenarians and old adolescents. And you, you had liver spots on your brain before you had hair on
your balls."

"That's unfair," Cantling protested.

Leighton drank his Seagram's. "Fair?" he said. "You're too old to believe in fair, Cantling. Young people
live life. Old people sit and watch it. You were born old. You're a watcher, not a liver." He frowned.
"Not a liver, jeez, what a figure of speech. Better a liver than a gall bladder, I guess. You were never a
gall bladder either. You've been full of piss for years, but you don't have any gall at all. Maybe you're a
kidney."
"You're reaching, Barry," Cantling said. "I'm a writer. I've always been a writer. That's my life. Writers
observe life, they report on life. It's in the job description. You ought to know."