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

"I do know," Leighton said. "I'm a reporter, remember? I've spent a lot of long gray years writing up
other people's stories. I've got no story of my own. You know that, Cantling. Look what you did to me
in ByeLine. The Courier croaks and I decide to write my memoirs and what happens?"

Cantling remembered. "You blocked. You rewrote your old stories, twenty-year-old stories,
thirty-year-old stories. You had that incredible memory. You could recall all the people you'd ever
reported on, the dates, the details, the quotes. You could recite the first story you'd had bylined word for
word, but you couldn't remember the name of the first girl you'd been to bed with, couldn't remember
your ex-wife's phone number, you couldn'tтАж you couldn'tтАж" His voice failed.

"I couldn't remember my daughter's birthday," Leighton said. "Where do you get those crazy ideas,
Cantling?" Cantling was silent.

"From life, maybe?" Leighton said gently. "I was a good reporter. That was about all you could say about
me. You, well, maybe you're a good novelist. That's for the critics to judge, and I'm just a sweaty
newspaperman whose feet hurt. But even if you are a good novelist, even if you're one of the great ones,
you were a lousy husband, and a miserable father."

"No," Cantling said. It was a weak protest. Leighton swirled his tumbler; the ice cubes clinked and
clattered. "When did Helen leave you?" he asked.

"I don'tтАж ten years ago, something like that. I was in the middle of the final draft of En Passant."
"When was the divorce final?"

"Oh, a year later. We tried a reconciliation, but it didn't take. Michelle was in school, I remember. I was
writing Times Are Hard."

"You remember her third grade play?"

"Was that the one I missed?"

"The one you missed? You sound like Nixon saying, 'Was that the time I lied?' That was the one Michelle
had the lead in, Cantling."

"I couldn't help that," Cantling said. "I wanted to come. They were giving me an award. You don't skip
the National Literary League dinner. You can't."

"Of course not," said Leighton. "When was it that Helen died?"

"I was writing ByeLine," Cantling said.

"Interesting system of dating you've got there. You ought to put out a calendar." He swallowed some
whisky.

"All right," Cantling said. "I'm not going to deny that my work is important to me. Maybe too important, I
don't know. Yes, the writing has been the biggest part of my life. But I'm a decent man, Leighton, and
I've always done my best. It hasn't all been like you're implying. Helen and I had good years. We loved
each other once. And MichelleтАж I loved Michelle. When she was a little girl, I used to write stories just
for her. Funny animals, space pirates, silly poems. I'd write them up in my spare time and read them to