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

her at bedtime. They were something I did just for Michelle, for love."
"Yeah," Leighton said cynically. "You never even thought about getting them published."

Cantling grimaced. "ThatтАж you're implyingтАж that's a distortion. Michelle loved the stories so much, I
thought maybe other kids might like them too. It was just an idea. I never did anything about it."

"Never?"

Cantling hesitated. "Look, Bert was my friend as well as my agent. He had a little girl of his own. I
showed him the stories once. Once!"

"I can't be pregnant," Leighton said. "I only let him fuck me once. Once!"

"He didn't even like them," Cantling said.

"Pity," replied Leighton.

"You're laying this on me with a trowel, and I'm not guilty. No, I wasn't father of the year, but I wasn't an
ogre either. I changed her diaper plenty of times. Before Black Roses, Helen had to work, and I took
care of the baby every day, from nine to five."

"You hated it when she cried and you had to leave your typewriter."

"Yes," Cantling said. "Yes, I hated being interrupted, I've always hated being interrupted, I don't care if it
was Helen or Michelle or my mother or my roommate in college, when I'm writing I don't like to be
interrupted. Is that a fucking capital crime? Does that make me inhuman? When she cried, I went to her.
I didn't like it, I hated it, I resented it, but I went to her."

"When you heard her," said Leighton. "When you weren't in bed with Cissy, dancing with Miss Aggie,
beating up scabs with Frank Corwin, when your head wasn't full of their voices, yeah, sometimes you
heard, and when you heard you went. Congratulations, Cantling."

"I taught her to read," Cantling said. "I read her Treasure Island and Wind in the Willows and The
Hobbit and Tom Sawyer, all kinds of things."

"All books you wanted to reread anyway," said Leigh-ton. "Helen did the real teaching, with Dick and
Jane."

"I hate Dick and Jane!" Cantling shouted.

"So?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Richard Cantling said. "You weren't there. Michelle was
there. She loved me, she still loves me. Whenever she got hurt, scraped her knee or got her nose
bloodied, whatever it was, it was me she'd run to, never Helen. She'd come crying to me, and I'd hug her
and dry her tears and I'd tell herтАж I used to tell herтАж" But he couldn't go on. He was close to tears
himself; he could feel them hiding the corners of his eyes.

"I know what you used to tell her," said Barry Leigh-ton in a sad, gentle voice.