"Robert R. McCammon - Mine" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

cottage cheese, milk, half-empty cans of baked beans, and a few jars of
Gerber's baby food. She chose a jar of applesauce, then she opened a cupboard
and got a small pot. She turned on one of the stove's burners, and she drew a
little water from the sink's tap into the pot. She placed the pot on the
burner and the jar of applesauce down into the water to heat it. Robby didn't
like cold food, and the warmth would make him sleepy. A mother had to know a
lot of tricks; it was a tough job.
She glanced at Robby as she waited for the applesauce to heat up, and
she saw with a start of horror that he was just about to roll off the table's
edge.
She moved fast for her one hundred and eighty-four pounds. She caught
Robby an instant before he fell to the checkered linoleum, and she hugged him
close as he squalled again. "Hush, now. Hush. Almost broke your neck, didn't
you?" she said as she paced the floor with the crying infant. "Almost broke
it. Bad baby! Hush, now. Mary's got you."
Robby kicked and wailed, struggling in her arms, and Mary felt her
patience tattering like an old peace flag in a hard, hot wind.
She shoved that feeling down because it was a dangerous thing. It made
her think of ticking bombs and fingers forcing bullet clips into the chambers
of automatic rifles. It made her think of God's voice roaring commandments in
the night from her stereo speakers. It made her think of where she'd been and
who she was, and that was a dangerous thing to lodge in her mind. She cradled
Robby with one arm and felt the jar of applesauce. Warm enough. She took the
jar out, got a spoon from a drawer, and sat down in a chair with the baby.
Robby's nose was running, his face splotched with red. "Here," Mary said.
"Sweets for baby." His mouth was clamped shut, he wouldn't open it, and
suddenly he convulsed and kicked and the applesauce spewed onto the front of
Mary's plaid flannel robe. "Damn it!" she said. "Shit! Look at this mess!" The
child's body jerked with fierce strength. "You're going to eat this!" she told
him, and she spooned up more applesauce.
Again, he defied her. Applesauce dripped from his mouth down his chin.
It was combat now, a battle of wills. Mary caught the infant's face with one
large hand and squeezed the babyfat cheeks. "YOU'RE GOING TO MIND ME!" she
shouted into the glistening blue eyes. The infant quieted for a second,
startled, and then new tears streaked down his face and his wailing pierced
Mary's head with fresh pain.
Robby's lips became a barrier to the spoon. Applesauce drooled down onto
his sleepsuit, where yellow ducks cavorted. Mary thought of the washing she
was going to have to do, a chore she despised, and the frayed thread of her
temper broke.
She threw aside the spoon, picked up the infant, and shook him. "MIND
ME!" she shouted. "DO YOU HEAR WHAT I SAID?" She shook him harder and harder,
his head lolling and the high-pitched wail still coming from his mouth. She
clamped a hand over his lips, and his head thrashed against her fingers. The
sound of his crying went up and up, a crazy spiral. She had to get ready for
work, had to put on the face she wore every day outside these walls, had to
say "Yes ma'am" and "No sir" and wrap the burgers just so and the people who
bought them never knew who she had been, they never guessed, no never never in
a million years did they guess she would rather cut their throats than look at
them. Robby was screaming, the apartment was filling up with screaming,