"Mckinley,.Robin.-.Sunshine" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)
Mom had been in one of her bad moods that particular week, sharp and short with everyone but the customers, not that she saw them much any more, she was in the office doing the paperwork and giving hell to any of our suppliers who didnТt behave. IТd been having car trouble and was complaining about the garage bill to anyone whoТd listen. No doubt Mom heard the story more than once, but then I heard her weekly stories about her hairdresser more than once too (she and Mary and Liz all used Lina, I think so they could get together after and discuss her love life, which was pretty fascinating). But Sunday evening she overheard me telling Kyoko, who had been out sick and was catching up after five days away, and Mom lost it. She shouted that if I lived at home I wouldnТt need a car at all, and she was worried about me because I looked tired all the time, and when was I going to stop dreaming my life away and marry Mel and have some kids? Supposing that Mel and I wanted to get married, which hadnТt been discussed. I wondered how Mom would take the appearance at the wedding of the remnants of MelТs old motorcycle gangЧwhich is to say the ones that were still aliveЧwith their hair and their Rocs and Griffins (even Mel still had an old Griffin for special occasions, although it hemorrhaged oil) and their attitude problems. They never showed up in force at the coffeehouse, but sheТd notice them at the kind of wedding sheТd expect me to have.
The obvious answer to the question of children was, who was going to look after the baby while I got up at four a.m. to make cinnamon rolls? Mel worked as appalling hours as I did, especially since heТd been promoted to head cook when Charlie had been forcedЧby a mutiny of all handsЧto accept that he could either delegate something or drop dead of exhaustion. So househusbandry wasnТt the answer. But in fact I knew my family would have got round this. When one of our waitresses got pregnant and the boyfriend left town and her own family threw her out, Mom and Charlie took her in and we all babysat in shifts, in and out of the coffeehouse. (WeТd only just got rid of MomТs sister Evie and her four kids, whoТd stayed for almost two years, and one mom and one baby seemed like pie in the sky in comparison. Especially after Evie, who is professionally helpless.) Barry was in second grade now, and Emmy was married to Henry. Henry was one of our regulars, and Emmy still waitressed for us. The coffeehouse is like that.
I liked living alone. I liked the silenceЧand nothing moving but me. I lived upstairs in a big old ex-farmhouse at the edge of a federal park, with my landlady on the ground floor. When IТd gone round to look at the place the old ladyЧvery tall, very straight, and a level stare that went right through youЧhad looked at me and said she didnТt like renting to Young People (she said this like you might say Dog Vomit) because they kept bad hours and made noise. I liked her immediately. I explained humbly that indeed I did keep bad hours because I had to get up at four a.m. to make cinnamon rolls for CharlieТs Coffeehouse, whereupon she stopped scowling magisterially and invited me in.
It had taken three months after graduation for Mom to begin to consider my moving out, and that was with Charlie working on her. I was still reading the apartments-for-rent ads in the paper surreptitiously and making the phone calls when Mom was out of earshot. Most of them in my price range were dire. This apartment, up on the third floor at the barn end of the long rambling house, was perfect, and the old lady must have seen I meant it when I said so. I could feel my face light up when she opened the door at the top of the second flight of stairs, and the sunshine seemed to pour in from every direction. The living room balcony, cut down from the old hayloft platform but now overlooking the garden, still has no curtains.
By the time we signed the lease my future landlady and I were on our way to becoming fast friends, if you can be fast friends with someone who merely by the way she carries herself makes you feel like a troll. Maybe I was just curious: there was so obviously some mystery about her; even her name was odd. I wrote the check to Miss Yolande. No Smith or Jones or Fitzalan-Howard or anything. Just Miss Yolande. But she was always pleasant to me, and she wasnТt wholly without human weakness: I brought her stuff from the coffeehouse and she ate it. I have that dominant feed-people gene that I think you have to have to survive in the small-restaurant business. You sure arenТt doing it for the money or the hours. At first it was now and thenЧI didnТt want her to notice I was trying to feed her upЧbut she was always so pleased it got to be a regular thing. Whereupon she lowered the rentЧwhich I have to admit was a godsend, since by then IТd found out what running a car was going to costЧand told me to lose the УMiss.Ф
Yolande had said soon after I moved in that I was welcome in the garden any time I liked too, it was just her and me (and the peanut-butter-baited electric deer fence), and occasionally her niece and the nieceТs three little girls. The little girls and I got along because they were good eaters and they thought it was the most exciting thing in the world to come in to the coffeehouse and be allowed behind the counter. Well, I could remember what that felt like, when Mom was first working for Charlie. But thatТs the coffeehouse in action again: it tends to sweep out and engulf people. I think only Yolande has ever held out against this irresistible force, but then I do bring her white bakery bags almost every day.
Usually I could let MomТs temper roll off me. But thereТd been too much of it lately. Coffeehouse disasters are often hardest on Mom, because she does the money and the admin, and for example actually follows up peopleТs references when they apply for jobs, which Charlie never bothers with, but she isnТt one for bearing trials quietly. That spring thereТd been expensive repairs when it turned out the roof had been leaking for months and a whole corner of the ceiling in the main kitchen fell down one afternoon, one of our baking-goods suppliers went bust and we hadnТt found another one we liked as well, and two of our wait staff and another one of the kitchen staff quit without warning. Plus Kenny had entered high school the previous autumn and he was goofing off and getting high instead of studying. He wasnТt goofing off and getting high any more than I had done, but he had no gift for keeping a low profile. He was also very brightЧboth my half brothers wereЧand Mom and Charlie had high hopes for them. IТd always suspected that Charlie had pulled me off waitressing, which had bored me silly, and given me a real function in the kitchen to straighten me out. I had been only sixteen, so I was young for it, but heТd been letting me help him from time to time out back so he knew I could do it, the question was whether I would. Sudden scary responsibility had worked with me. But Kenny wasnТt going to get a law degree by learning to make cinnamon rolls, and he didnТt need to feed people the way Charlie or I did either.
Anyway Kenny hadnТt come home till dawn that Sunday morningЧhis curfew was midnight on Saturday nightsЧand there had been hell to pay. There had been hell to pay all that day for all of us, and I went home that night smarting and cranky and my one night a week of twelve hoursТ sleep hadnТt worked its usual rehabilitation. I took my tea and toast and Immortal Death, (a favorite comfort book since under-the-covers-with-flashlight reading at the age of eleven or twelve) back to bed when I finally woke up at nearly noon, and even that really spartan scene when the heroine escapes the Dark Other whoТs been pursuing her for three hundred pages by calling on her demon heritage (finally) and turning herself into a waterfall didnТt cheer me up. I spent most of the afternoon housecleaning, which is my other standard answer to a bad mood, and that didnТt work either. Maybe I was worried about Kenny too. IТd been lucky during my brief tearaway spell; he might not be. Also I take the quality of my flour very seriously, and I didnТt think much of our latest trial baking-supply company.
When I arrived at Charlie and MomТs house that evening for Monday movies the tension was so thick it was like walking into a blanket. Charlie was popping corn and trying to pretend everything was fine. Kenny was sulking, which probably meant he was still hung over, because Kenny didnТt sulk, and Billy was being hyper to make up for it, which of course didnТt. Mary and Danny and Liz and Mel were there, and Consuela, MomТs latest assistant, who was beginning to look like the best piece of luck weТd had all year, and about half a dozen of our local regulars. Emmy and Barry were there too, as they often were when Henry was away, and Mel was playing with Barry, which gave Mom a chance to roll her eyes at me and glare, which I knew meant Уsee how good he is with childrenЧitТs time he had some of his own.Ф Yes. And in another fourteen years this hypothetical kid would be starting high school and learning better, more advanced, adolescent ways of how to screw up and make grown-ups crazy.
I loved every one of these people. And I couldnТt take another minute of their company. Popcorn and a movie would make us all feel better, and it was a working day tomorrow, and you have only so much brain left over to worry with if you run a family restaurant. The Kenny crisis would go away like every other crisis had always gone away, worn down and eventually buried by an accumulation of order slips, till receipts, and shared stories of the amazing things the public gets up to.
But the thought of sitting for two hoursЧeven with MelТs arm around meЧand a bottomless supply of excellent popcorn (Charlie couldnТt stop feeding people just because it was his day off) wasnТt enough on that particular Monday. So I said IТd had a headache all day (which was true) and on second thought I would go home to bed, and I was sorry. I was out the door again not five minutes after IТd gone in.
Mel followed me. One of the things weТd had almost from the beginning was an ability not to talk about everything. These people who want to talk about their feelings all the time, and want you to talk about yours, make me nuts. Besides, Mel knows my mother. ThereТs nothing to discuss. If my mom is the lightning bolt, IТm the tallest tree on the plain. ThatТs the way it is.
There are two very distinct sides to Mel. ThereТs the wild-boy side, the motorcycle tough. HeТs cleaned up his act, but itТs still there. And then thereТs this strange vast serenity that seems to come from the fact that he doesnТt feel he has to prove anything. The blend of anarchic thug and tranquil self-possession makes him curiously restful to be around, like walking proof that oil and water can mix. ItТs also great on those days that everyone else in the coffeehouse is screaming. It was Monday, so he smelled of gasoline and paint rather than garlic and onions. He was absentmindedly rubbing the oak tree tattoo on his shoulder. He was a tattoo-rubber when he was thinking about something else, which meant that whatever he was cooking or working on could get pretty liberally dispersed about his person on ruminative days.
УSheТll sheer, day or so,Ф he said. УI was thinking, maybe IТll talk to Kenny.У
УDo it,Ф I said. УIt would be nice if he lived long enough to find out he doesnТt want to be a lawyer.Ф Kenny wanted to get into Other law, which is the dancing-on-the-edge-of-the-muttering-volcano branch of law, but a lawyer is still a lawyer.
Mel grunted. He probably had more reason than me to believe that lawyers are large botulism bacteria in three-piece suits.
УEnjoy the movie,Ф I said.
УI know the real reason youТre blowing, sweetheart,Ф Mel said.
УBillyТs turn to rent the movie,Ф I said. УAnd I hate westerns.Ф
Mel laughed, kissed me, and went back indoors, closing the door gently behind him.
I stood restlessly on the sidewalk. I might have tried the libraryТs new-novels shelf, a dependable recourse in times of trouble, but Monday evening was early closing. Alternatively I could go for a walk. I didnТt feel like reading: I didnТt feel like looking at other peopleТs imaginary lives in flat black and white from out here in my only too unimaginary life. It was getting a little late for solitary walking, even around Old Town, and besides, I didnТt want a walk either. I just didnТt know what I did want.
I wandered down the block and climbed into my fresh-from-the-mechanics car and turned the key. I listened to the nice healthy purr of the engine and out of nowhere decided it might be fun to go for a drive. I wasnТt a going for a drive sort of person usually. But I thought of the lake.
When my mother had still been married to my father weТd had a summer cabin out there, along with hundreds of other people. After my parents split up I used to take the bus out there occasionally to see my gran. I didnТt know where my gran livedЧit wasnТt at the cabinЧbut I would get a note or a phone call now and then suggesting that she hadnТt seen me for a while, and we could meet at the lake. My mother, who would have loved to forbid these visitsЧwhen Mom goes off someone, she goes off comprehensively, and when she went off my dad she went off his entire family, excepting me, whom she equally passionately demanded to keepЧdidnТt, but the result of her not-very-successfully restrained unease and disapproval made those trips out to the lake more of an adventure than they might otherwise have been, at least in the beginning. In the beginning I had kept hoping that my gran would do something really dramatic, which I was sure she was capable of, but she never did. It wasnТt till after IТd stopped hopingЕbut that was later, and not at all what I had had in mind. And then when I was ten she disappeared.
When I was ten the Voodoo Wars started. They were of course nothing about voodoo, but they were about a lot of bad stuff, and some of the worst of them in our area happened around the lake. A lot of the cabins got burned down or leveled one way or another, and there were a few places around the lake where you still didnТt go if you didnТt want to have bad dreams or worse for months afterward. Mostly because of those bad spots (although also because there simply werenТt as many people to have vacation homes anywhere any more) after the Wars were over and most of the mess cleared up, the lake never really caught on again. The wilderness was taking overЧ which was a good thing because it meant that it could. There were a lot of places now where nothing was ever going to grow again.
The road that went to what had been my parentsТ cabin was passable, if only just. I got out there and went and sat on the porch and looked at the lake. My parentsТ cabin was the only one still standing in this area, possibly because it had belonged to my father, whose name meant something even during the Voodoo Wars. There was a bad spot off to the east, but it was far enough away not to trouble me, though I could feel it was there.
I sat on the sagging porch, swinging my legs and feeling the troubles of the day draining out of me like water. The lake was beautiful: almost flat calm, the gentlest lapping against the shore, and silver with moonlight. IТd had many good times here: first with my parents, when they were still happy together, and later on with my gran. As I sat there I began to feel that if I sat there long enough I could get to the bottom of what was making me so cranky lately, find out if it was anything worse than poor-quality flour and a somewhat errant little brother.
I never heard them coming. Of course you donТt, when theyТre vampires.
I had kind of a lot of theoretical knowledge about the Others, from reading what I could pull off the globenet about themЧfabulously, I have to say, embellished by my addiction to novels like Immortal Death and Blood ChaliceЧbut I didnТt have much practical Сfo. After the Voodoo Wars, New Arcadia went from being a parochial backwater to number eight on the national top ten of cities to live in, simply because most of it was still standing. Our new rank brought its own problems. One of these was an increased sucker population. We were still pretty clean. But no place on this planet is truly free of Others, including those Darkest Others, vampires.
It is technically illegal to be a vampire. Every now and then some poor stupid or unlucky person gets made a sucker as part of some kind of warning or revenge, and rather than being taken in by the vampire community (if community is the right word) that created him or her, they are dumped somewhere that they will be found by ordinary humans before the sun gets them the next morning. And then they have to spend the rest of their, so to speak, lives, in a kind of half prison, half asylum, under doctorsТ ordersЧand of course under guard. IТd heard, although I had no idea if it was true, that these miserable ex-people are executedЧdrugged senseless and then staked, beheaded, and burnedЧwhen they reached what would have been their normal life expectancy if theyТd been alive in the usual way.
One of the origins of the Voodoo Wars was that the vampires, tired of being the only ones of the Big Three, major-league Other Folk coherently and comprehensively legislated against, created a lot of vampires that they left for us humans to look after, and then organized themЧsomehowЧinto a wide-scale breakout. Vampirism doesnТt generally do a lot for your personalityЧthat is, a lot of goodЧand the vampires had chosen as many really nice people as possible to turn, to emphasize their disenchantment with the present system. Membership in the Supergreens, for example, plummeted by something like forty percent during the Voodoo Wars, and a couple of big national charities had to shut down for a few years.
ItТs not that any of the Others are really popular, or that it had only been the vampires against us during the Wars. But a big point about vampires is that they are the only ones that canТt hide what they are: let a little sunlight touch them and they burst into flames. Very final flames. Exposure and destruction in one neat package. Weres are only in danger once a month, and there are drugs that will hold the Change from happening. The drugs are illegal, but then so are coke and horse and hypes and ratsТ brains and trippers. If you want the anti-Change drugs you can get them. (And most Weres do. Being a Were isnТt as bad as being a vampire, but itТs bad enough.) And a lot of demons look perfectly normal. Most demons have some funny habit or other but unless you live with one and catch it eating garden fertilizer or old combox components or growing scaly wings and floating six inches above the bed after it falls asleep, youТd never know. And some demons are pretty nice, although itТs not something you want to count on. (IТm talking about the Big Three, which everyone does, but УdemonФ is a pretty catch-all term really, and it can often turn out to mean what the law enforcement official on the other end of it wants it to mean at the time.)
The rest of the Others donТt cause much trouble, at least not officially. It is pretty cool to be suspected of being a fallen angel, and everyone knows someone with sprite or peri blood. Mary, at the coffeehouse, for example. Everyone wants her to pour their coffee because coffee poured by Mary is always hot. She doesnТt know where this comes from, but she doesnТt deny itТs some kind of Other blood. So long as Mary sticks to being a waitress at a coffeehouse, the government turns a blind eye to this sort of thing.
But if anyone ever manages to distill a drug that lets a vampire go out in daylight theyТll be worth more money in a month than the present total of all bank balances held by everyone on the global council. There are a lot of scientists and backyard bozos out there trying for that jackpotЧon both sides of the line. The smart money is on the black-market guys, but itТs conceivable that the guys in the white hats will get there first. ItТs a more and more open secret that the suckers in the asylums are being experimented onЧfor their own good, of course. ThatТs another result of the Voodoo Wars. The global council claims to want to УcureФ vampirism. The legit scientists probably arenТt starting with autopyrocy, however. (At least I donТt think they are. Our June holiday Monday is for Hiroshi Gutterman who managed to destroy a lot of vampires single-handedly, but probably not by being a Naga demon and closing his sun-proof hood at an opportune moment, because aside from not wanting to think about even a full-blood Naga having a hood big enough, there are no plausible rumors that either the suckers or the scientists are raising cobras for experiments with their skins.)
There are a lot of vampires out there. Nobody knows how many, but a lot. And the clever onesЧat least the clever and lucky onesЧtend to wind up wealthy. Really old suckers are almost always really wealthy suckers. Any time there isnТt any other news for a while you can pretty well count on another big article all over the globenet debating how much of the worldТs money is really in sucker hands, and those articles are an automatic pickup for every national and local paper. Maybe weТre all just paranoid. But thereТs another peculiarity about vampires. They donТt, you know, breed. Oh, they make new vampiresЧbut they make them out of pre-existing people. Weres and demons and so on can have kids with ordinary humans as well as with each other, and often do. At least some of the time itТs because the parents love each other, and love softens the edges of xenophobia. There are amazing stories about vampire sex and vampire orgies (there would be) but thereТs never been even a half-believable myth about the birth of a vampire or half-vampire baby.
(Speaking of sucker sex, the most popular story concerns the fact that since vampires arenТt alive, all their lifelike activities are under their voluntary control. This includes the obvious ones like walking, talking, and biting people, but it also includes the ones that are involuntary in the living: like the flow of their blood. One of the first stories that any teenager just waking up to carnal possibilities hears about male vampires is that they can keep it up indefinitely. I personally stopped blushing after I had my first lover, and discovered that absolutely the last thing I would want in a boyfriend is a permanent hard-on.)
So the suckers are right, humans do hate them in a single-mindedly committed way that is unlike our attitude to any of the other major categories of Others. But itТs hardly surprising. Vampires hold maybe one-fifth of the worldТs capital and theyТre a race incontestably apart. Humans donТt like ghouls and lamias either, but the rest of the undead donТt last long, theyТre not very bright, and if one bites you, every city hospital emergency room has the antidote (supposing thereТs enough of you left for you to run away with). The global council periodically tries to set up УtalksФ with vampire leaders in which they offer an end to persecution and legal restriction and an inexhaustible supply of pigsТ blood in exchange for a promise that the vampires will stop preying on people. In the first place this doesnТt work because while vampires tend to hunt in packs, the vampire population as a whole is a series of little fiefdoms, and alliances are brief and rare and usually only exist for the purpose of destroying some mutually intolerable other sucker fiefdom. In the second place the bigger the gang and the more powerful the master vampire, the less he or she moves around, and leaving headquarters to sit on bogus human global council УtalksФ is just not sheer. And third, pigsТ blood isnТt too popular with vampires. ItТs probably like being offered Cava when youТve been drinking Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin all your life. (The coffeehouse has a beer and wine license, but Charlie has a soft spot for champagne. CharlieТs was once on a globenet survey of restaurants, listed as the only coffeehouse anybody had ever heard of that serves champagne by the glass. You might be surprised how many people like bubbly with their meatloaf or even their cream cheese on pumpernickel.)
Okay, so IТm a little obsessed. Some people adore soap operas. Some people are neurotic about sports. I follow stories about the Others. Also, we know more about the Others at the coffeehouseЧif we want toЧbecause several of our regulars work for SOFЧSpecial Other Forces. Also known as sucker cops, since, as I say, itТs chiefly the suckers they worry about. Mom shuts them up when she catches them talking shop on our premises, but they know they always have an audience in me. I wouldnТt trust any cop any farther than I could throw our Prometheus, the shining black monster that dominates the kitchen at CharlieТs and is the apple of MelТs eye (you understand the connection between motorcycles and cooking when youТve seen an industrial-strength stove at full blast), but I liked Pat and Jesse.
Our SOFs say that nobody and nothing will ever enable suckers to go out in daylight, and a good thing too, because daylight is the only thing that is preventing them from taking over the other four-fifths of the world economy and starting human ranching as the next hot growth area for venture capitalists. But then SOFs are professionally paranoid, and they donТt have a lot of faith in the guys in lab coats, whether theyТre wearing black hats or white ones.
There are stories about УgoodФ vampires like there are stories about the loathly lady who after a hearty meal of raw horse and hunting hound and maybe the odd huntsman or archer, followed by an exciting night in the arms of her chosen knight, turns into the kindest and most beautiful lady the world has ever seen; but according to our SOFs no human has ever met a good vampire, or at least has never returned to say so, which kind of tells its own tale, doesnТt it? And the way I see it, the horse and the hounds and the huntsman are still dead, and you have to wonder about the psychology of the chosen knight who goes along with all the carnage and the fun and frolic in bed on some dubious grounds of Уhonor.Ф
Vampires kill people and suck their blood. Or rather the other way around. They like their meat alive and frightened, and they like to play with it a while before they finish it off. Another story about vampires is that the one domestic pet a vampire may keep is a cat, because vampires understand the way catsТ minds work. During the worst of the Voodoo Wars anyone who lived alone with a cat was under suspicion of being a vampire. There were stories that in a few places where the Wars were the worst, solitary people with cats who didnТt burst into flames in daylight were torched. I hoped it wasnТt true, but it might have been. There are always cats around CharlieТs, but they are usually refugees seeking asylum from the local rat population, and rather desperately friendly. There are always more of them at the full moon too, which goes to show that not every Were choosesЧor, more likely in Old Town, can affordЧto go the drug route.
So when I swam back to consciousness, the fact that I was still alive and in one piece wasnТt reassuring. I was propped against something at the edge of a ring of firelight. Vampires can see in the dark and they donТt cook their food, but they seem to like playing with fire, maybe the way some humans get off on joyriding stolen cars or playing last-across on a busy railtrack.
I came out of it feeling wretchedly sick and shaky, and of course scared out of my mind. TheyТd put some kind of Breath over me. I knew that vampires donТt have to stoop to blunt instruments or something on a handkerchief clapped over your face. They can just breathe on you and you are out cold. It isnТt something they can all do, but nearly all vampires hunt in packs since the Wars, and being the Breather to a gang had become an important sign of status (according to globenet reports). They can all move utterly silently, however, and, over short distances, faster than anythingЧwell, faster than anything aliveЧas well. So even if the Breath went wrong somehow theyТd catch you anyway, if they wanted to catch you.
УSheТs coming out of it,Ф said a voice.
IТd never met a vampire before, nor heard one speak, except on TV, where they run the voice through some kind of antiglamor technology so no one listening will march out of their house and start looking for the speaker. I canТt imagine that a vampire would want everyone listening to its voice to leap out of their chairs and start seeking it, but I donТt know how vampires (or cats, or loathly ladies) think, and maybe it would want to do this. And there is, of course, a story, because there is always a story, that a master vampire can tune its voice so that maybe only one specific person of all the possibly millions of people who hear a broadcast (and a sucker interview is always a big draw) will jump out of their chair, etc. I donТt think I believe this, but IТm just as glad of the antiglamor tech. But whatever else it does, it makes their voices sound funny. Not human, but not human in a clattery, mechanical, microchip way.
So in theory I suppose I shouldnТt have known these guys were vampires. But I did. If youТve been kidnapped by the Darkest Others, you know it.
In the first place, thereТs the smell. ItТs not at all a butcher-shop smell, as you might expect, although it does have that metallic blood tang to it. But meat in a butcherТs shop is dead. I know this is a contradiction in terms, but vampires smell of live blood. And something else. I donТt know what the something else is; itТs not any animal, vegetable, or mineral in my experience. ItТs not attractive or disgusting, although it does make your heart race. ThatТs in the genes, I suppose. Your body knows itТs prey even if your brain is fuddled by the Breath or trying not to pay attention. ItТs the smell of vampire, and your fight-or-flight instincts take over.
There arenТt many stories of those instincts actually getting you away though. At that moment I couldnТt think of any.
And vampires donТt move like humans. IТm told that young ones can УpassФ (after dark) if they want to, and a popular way of playing chicken among humans is to go somewhere thereТs a rumor of vampires and see if you can spot one. I knew Kenny and his buddies had done this a few times. I did it when I was their age. ItТs not enormously dangerous if you stay in a group and donТt go into the no-manТs-land around the big cities. WeТre a medium-sized city and, as I say, weТre pretty clean. ItТs still a dumb and dangerous thing to doЧdumber than my driving out to the lake should have been.
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