"Montague, Art - Suburban Renewal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Montague Arthur)

"That poor woman is absolutely beside herself with worry. I always thought Larry had a roving eye. Don't ask me why; a woman's instinct. He makes my skin crawl."

Harv had a good idea where this topic was going. When Pepperpot began frisking at Ethel's ankles, Harv managed to slip out the door to water the lawn.

While doing the backyard, he envisioned the pool and patio -- their location, their shape, the landscaping he could incorporate into the overall design. His yard had great potential, he decided. He knew his ideas and Ethel's didn't quite mesh as to how the yard should be laid out. He liked the idea of a big barbecue pit, for which they had the space, and barbecuing was something he'd always wanted to try his hand at. Ethel, though, was of the view that cooking outside was barbaric and eating outside even more so--unless it was a garden party with take-out from Oscar's Deli or perhaps a sandwich and salad tray from the Safeway. He hoped for a compromise, possibly a small propane barbecue in exchange for the wrought iron yard chairs and table she favored. He could keep it in the garage when it wasn't being used, in the corner by his golf clubs. He should sell those, he realized, he didn't golf any more anyway.

Harv dawdled outside until past nine o'clock, chatting with his neighbor, Jim Stoneweather, for half an hour or so. Jim had lived alone since the previous summer when his wife had taken off somewhere, leaving him with two kids, the mortgage and payments on the swimming pool Harv had put in for him.

Jim always said the last straw for his wife may have been the pool. Jim had wanted it, she hadn't. She split while the work was still underway.

Yet Jim seemed to be doing all right. He had a live-in nanny to look after the kids, a lovely woman named Catharine. Harv wouldn't be surprised if sometime down the way, Jim and Catharine worked out something more together. They'd have to wait though because Jim had had no contact with his wife, and with no idea where she was, he couldn't do much with legalities except wait.

When Harv came in, Ethel was already propped in her bed, watching television.

"I'm certainly glad you decided to spare some time for me," she greeted him. "I wanted to remind you I have an appointment at the clinic tomorrow at one-thirty. I hope you can fit it into your busy schedule."

"No problem, dear," he replied. "Peter and Ricky can handle the job for a couple of hours." Maybe she'd go to sleep so that he could watch "Homicide: Life in the Streets" at ten. He liked the burnt-out hippie detective. More likely she'd stay awake through Jerry Springer. He hoped he'd be asleep before then.

Little Ricky could easily handle the couple of hours, and probably cover for Peter who, Harv knew, would slip off to the nearest bar. Were he not such an excellent finish carpenter, Harv would have let Peter go because of the drinking. Little Ricky was coming along fast, though, and would soon be good enough to replace Peter. Just a matter of time. So much was.

Lying in his bed, half listening to Jerry and his freaks, he thought of Annie, the freckles, the oatmeal raisin cookies, the bruise, the breasts. Sympathy, concern, anger, comfort; he felt a strange mix of emotion. That night he slept straight through, no staring at the ceiling. Every Tuesday should be so good.

The work went well over the next couple of weeks. Little Ricky and Peter wrapped up the Smithers job and Harv, hiring on another part-timer, was well underway on Peter's party room. The deal was that Peter would do his own finishing, Harv the framing, wiring, what have you. Where Peter would really save would be on finishing material which Harv could buy through the business and get a contractor's discount.

Annie was gracious, thoughtful, seeming not the least ruffled by workmen and their mess cluttering her house. At morning coffee time she'd be there with warm muffins or rolls, fresh that day and home-made too. Then she'd put out a lunch that shamed O'Malley's on its best day, followed by cookies or cake with afternoon coffee. Harv began to think he was thickening a bit at the waist.
The helper brought his own lunch, which he usually ate in the truck. Harv and Annie talked a blue streak during lunches. They didn't talk about anything in particular, but they shared and they laughed, and Harv felt the same comfort that he'd felt that first Tuesday.

Once in awhile he'd get a notion she was buttering up the boss so that Peter could keep his job, but she was too genuine. What you saw was what you got, and what Harv saw was lost on Peter, for sure.

She didn't badmouth Peter, not the way he did her. On the other hand, she didn't praise him to the skies. She'd say, "Peter wants it this way," or "Peter would insist," or "Peter has his moments," and that was as far as it went. In fact, they hardly ever talked about Peter. . . or Ethel for that matter.

Nothing changed for Harv on the home front. Ethel did as Ethel always did; similarly Pepperpot; similarly Harv. But things really changed for Harv's neighbor, Jim Stoneweather. His wife re-surfaced in Buffalo and was suing him for community property and ongoing support. His lawyer was not optimistic and Jim had already listed his house with a real estate agent.

"You can't win, Harv. As soon as you think the cherries may come up, the lemons stop in front of you." Understandably, Jim felt badly. "I guess she has every right to do what she's doing. By law. And she always did have a tough time with the kids, even though Catharine has no problem with them. The worst part is the she'll probably get almost everything, plus I know she has a live-in boy friend. She'll probably end up supporting him with my money. That's the part I have trouble with. She said she'd come down for a weekend later in the summer to straighten things out and pick up some stuff. I'm not sure I should even let her in the door. I'd rather just leave it to the lawyers, but I find it hard to just dump it off so casually."

Harv couldn't think of much to say, but then, he thought, Jim probably needed a sympathetic ear more than lame advice.

"Catharine's going to stand by me. That's amazing. I can't afford to pay her but she's willing to hang in. 'We'll make a home for the children regardless,' that's what she said."

"So," offered Harv, "maybe you can win a bit after all. Catharine seems like a fine person."

"Oh, she's that. Sometimes I think of her as more than a nanny. I mean she looks after the kids but she seems sometimes to look after me too, especially since this mess hit, and the kids absolutely love her."

Ethel had her own opinion of Jim's troubles. "What did he expect?" she pronounced. "His wife goes away to try to get some relief from the kids and get her act together to put up with his constant arguing and demands and, you know how it was over there as well as I do -- the minute she's gone he installs a new woman. A nanny! Give me a break! I feel sorry for the kids but she deserves everything she can squeeze out of him and then some."

No one thing compelled Harv to put in his pool and patio right away instead of waiting until the following spring. He'd wanted it for a long time. So had Ethel. But those weren't reasons, they were wishes. Yet he had reasons, for he wasn't an impulsive man.

Enough is enough? The path untrod? The greener pasture? The dreams unrealized? The unnerving, dehumanizing, and depersonalizing of human relationships endemic to post-industrialization? Not that, for sure, because Herb never listened to talk shows and would, in any case, not understand their attendant bafflegab. What Harv would have said was that he really and truly hated his situation. Those things which he had valued, that had given him surcease and purpose ... that had given him dignity and value as a person .... the book on his life was damn near closed. And Ethel seemed to him to have her hand on the back cover.

Oddly, or contrarily, now that he'd acceded to Ethel's wishes to hurry the job and announced the work for this year, she began to question whether they could afford it.