"Yvonne Navarro - The Cutting Room2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

intense, until her hair resembled the fur of some strange, albino leopard; for
a
second he felt a little breathless. She glanced up and caught his gaze, then
smiled. "And what's on your mind, mister?"
"Me?" Roger asked innocently. He offered his hand and she used it to stand.
"I
don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure," she said. She tossed her gardening gloves next to the tools and
scooped
Brian into her arms. "You get that look, you know?" Her eyes, pale gray and
almost washed out by the bright sun, glittered like colorless stones.
"Yeah," Roger said happily as he put an arm across her shoulders and they
went
inside. "I know."



Watching the newscast was habit for both of them, something which had been
ingrained in almost everyone, Roger was sure, from birth. Every evening at
six
o'clock he gathered his family and sat in front of the television. The
thought
that he was already carrying on the tradition by "training" Brian made him
uneasy, yet he seemed helpless to do otherwise. Most of the time Roger
thought
that he didn't really want to watch the newscast, and he was sure that most,
if
not all, of what was shown was little more than lies disguised by the
colorful
words and painstakingly correct smiles of the newspeople. Yet the thought of
actually missing the newscast, even accidentally, left him feeling
unfulfilled.
He knew that if he got up in the middle of the program, went outside and
walked
down the street, the chances were better than ninety-nine percent he wouldn't
see another human being on the sidewalk until the hour was over. It occurred
to
Roger that even Brian, with his never-ending supply of wriggles and gurgles,
sat
far more quietly than one would expect of a boy just entering his terrible
twos.

He felt slightly sick as he wondered what unseen messages were being
imprinted
on their minds as they sat before the tube like good little soldiers.
Nonetheless, he settled back, watching as the news anchor, a meticulously
made-up woman in her mid-thirties, smiled widely at her unseen audience and
began.
"In nearby Atlanta this morning, the Reverend Jerry Ackerson led a group
comprised of parents and members of his parish in what was supposed to be a