"Joyce Carol Oates - The Gravedigger's Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oates Joyce Carol)

тАЬTignor.тАЭ

So in love, and so childish in her vanity, though not a girl any longer, a married woman a mother. Still she
uttered тАЬTignorтАЭ a dozen times a day.

Thinking now as she began to walk faster He better not be following me, Tignor wonтАЩt like it.

To discourage the man in the panama hat from wishing to catch up with her and talk to her as men
sometimes, not often but sometimes, did, Rebecca dug the heels of her work shoes into the towpath,
gracelessly. She was nerved-up anyway, irritable as a horse tormented by flies.

SheтАЩd almost smashed her hand in a press, that day. God damn sheтАЩd been distracted!

And now this. This guy! Sent him a mean look over her shoulder, not to be encouraged.

No one she knew?

DidnтАЩt look like he belonged here.

In Chautauqua Falls, men followed her sometimes. At least, with their eyes. Most times Rebecca tried
not to notice. SheтАЩd lived with brothers, she knew тАЬmen.тАЭ She wasnтАЩt the shy fearful little-girl type. She
was strong, fleshy. Wanting to think she could take care of herself.

But this afternoon felt different, somehow. One of those wan warm sepia-tinted days. A day to make you
feel like crying, Christ knew why.

Not that Rebecca Tignor cried. Never.

And: the towpath was deserted. If she shouted for helpтАж

This stretch of towpath she knew like the back of her hand. A forty-minute walk home, little under two
miles. Five days a week Rebecca hiked the towpath to Chautauqua Falls, and five days a week she
hiked back home. Quick as she could manage in her damn clumsy work shoes.

Sometimes a barge passed her on the canal. Livening things up a little. Exchanging greetings, wisecracks
with guys on the barges. Got to know a few of them.

But the canal was empty now, both directions.

God damn she was nervous! Nape of her neck sweating. And inside her clothes, armpits leaking. And
her heart beating in that way that hurt like something sharp was caught between her ribs.

тАЬTignor. Where the hell are you.тАЭ

She didnтАЩt blame him, really. Oh but hell she blamed him.

Tignor had brought her here to live. In late summer 1956. First thing Rebecca read in the Chautauqua
Falls newspaper was so nasty she could not believe it: a local man whoтАЩd murdered his wife, beat her
and threw her into the canal somewhere along this very-same deserted stretch, and threw rocks at her
until she drowned. Rocks! It had taken maybe ten minutes, the man told police. He had not boasted but