"Oates, Joyce Carol - We Were the Mulvaneys" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oates Joyce Carol)

My husband is not a violent man, he is not a murderer.

Dear God, You know his heart, Help us!

She'd called Eddy Harris, out of desperation that night. She lived in dread she'd have to call him, or other police officers, sometime again.

Neither in reproach nor in gratitude had Michael ever mentioned to her the fact she'd called Eddy Harris to head him off. It was as if he'd forgotten.

Had she betrayed him, in his eyes?

1 only did it because I love you, she prepared to tell him. Because we aren't that kind of people.

Imagining his reply, Aren't we? -4-7w says?

Especially disturbing, yes and infuriating, was Corinne's discovery that Michael was making secret decisions that involved them all. Decisions involving money-God knows how much! Without giv- ing so much as a hint of his intentions, Michael met several times with a Yewville attorney named Costello, of whom Corinne had never heard. She learned of this simply by chance, overhearing a telephone conversation. When she confronted him, Michael said evasively, "Hell, Corinne, a man can always use a lawyer. These are litigious times in the U.S. of A."

Cormne said anxiously, "Michael, what are you planning? Not some sort of civil lawsuit? It would destroy Marianne-it would destroy us all-if this becomes any more public than it already is! Imagine Marianne testifying in court, having to say such awful things, then being cross-examined by some merciless, vicious lawyer! Oh, Michael, promise me, please, no."

Michael shook his head vehemently, backing off from her, bent on escape. He had work to do, calls to make. He was a damned busy man. Not looking back at his distraught wife wringing her hands like any distraught wife on TV, tears streaking her face.

"Trust me!" he called back. Jamming the fedora with the jaunty little feather onto his head, rushing out. A cold April rain was being blown slantwise against the house. Michael's khaki raincoat was rumpled behind as if he'd been sleeping in it.

Then, a week or so later, Corinne learned, again by chance, that Mr. Costello, whoever he was, hadn't "worked out"-he'd been "terminated" But instead of feeling gratitude, immense relief, Corinne steeled herself to wonder, Is he hiring another? What are his plans?

Corinne knew: Michael was sick not just with it, with what had happened to Marianne, but with what he felt to be the betrayal of their Mt. Ephrairn friends. He told her bitterly, one night as they lay in bed, in the dark, unable to sleep,"Between Mort Lundt and me, naturally they're choosing Lundt. Siding with him. Because the bastard's got money and connections, he's one of them."

"Don't think of it that way, darling," Corinne said futnblingly,

"-think of it that, well-they just don't want to get involved. You know how people are."

"I guess I didn't, actually," Michael said. "But I'm getting to know how our friends are. Our `friends.'" Corinne could imagine his mouth twisting in the dark. "Fucking `friends.'

She cringed as if he'd struck her it was so unlike Michael Mul- vane)' to utter any obscenity in a Woman's presence.

Michael claimed that people avoided him downtown. At the Odd Fellows', at the Sportsmen's Club, most of all at the Country Club. (Oh, but why go there? Corinne wanted to protest.) "An' I a leper? Am I the Walking Dead?" Michael laughed. They saw him, he said, and quickly looked away- Shaking his hand was a chore, he could see it in their eyes. He could feel it in their grip. Why, that hypocritical old fraud Ben Thorsen, who'd bellyached to Michael he couldn't pay straight-out for the roofing repairs he'd had done on his house, so Michael had agreed to monthly payments- at no interest-he was one of the worst. "But you never did like Ben Thorsen," Connne objected, as if that were the point.

Mulvaney Roofing hadn't gotten the contract for the Civic Center renovations. Nor for the St. Matthew's Hospital project. Maybe he'd demand an investigation-why a certain rival roofer's bid was accepted and his rejected. Just maybe!

Suddenly, too, Ben Breuer never had time for squash with him, or a quick drink. Nor Charley Macintyre, Jake Spohr. If he dropped in somewhere for lunch, one of the clubs, or the Blue Moon Cafe, where everyone knew him, he'd be made to feel how unwanted, how unwelcome he was. Oh of course he'd be invited to sit down at a table-if there was room-but it was obvious that Michael Mulvaney'S presence dampened the mood. Laughs subsided, there was nothing to talk about except weather, politics, sports.

What were they talking about before he'd joined them?

What did they talk about when he excused himse-1to use the men's room?

"People have their own lives," Corinne said gently, caressing her husband's shoulder. "They don't always-think of how others are perceiving them. You don't want to exaggerate this, Michael. You know you have a tendency to-"

Michael continued, contemptuously, as if he hadn't heard. Telling of how, that day, for the hell of it, he drove out to Spohr's Lumber to have a few wotds with Jake. If anybody knew about the Civic Center and St. Matthew's deals it would be Jake. Hadn't he, Michael

Mulvaney, always gotten along fine with Jake Spohr?-the two weren't close friends by a long shot, but they respected each other, had what you'd call a reciprocal relationship, throwing business each other's way, and Jake caine from a background like Michael's-he'd moved to Mt. Ephraiin from Bufl-lo, no roots in the Valley and no fancy education, just a reputation for doing good work. So Michael asked Jake point-blank what was going on behind his back?-was he being squeezed out, or what? And Jake shook his head like this was a question he couldn't comprehend, much less answer. Jake acknowledged there was probably "personal politics" behind the contracts but wasn't there always? (Spohr's Lumber had the contract for the hospital wing, but not for the Civic Center.) Michael then asked what was being said about him and his family?-what was being said about his daughter Marianne? "And Jake looked me straight in the eye, Corinne, and said, `Not a thing.' And I was sweating like a winded horse, scared as hell but I had to push it asking was he sure? and there was a beat, and I could see Jake swallow, but he said, still looking me in the eye like we were brothers or something, going way, way back so for sure I could trust him, `Sure I'm sure, Michael. I'd tell you if I knew anything.' "