"Paul Park - A Man on Crutches" - читать интересную книгу автора (Park Paul)

that he had said. There was no mark on the plastic - I donтАЩt remember dialing the
number, but then I was letting it ring until an answering machine picked up. тАЬThis is
964-3187,тАЭ it said. тАЬIf youтАЩd like to leave a message for Jean-Jacques Brauner,
please do so after the beep.тАЭ
I hung up and continued reading. The last folder was labeled, тАЬLetters: Jack
(II).тАЭ And then, as if an after-thought, тАЬMy only sonтАЭ - the words printed just like
that in my fatherтАЩs intolerably precise hand.
тАЬIтАЩm sorry,тАЭ Jacques wrote in 1987. тАЬI know how angry you are. But I just
wish youтАЩd say it instead of brooding. If I was there you could just show me and get
it over with, but IтАЩm not, so youтАЩll just have to ....тАЭ
To which my father had answered: тАЬI think youтАЩre making a mistake. Eric is
your boss; heтАЩs the one that you should worry about. JoanneтАЩs not in a position to
harm you, so her opinion doesnтАЩt matter. I know you always want to accommodate
everyone, but itтАЩs a trait that gets less charming as you age. You may pretend youтАЩre
trying to be nice, but really, itтАЩs a form of insecurity and self-hate. IтАЩm telling you this
because I know ....тАЭ
When my father was dying, when he was actually dying in my stepmotherтАЩs
arms, was this the image in his mind? Me with this file of letters, sifting in his chair?
Or Barbara? тАЬIтАЩm sorry to hear about BarbaraтАЩs operation,тАЭ Jacques wrote in 1989.
тАЬIt must be very depressing to her. No matter how much you try to convince
yourself that these things arenтАЩt important, it alters the way you think of yourself, like
wrinkles, or losing your hair, though of course much worse. ItтАЩs funny, it feels like I
know her very well, enough to reassure you that I know sheтАЩll be all right, and that
youтАЩre worrying about nothing ....тАЭ
I dialed the Oakland number again. The manтАЩs voice was pleasant, his
intonation slightly strange, not quite American, perhaps. After the beep I said,
тАЬListen, this is Jack Modine. I donтАЩt know how to say this, and maybe you already
know, but my father had a heart attack on Thursday morning. I just wanted to tell
you, and to ask you please not to send any more letters, because I donтАЩt want them
forwarded to my stepmother. As I say, it was very sudden, and he wasnтАЩt in any
pain.тАЭ
I paused for a moment - it seemed so strange. I also have a tendency to
accommodate, not that my father had ever remarked on it. тАЬDonтАЩt worry about
anything,тАЭ I said. тАЬIтАЩm telling you because I guess you cared about him. If you want
to know more, IтАЩll be home after the fifteenth. My number is ...,тАЭ I said, and I gave
him the number of my apartment in Meridan.
I called him again a few weeks later and then a few times after that. I never got
the answering machine again, and I never said anything either. I would just listen to
him go, тАЬHello? Hello?тАЭ and then he would hang up. After a while he disconnected
his phone. But I can remember at least one time, when I was at the height of my
craziness, I suppose - I led his number just to listen to the recorded message from
the phone company.
I look back on that from a life which is, if not happy, at least regular, at least
full of a routine. And it contains, I feel sure, some of the ingredients of happiness.
Now I am able to isolate them - friends. Sex. Work. I have hopes that someday I will
learn to mix them in correct proportions. But I was desperate then, and part of the
reason was that everything I had discovered about my father seemed unreal so
quickly. I threw it all into the dumpster. The unknown, beating heart of my fatherтАЩs
life - I threw it in the garbage. I didnтАЩt even read most of the letters. Late that same
night I got up from the bed in my hotel and got dressed. I had some idea of finding