"Robert Reed - The Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

The boy seems to be staring at the rain gutter, eyes held in a half-squint and
his narrow body held erect with his hands empty at his sides and his young,
surprisingly deep voice saying to someone, тАЬYouтАЩre going to think this is retarded.тАЭ
Apparently speaking to her, he asks, тАЬCan I pick one of your flowers?тАЭ
She thinks nothing at all. Except for a sudden relief that he isnтАЩt a rapist ready
to crash through the glass. Why did she open her door to a stranger? How much
good sense does that show? Even if itтАЩs daylight, in a good neighborhood... !
тАЬMaтАЩam?тАЭ he prompts.
She says, тАЬI guess. Of course.тАЭ
Then she smiles, her expression going to waste.
The boy says, тАЬThank you, maтАЩam,тАЭ without ever looking at her face. He
seems embarrassed, turning and stepping off the porch, following the narrow walk to
the driveway and the driveway out to where his ugly little car waits.
Helena closes her door and bolts it.
By the time she looks outside, the boy is carrying a single red tulip by the
stalk. Her tulips are past their prime. One good shake, and that blossom flies apart.
But no, he seems to be careful. Considerate. Climbing behind the wheel, the boy
gently sets the flower on the seat beside him, then starts the little engine with a coarse
rattle that brings back the music. Unchanged. Deep, and rhythmic. A male singer
chants about some burning issue or love, but she canтАЩt quite make out the words,
standing at her window, watching as the boy pulls into her driveway in order to back
out again, turning back the way he started, again vanishing somewhere past the soft
pink lilacs.
Helena canтАЩt help but wonder whoтАЩs getting her flower.
 Her big sedan is parked beside her very little house. East is the quick route.
But today, Helena steers west. For a moment or two, she considers all the good
sensible reasons to be curious about a stranger passing through her neighborhood.
But sheтАЩs not actually following the boy, she promises herself. Slowing at the corner,
she looks ahead and then right, seeing the little car parked on the street, and silent.
Nobody sitting inside it now.
The boy stopped in front of LydiaтАЩs house.
Unsure what sheтАЩs thinking, Helena turns right and slows, staring at the brick
bungalow with its little porch and little windows, its blinds and drapes pulled shut.
She catches herself nearly stopping in the middle of the street. Then she accelerates,
but only a little bit. And always staring.
LydiaтАЩs car is nowhere to be seen.
But her daughterтАЩs sporty little red car is in the driveway. For some reason,
Sarah is home from school today. That bright and pretty girl whom Helena has
always liked, and been friendly with, and occasionally felt motherly toward. And the
blinds have been pulled shut. And Helena still isnтАЩt sure what she is thinking. Except
that she has the burning premonition that someone here needs to be given a good
sharp warning.
Dies Saturni.
Helena loves men.
And in all the good modern ways, she tries to understand and respect them.
Men are relatively common at work. Coaxed by the courts and changing
times, state government has made heroic efforts to find room for qualified citizens of
every ilk. Not that her male co-workers hold their share of the high posts. In most
cases, departments are still ruled by gray-haired women with political minds and
provincial morals. But some men have risen higher than Helena ever will, and she