"Carrie Richerson - Sous La Mer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Richardson Carrie)

"'Round Cape Heartbreak," or "Adrift," songs of love and loss and the sea,
always the sea -- and whose life is never the same after the experience.

Allan Lee's dedication radiated from puppy-dog eyes as he bent to take Suzanne's
hand. I spoke up: "My sister and I appreciate your kind remarks, Mr. Lee.
Unfortunately, Suzanne is a little fatigued right now. I'd better take her
home."

He stood aside with clear reluctance as I lifted Suzanne into the car,
rearranged her blanket, folded the wheelchair, and placed it in the back seat. I
went around to the driver's door; our eyes locked over the top of the car. My
smile was stiff. "Good night, Mr. Lee."

He was still standing there, looking bereft, as we pulled away. Suzanne waved
farewell, then turned to me. "Merlin, you are such a spoilsport." She mimed a
pout, then giggled.

"Leave him alone, Suzanne." I steered us home down the coast highway, directed
by the cold, pointing stars.

Two weeks later Suzanne played at Boudreaux's in Biloxi, late sets Friday and
Saturday nights. Allan Lee sat in the back of the house both nights; after
Saturday's performance he came backstage to bring her a white rose.

She smiled and pressed his hand, then exclaimed over her clumsiness in
scratching his wrist with a thom. Allan protested that it was nothing. Without
comment, I handed over my handkerchief for Suzanne to blot the tiny beads of
blood. When Allan invited us both for drinks, I declined, pleading my driving
responsibilities. After an awkward moment, Suzanne also made her apologies.
Allan took note of my unspoken satisfaction, but I could tell by the set of his
jaw that he was far from giving up.

A month later we were in Bay St. Louis, to provide afternoon entertainment
during the annual Blessing of the Shrimp Fleet Festival. Allan took one of the
scats in the first row of folding chairs and waved to Suzanne like an old friend
as I wheeled her into place before the microphone.

After her set he insisted on giving us a guided tour of the piers. His father
was a shrimper, he told us, and he delighted in pointing out and naming each
freshly painted, flower-festooned, and holy-water-sprinkled boat. Flags and gay
plastic streamers of all colors snapped in the breeze, and above our heads gray
and white gulls laughed and tumbled as they snatched from midair the popcorn
Suzanne threw to them -- popcorn Allan had purchased for her.

I might as well have been invisible. Allan told her of his job feeding and
training the performing stock at the Marine Life Oceanarium in Gulfport. He was
especially fond of the dolphins, praising their quick intelligence and constant
good humor. Bored and irritated, I wandered on down the pier by myself, enjoying
the warmth of the sun, the smells of salt and pitch and fish guts, the rhythmic
slap of waves against pilings. If I closed my eyes I could pretend that I walked