"Bruce Holland Rogers - Green Lawns" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

What planet did these kids come from?
Waxman smiled a different smile, now. A paternal smile. "Very well," he said, taking some change
from his pocket. "If you put it in the Frigidaire for after dinner."
The boys, I noticed, both wore undershirts like their father.
"An ice cream truck with bells," I said. "That's a lot nicer than those things they have now that belt out
recorded music."
Waxman nodded absently. He gave his son a two quarters. The kids ran toward the front of the
house.
"They aren't going to get much for fifty cents!" I said.
"Bill Taylor-- have you met the Taylors? No? Bill Taylor does the ice cream as sort of a hobby. He
keeps the prices down. It's a neighborhood tradition." Waxman started to move the hamburgers from the
grill to a plate.
"Green lawns are a neighborhood tradition, too, Dick." I didn't want to turn this into an argument.
After all, I had just moved in, and I had only met Waxman two days ago. So I said, "Well, your lawn is
certainly lush."
"Yes, it is. Thank you. Keeping it up means a lot to me."
"And I like your landscaping, too. Those are beautiful trees along the back fence." I squinted at them.
"Is that a tree house for the kids I see in one of them?"
"No," Waxman said. "That's not for the kids. Say, let's get these burgers on the table before they get
cold!"
***


3.
Over the next several days, the neighborhood wives kept coming over to meet my wife. Each one
brought a cake or a casserole. They were surprised to learn I was single. "This has always been such a
family neighborhood," said more than one.
The lawn was looking a little drought-shocked, and each one of those women commented on it.
"It's so important," one of them said, "to keep things in this neighborhood looking just so."
The other thing they commented on was their surprise at finding me home during the day. I had to
explain over and over that I was a painter, that I had set up a studio in the house.
They all wore dresses. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have noticed a thing like that, but Waxman and his
undershirts had made me start noticing how people dressed. All the women, and even the little girls, wore
dresses. No slacks. No jeans.
***


4.
One afternoon I was staring at a blank canvas, trying to see where the paint wanted to go, when I
heard the bells of the ice cream truck. Only, when I looked out the window, it wasn't a truck at all. It was
tricycle contraption with a white icebox attached to the front of it, and a man in a white suit-- Bill Taylor,
I supposed-- was pedaling the thing down the street.
***


5.
There were spots where the soil was still moist, and the grass grew green and ever taller in those
places. But most of the lawn had turned to fine straw. The grass was only dormant, I knew. It would
come back with the early autumn snow, and with the following spring. And that was fine. I didn't mind its
being green, just so long as I didn't waste water to make it that way.