"Dan Simmons - The River Styx Runs Upstream" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons Dan)

Father took the Resurrectionists into the study. We heard snatches of conversation
down the hall.
"...if you think of it as a stroke..."
"How long will she..."
"You understand the tithing is necessary because of the expenses of monthly care
and..."
The women relatives stood in a circle around Mother. There was an awkward
moment until they realized that Mother did not speak. Aunt Helen reached her hand
out and touched her sister's cheek. Mother smiled and smiled.
Then Father was back and his voice was loud and hearty. He explained how similar
it was to a light strokeтАФdid we remember Uncle Richard? Meanwhile, Father kissed
people repeatedly and thanked everyone.
The Resurrectionists left with smiles and signed pa-pers. The remaining relatives
began to leave soon after that. Father saw them down the walk, smiling and shaking
their hands.
"Think of it as though she's been ill but has recov-ered," said Father. "Think of her
as home from the hospi-tal."
Aunt Helen was the last to leave. She sat next to Mother for a long time, speaking
softly and searching Mother's face for a response. After a while Aunt Helen began to
cry.
"Think of it as if she's recovered from an illness," said Father as he walked her to
her car. "Think of her as home from the hospital."
Aunt Helen nodded, still crying, and left. I think she knew what Simon and I knew.
Mother was not home from the hospital. She was home from the grave.
For the first week, Father slept with Mother in the same room where they had always
slept. In the morning his face would sag and he would snap at us while we ate our
cereal. Then he moved to his study and slept on the old divan in there.
The night was long. Several times I thought I heard the soft slap of Mother's slippers
on the hallway floor and my breathing stopped, waiting for the door to open. But it
didn't. The moonlight lay across my legs and exposed a patch of wallpaper next to
the dresser. The flower pattern looked like the face of a great, sad beast. Just before
dawn, Simon leaned across from his bed and whispered, "Go to sleep, stupid." And
so I did.


The summer was very hot. No one would play with us, so Simon and I played
together. Father had only morning classes at the University. Mother moved around
the house and watered the plants a lot. Once Simon and I saw her watering a plant
that had died and been removed while she was at the hospital in April. The water ran
across the top of the cabinet and dripped on the floor. Mother did not no-tice.
When Mother did go outside, the forest preserve be-hind our house seemed to draw
her in. Perhaps it was the darkness. Simon and I used to enjoy playing at the edge of
it after twilight, catching fireflies in a jar or building blan-ket tents, but after Mother
began walking there Simon spent the evenings inside or on the front lawn. I stayed
back there because sometimes Mother wandered and I would take her by the arm
and lead her back to the house.
Mother wore whatever Father told her to wear. Some-times he was rushed to get to
class and would say, "Wear the red dress," and Mother would spend a sweltering
July day in heavy wool. She didn't sweat. Sometimes he would not tell her to come
downstairs in the morning, and she would remain in the bedroom until he returned.