"Michael Marshall Smith - The Man Who Drew Cats" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Michael Marshall)

themselves right on top of a cat theyтАЩd dropped dead of fright. But they must have been dumped there by some real
cat, of course, because some of those birds looked like theyтАЩd been mauled a bit. I used to throw them in the bushes
to tidy up and some of them were pretty broken up.
Old Tom was a godsend to a lot of mothers that summer who found they could leave their little ones by him, do
their shopping in peace and maybe have a soda with their friends and come back to find the kids still sitting quietly
watching Tom paint. He didnтАЩt mind them at all and would talk to them and make them laugh, and kids of that age
laughing is one of the nicest sounds there is. TheyтАЩre young and curious and the world just spins round them and
when they laugh the world seems a brighter place because it takes you back to the time when you knew no evil and
everything was good, or if it wasnтАЩt, it would be over by tomorrow.
And here I guess IтАЩve finally come down to it, because there was one little boy who didnтАЩt laugh much, but just sat
quiet and watchful, and I guess he probably understands more of what happened that summer than any of us, though
maybe not in words he could tell.
His name was Billy McNeill, and he was Jim ValentineтАЩs kid. Jim used to be a mechanic, worked with Ned up at the
gas station and did a bit of beat-up car racing after hours. Which is why his kid is called McNeill now: one Sunday Jim
took a corner a mite too fast and the car rolled and the gas tank caught and they never did find all the wheels. A year
later his Mary married again. God alone knows why, her folks warned her, her friends warned her, but I guess love
must just have been blind. Sam McNeillтАЩs work schedule was at best pretty empty, and mostly he just drank and hung
out with friends who maybe werenтАЩt always this side of the law. And I guess Mary had her own sad little miracle and
got her sight back pretty soon because it wasnтАЩt long before Sam got a bit too free with his fists when the evenings
got too long and heтАЩd had a lot too many. You didnтАЩt see Mary around much anymore. In these parts people tend to
stare at black eyes on a woman, and a deaf man could hear the whisperings of тАЬWe Told Her SoтАЭ on the wind.
One morning Tom was sitting painting as usual and little Billy was sitting watching him. Usually he just wandered
off after a while but this morning Mary was at the doctorтАЩs and she came over to collect him, walking quickly with her
face lowered. But not low enough. I was watching from the store, it was kind of a slow morning. TomтАЩs face never
showed much, he was a man for a quiet smile and a raised eyebrow, but he looked shocked that morning, just for a
moment. MaryтАЩs eyes were puffed and purple and there was a cut on her cheek an inch long. I guess weтАЩd sort of
gotten used to seeing her like that and if the truth be known some of the wives thought sheтАЩd got remarried a bit on
the soon side and I suppose we may all have been a bit cold towards her, Jim Valentine having been so well-liked and
all.
Tom looked from the little boy who never laughed as much as the others to his mom with her tired unhappy eyes
and her beat-up face and his face went from shocked to stony and I canтАЩt describe any other way than that I seemed to
feel a cold chill across my heart from right across the square. But then he smiled and ruffled BillyтАЩs hair and Mary took
BillyтАЩs hand and they went off. They looked back once and Tom was still looking after them and he gave Billy a little
wave and he waved back and mother and child smiled together.
That night in JackтАЩs Tom put a quiet question about Mary and we told him the story and as he listened his face
seemed to harden from within, his bright eyes becoming flat and dead. We told him that old Lou Lachance who lived
next door to the McNeillтАЩs said that sometimes you could hear him shouting and her pleading till three in the morning
and on still nights the sound of Billy crying for much longer still. Told him it was a shame, but what could you do?
Folks keep themselves out of other peopleтАЩs faces round here, and I guess Sam and his roughneck drinking buddies
didnтАЩt have much to fear from nearly-retireders like us anyhow. Told him it was a terrible thing, and none of us liked it,
but these things happened.
Tom listened and didnтАЩt say a word. Just sat there in his black coat and listened to us pass the buck. After a while
the talk sort of petered out and we sat and watched the bubbles in our beers. I guess the bottom line was that none of
us had really thought about it much except as another chapter of small-town gossip and Jesus Christ did I feel
ashamed about that by the time weтАЩd finished telling it. Sitting there with Tom was no laughs at all at that moment. He
had a real edge to him, and seemed more unknown than known that night. He just stared at his laced fingers for a long
time, and then he began, real slow, to talk.
HeтАЩd been married once, he said, a long time ago, and he lived in a place called Stevensburg with his wife Rachel.
And when he talked about her the air seemed to go softer and we all sat quiet and supped our beers and remembered
how it had been way back when we first loved our own wives. He talked of her smile and the look in her eyes and