"Sheri S. Tepper - The Fresco" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

Carlos first grabbed a crayon and made marks on the bedroom wall, Bert decided that when Carlos
graduated from high school, the two of them would start a gallery. Bert talked about it all the time, as
though it were real. Carlos would bring his scribbles home from school for Bert to critique. Bert would
put on his pontifical voice and explain art techniques. The two of them would huddle over the table while
Angelica, Benita, and Mother Shipton fixed meals or washed dishes. Bert was an artist. Carlos would be
an artist.
Before long he was saying, "Granny says I will be a great artist, Mama.тАЭ Benita didn't contradict him
or his granny. So long as he expected to succeed, she would help him. It was something to think about, to
plan for, to work for.
Bert kept the idea alive, hugging his son. " 'That's my boy, we're gonna show 'em, huh, Carlos, when
we open the gallery.тАЭ
Carlos agreeing, "Right, Dad. When we open it.тАЭ
The years were all the same, with only the sizes of their needs changing: extra large instead of
medium for Carlos, size twelve instead of eight for Angelica, an old wreck of a car instead of a bike for
Carlos, a computer instead of a TV for Angelica. Mother Shipton died when Carlos was eight,- Bert
inherited the house. The years accumulated in Benita's routine of buying books, supervising homework,
making Carlos do better than he cared to, helping Angelica do as well as she wanted to. The years
accumulated with the drinking bouts happening oftener, then very often, then every day or two. Benita
couldn't figure out where he got the money! He never had any money for groceries or the gas payment.
When the children were little, Benita had occasionally fled with them to the shelter when things got
violent. When Carlos was as big as his father and at no risk of his father's temper, Benita and Angelica
found a refuge in Benita's office, after the store was closed, sleeping on the floor on a spread sleeping bag,
with no one knowing where they were.
Then, suddenly Carlos was out of school (low C average) and neither Bert's plans nor Benita's turned
out to have been sure things. Carlos approached his father about the gallery idea.
"Well, we'll need a few thou, Carlos. Got to get together a few thou first. For rent, you know. Rent
and making contacts with artists, all that.тАЭ
"Where are we going to get that?" Carlos demanded. Carlos might not have done well in school, but
he could add two and two.
"Mortgage the house," said Bert suddenly, out of nowhere. "We'll mortgage the house.тАЭ
But he didn't mortgage the house. Not for a while.
Benita said, "Carlito, while you and your dad are figuring out the gallery business, why don't you
enroll at UNM? I know your test scores and grades weren't great, but you can get student aid, and it's right
here in town, and you can study art . . .тАЭ Benita, trying to move him but not telling him about the secret
bank account, not until he, himself, was committed to going on. That had been Mami at her most succinct.
The bait only works if the fish is hungry.
Carlos was unresponsive. "Aw, Mom. Leave me alone. I need a break from school. I'm not ready for
college. I need to, you know, give this gallery thing a chance! Have a time of self discovery!"
Three separate times Goose or Marsh or Benita herself found jobs for Carlos, but Carlos didn't want a
steady job. He preferred to sleep until noon, to take long, long showers, eat like a lion and go out with
friends most nights. He worked for his grandfather at the salvage yard every now and then, just long
enough to earn money for his car, or when he needed money for gas or repairs. Now and then he'd get
some odd job with his friends, moving furniture or bussing tables. The rest of the time he ate, watched
television, slept, and drove around all night with several other young men who were doing pretty much
the same thing.
The bait only works if the fish is hungry, Benita would say to herself, wiping her eyes, remembering
Mami's face when she said it. You couldn't make a fish hungry. You just had to wait.
So long as Benita let Carlos alone, he seemed contented enough. If she tried to push him, he retreated
into gloom. The sulks, her father said, who had no patience with the boy. Melancholia, Benita read in
nineteenth-century books. Depression, Marsh said, but then Marsh had a family that reveled in