"Thompson, Jim - Cropper's Cabin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

"You asleep, Tommy?"
And:
"I can't hardly sleep at all. I just _cain't_ sleep, Tommy."
And:
"Please, Tommy. You know. Whatchacallit. I been waitin' an' waitin' an' w-waitin' . . ."
I closed my eyes, wondering how Donna had probably seen it in her right from the first when I, right there with her every day, had to have it thrown at me before I could see it. And I guessed women could just naturally spot those things, because Mary'd sure tabbed the way Donna stood with me-- I knew she must have--the first time she'd looked at her. That'd probably touched Mary off. That had been the sign she was waiting for. She was too beaten down to start anything, but once it was started she'd begun to move in.
"Tommy. . ." The thin planks squeaked as she pressed against them. "We could stay right where weare, Tommy, 'n do it 'n do it an' he couldn't catch us in a mfflion years. Tommy"--she scratched against the wood--"take your knife, Tommy, an'--right here where I'm scratchin' you c'n . . ."
It must have been a couple hours before she gave up and went to sleep. She began to snore, but I lay where I was a little longer. I knew what I was going to do, but it was hard to get started. It was hard to break with habit.
Go against Pa? I ticked off that hold-back. I'd already gone against Pa, whether he knew it or not, and I was going to keep right on going.
The rain? I'd got rained on before, and I hadn't melted. Anyway, the rain had practically stopped.
How'd I get ahold of her? Well, I probably wouldn't catch her outside on a night like this, but I knew where her room was, in the downstairs south wing of the house. She'd told me one time, play-teasing, pretending like I could come and see her as well as not if I really wanted to.
Suppose some of the hired hands caught me, one of the riding bosses? Well, let 'em. Let 'em try something.
I eased my feet to the floor, and fumbled around until I found my shoes. I tied the laces together, swung them around my neck and stood up.
I got the door open, timing the squeak sound with one of Mary's snores. I closed it on another snore, and tiptoed across to the porch door. I got it open without any real racket, and ran crouching to the road. I wiped my feet on some wet weeds, hopping first on one foot, then the other. I put my shoes on and got going again.
Two miles is a pretty long hike on a muddy country road, but I seemed to make it in almost nothing flat.
I'd say, you name it and I'll do it, honey. You call me any dirty name you want to and I'll own up to it. I'll apologize to him. I'll let him punch me. You just point out the row, honey, and I'll hoe it. Heck, she wouldn't hold a grudge.
I came to the cottonwood grove and walked through it, just short of the end. Then I swung off to the right, taking cover where I could behind the trees and shrubs that skirted the lawn. I moved around parallel with the house until I came to a curving hedge that bordered the flower beds. I followed it in, crouching, toward the house, until I came to its end.
I hunkered down, staring at the windows of her room, so near and yet such a heck of a ways off.
I thought, "Come out, honey. _Please come out. Please, please come out, Donna_."
I thought it as hard as I could, and it seemed like I saw something move at one of the windows. I could almost have sworn she was there and that she knew I was.
But I waited, and she didn't come. And I figured wishing wouldn't make her. So I picked up some gravel from the path and tucked it into my pocket, and I bellied down and crawled. I crawled under the shrub, and on to another one, the last cover, if you could call it that, between me and the house. I could toss the gravel from there, I reckoned. But I had to rest a minute first. All that duck-walking and crawling had run into time, and I was all out of breath.
I rested, stretched out on my stomach with my head on my arms, and I beganto feel how wet I was; how soggy and smeared. I pushed myself up, shivering a little with the damp, and got to my feet. I stood bent over, trying to peer around the shrub; and like a cold wave hitting me, I seemed to freeze that way.
The hair crawled on the back of my neck. My stomach seemed to edge down toward my groin, and my chest squeezed around my lungs.
I stood real still. I couldn't bring myself to move. Then, I did move, I managed to turn around. And there he was, so close to me that I could've touched him--if I'd been of a mind to.
It was one of the riding bosses, a big breed they called Chief Sundown, though he wasn't a real chief, of course. He had a leather jacket pulled on over his undershirt, and a long black bullwhip was coiled over his shoulder.
Donna stood back of him and a little to one side, her white houserobe, or maybe it was what you call a dressinggown--belted in tightly at the waist.
Chief Sundown shifted his glance a little, and she nodded to him. He moved back, sort of sinking into the shadow of the far shrub, and she moved forward.
"All right," she snapped, her eyes like black coals in the white-ash of her face, "what are you doing here?"
"W-hy"--I tried to smile, but my face was too stiff. "Why, I wanted to see you, Donna."
"You didn't need to sneak around here at night. You could have seen me today. I was there at noon and again this evening."
"But--well, I didn't think you'd be there! I didn't think you'd want to see me!"
"I see. But you thought I would tonight. Is that it?"
I tried to smile again. I was scared, and I could feel my temper coming up a little. But she was so close, and--and I wanted everything to be all right so much.
"Well?" she said. And I just shook my head, smiling. I could look down, and see the beginning swell of her breasts. I could see them, actually; the neck of her gown was open, and they began so high up. I could see past them, imagine past, because how can you forget or get over what's been part of you? I could see the flat stomach and the white, the cream-colored hips, flaring, swelling just enough; and I remember how warm and soft they'd been the night before when we'd ridden with my arms around them . . .
"Donna, honey," I said. "For God's sake . . ."
And I reached for her.
And she moved back, gripping the front of her gown. And back in the shadows there was a quick slithering sound.
My hands dropped down to my sides.
"I came here to tell you I was sorry" I said. "I was wrong. Pa was wrong. I'll do anything I can to make it up to you."
"You're appealing to the wrong person," she said. "After last night, I've stopped interfering in Dad's affairs. I've decided he's a much better judge of people than I am."
"Appealing?" I said. "I guess I don't . . ."
"Tell your Pa he'll have to see my father. Tell him that the influence, which you've doubtless boasted of having with me, no longer exists."
"But ..." I didn't get it for a minute, and when I did I was kind of stunned. The blood seemed to drain out of my face. "You mean--you mean you think I'd t-try to get you to . . ."
"Well," she hesitated, "you must admit . . ."
"I don't admit anything but what I've told you! I've been all mixed up and--an' I wanted to try and get straight again! But if you think I'd--I'd do _that!_ You know I couldn't do that! Why, the one thing that's always bothered me is you having so much and--"
"Wait. Wait a minute, Tom!" She held up a hand. "I don't think we'd better talk any more tonight. This has been building up for a long time, and it's not something to be settled in the middle of the night behind a tree. I tried to see you twice today. I needed to see you. But you couldn't be bothered. You . . ."
"I told you . . ."
"You felt that you didn't have to. You could hurt me worse than I've ever been hurt, and then when you got good and ready you could come around and I'd fall into your arms. Wait! Perhaps you don't actually feel that way, but that's the way things have been and I think it's gone on long enough. "I"--she faltered--"I'm upset, Tom. I can't be fair to you now. I think you'd better go be-before I--Please, go. Quickly!"
"Sure, I will," I said. "Will I see you tomorrow, honey?"
"I--I d-don't know. I just can't . . ."