"Thompson, Jim - Now and on Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

I saw it was almost six so I ran all the way to Safeways. The strongest butchers' union in the country is in San Diego. If you want fresh meat, you buy it before six. Otherwise you buy bacon, or lunchmeat--which is two-thirds cereal and a fourth water--or do without.
I reached the store at six sharp. I bought a pound and a half of lunchmeat--forty-five cents--some canned beans, and potato chips. I studied the wine counter a moment but decided I'd better not buy any, even if it was only fifteen cents for a short pint.
When I reached the corner, Roberta was just getting off the bus. Mack was asleep and she was carrying him. Shannon, for one of the few times in her life, was behaving herself.
Roberta said, "Hi, honey. Take this lummox, will you? I'm worn out."
I took Mack, and Roberta took the groceries. Shannon, with one of her lightning fast and unpredictable movements, leaped up and grabbed me by the elbow.
"Carry me, Daddy," she demanded. "You can't carry Mack unless you carry me."
"Go on," I said. "Go on. I can't carry both of you."
"Daddy's tired, Shannon," said Roberta. "Now stop swinging on him or I'll blister you. Why don't you show Daddy your new shoes? Show him how you can dance in them."
Shannon dropped loose, pirouetted, and was twenty feet down the sidewalk via a shuffle-off-to-Buffalo before I could take a deep breath. Shannon is four, but she is not as large as Mack who is eighteen months younger. She sleeps an average of seven hours a night, eats almost nothing, yet has more energy than either of the other children. One minute you see Shannon; the next she is three blocks away.
She posed for a moment, then, with her usual unpredictability, burst out with:
My name is Samuel Hall,
And I hate you one and all.
God damn your eyes!
"Shannon!" I said.
"Shannon!" said Roberta. "You get right straight home! Get! One more word out of you, and I'll blister you till you can't sit down."
Shannon took a notion to mind. She wasn't afraid, understand. I gave up long ago trying to do anything with her, and Roberta is beaten too, but won't admit it. Shannon is not disturbed by dark closets. She does not mind cold showers. You can't punish her by depriving her of a meal, because she'd as soon do without as not. You can't spank her because, ordinarily, you can't catch her. And, anyway, she is always hoping a little that you will try to spank her. You are then in the position of an aggressor, and she fights best when she has been attacked. And there is nothing she loves more than a good fight. The last time Roberta tried to spank her she--Roberta, not Shannon--had to go to bed. And while she was lying there, Shannon sneaked into the room and began beating her with a toy broom. It was all Mom and Frankie and I could do to pull her away.
Frankie exercises an occasional control over her by treating her with contempt. Mack's way is to catch her in an unguarded moment and to sit down on her. But neither Roberta nor I can do much with any method.
"How do you like your new job, honey?" said Roberta. "Have a hard day?"
"Not very," I said.
"What did you do?"
"Most of the day I went around on my hands and knees chipping up plaster."
Roberta stopped. "Wh-at?"
"Yes. They're building an extension to the plant, and a lot of plaster is scattered around the floor. I went around with a little thing like a cold chisel and chipped it up."
"But didn't you tell them--didn't they know--"
"They don't give a damn. They've not got any editorial work down there. They're building airplanes."
"But, couldn't they--"
"I don't know anything about airplanes."
Roberta started on, her mouth set in a tight line. "You're not going back," she said. "You just go down there in the morning and get whatever you've got coming, and tell 'em they can keep their old job."
"Thought of how we're going to eat? And--incidentally--pay rent?"
"Jimmie. The kids just had to have shoes. I know we're hard up, but--"
"Okay, okay. But how are we going to pay the rent? I suppose you told the landlady we'd have it at the end of the week?"
"Well," said Roberta, "we will, won't we? Don't you get paid on Friday?"
"O Jesus," I said. "O Christ and Mary. O God damn!" Roberta got red, and her nostrils trembled. "Now James Dillon! Don't you dare swear at me!"
"I'm not swearing. I'm praying for forebearance."
"And don't get smart, either."
"Dammit," I said, "how many times have I asked you not to talk about me getting smart? I'm not six years old."
"Well--you know what I mean."
"I don't know what you mean," I said. "I don't know half the time what you mean. Why don't you ever peek inside a dictionary? Can't you ever read anything besides the _Catholic Prayer Book_ and _True Story_? Why, Jes-- my God, honey. . . . Oh, God! Don't cry out here on the street! Please don't. It seems like every time I open my mouth lately someone starts bawling."
She pushed on ahead of me into the house, letting the screen door slam in my face. Mom opened it for me.
"Now don't say anything," I said. "She'll be all right in a minute. Just don't pay any attention to her."
"I'm not saying anything," said Mom. "What difference would it make if I did? Can't people open their mouths around here any more?"
"Please, Mom."
"Oh, all right."
I put Mack down on the lounge and went back into the bedroom. Roberta had taken off her dress and hung it up, and was lying on the bed, hands over her face. I looked down at her and began to tingle. I knew how it was going to be, and I hated myself for it. But I couldn't help it. Roberta didn't need to do anything to win an argument with me but let me look at her. I knew it from the moment I saw her. She knew it after a few years.
I sat down and pulled her head into my lap. And she turned, so that her breasts pressed against my stomach.
I wish, I thought, that Mom could understand what Roberta means to me--why I am like I am with her. I wish Roberta could understand what Mom means to me. Maybe they do understand. Maybe that's why things are like they are.
I said, "I'm terribly sorry, honey. I'm just awfully tired, I guess."
"I'm tired, too," said Roberta. "It's certainly no fun to drag that Mack and Shannon around all day."
"I'm sure it isn't," I said.
"I am worn out, Jimmie. No fooling."