"Jeff VanderMeer - Flight Is For Those Who Have Not Yet Crossed Over (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vandermeer Jeff)

evenly-spaced, her nose small and slightly upturned, her lips full and
liberally painted with red lipstick. She still wears the dress she wore to
Garcia's Department Store in downtown Carbajal, but she has taken off her
black pumps. The grace of her small feet, their contours clearly visible
through her pantyhose, makes him smile. He comes close to her and touches
her lightly on the shoulder.
She smiles a tired smile and says, "It was a long day at the store, too. I
had three window displays to set up. We finished very late; I got home
after eleven. Sit down and watch the game. I'll bring you your dinner."
A peck on the cheek and back to her skillet.
Although Gabriel wants to linger, wants to say how good she looks to him,
he walks into the living room. The sofa springs are old and he sinks into
the cushions with a grateful sigh. His back muscles untense and only now
does he really feel sleepy, lazy, relaxed. He lets the low hum of the
announcer's voice, broken by moments of excitement, lead him into a half
doze.
After eighteen years, Gabriel is still bewildered that Sessina agreed to
marry him, although at the time he must have appeared to be a man who
would make something of his life. But then had come the leg injury, Pedro
having whisked him away for a "little bachelor fun" a month before the
marriage. While Gabriel was still in Mexico, El Toreador staged his
successful coup and his grandfather was stripped of his rank, forced to
retire because he had refused to join El Toreador.
"Stay in Mexico," Pedro pleaded. "Don't go back. I'm not going back. No
one can make me go back. It will be Guatemala all over again. Don't go
back."
But he had gone back. He remembered getting off the plane and walking onto
the escalators at the airport and, seeing the black-red banners of El
Toreador, realizing it was not his country anymore. Until he saw Sessina
waiting for him. And then it didn't matter.
"Here you are," Sessina says, and hands Gabriel a steaming plate of rice,
beans, and huevos rancheros. From beside him, Sessina kneads his back in
just the right spot while the game drones on.
"Thank you," he says, and begins to eat.
"What was the trouble with the prisoner?"
"He wanted me to get a message to his wife," he says between bites of
food.
"And what did you say?"
"No, of course."
"Did you have to say no?"
"He's a prisoner, Sessina."
"What did he do to get put into prison?"
"Traitorous things. A traitor to the country. An enemy of the state."
"Oh. That explains why your back is so tight. Was it difficult to say no?"

Gabriel shrugs, then shouts, "Yes!" when the national team scores again.
The television blips to a news brief: more bad news about the economy,
three murders in the southern city of Baijala were still unsolved, and a
boy had poured a pot of boiling water over a puppy and felt no guilt. The
last item makes Gabriel feel sick inside.