"Timothy Zahn - The Green and the Gray" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zahn Timothy)

to whisper. "I need... to go back."
He leaned down and lifted her again off her feet, stifling her protest. "It'll be okay," he murmured as
they headed off again.
The last thing she remembered before drifting into a nightmare-filled sleep was the sensation of her
head bouncing rhythmically against his shoulder as he ran through the night.




file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Timothy%20Zahn%20-%20The%20Green%20and%20the%20Gray.htm (5 of 424)22-12-2006 15:57:21
The Green and the Gray




1
The play at the Miller Theater had been one of those modern psychological dramas, exactly the sort
of thing Roger Whittier would expect from a Columbia University student production: dark and
pretentious, relying heavily on deep sociological quirks, without any pretense of rationality in its
plot. From the polite applause bouncing off the lowering curtain, he guessed that most of the
audience had found it as mediocre as he had.
Which was practically a guarantee that Caroline would love it.
Suppressing a sigh, he continued to slap his hands together, trying not to be embarrassed by the fact
that his wife was one of the half-dozen people who had jumped to their feet in standing ovation. In
four years of marriage he had yet to figure out whether Caroline's enthusiasm in these situations was
genuine, driven by sympathy for the underdog, or just stubborn defiance of popular opinion.
The applause went down, the house lights came up, and the rest of the audience got to their feet and
began unscrunching their coats from the backs of their seats. Roger joined the general chaos, mindful
of his elbows as he pulled on his topcoat and buttoned it. He'd endured the play; and now came the
verbal diplomacy as he tried not to tell Caroline exactly what he'd thought of it. The more
enthusiastic her response, in general, the stonier the wall of silence that went up if he tried to point
out how much the thing had actually stunk.
A flying elbow jabbed him in his right shoulder blade. "Sorry," he said automatically, half turning.
The offender, a small wizened man with an expensive topcoat and bad comb-over, grunted
something and turned away. Roger turned away, too, muttering under his breath as he struggled to
get his right arm into a sleeve that had pretzeled itself into a knot. What in hell's name was I
apologizing for? he growled to himself. He finished with his coat and turned to see if Caroline was
ready.
Caroline wasn't ready. Caroline, in fact, had vanished.
He looked down, a fresh wave of annoyance rolling over the pool of resentment already sloshing
through his stomach. She was on her knees on the floor, her back twisted into half an S-curve as she
scrabbled around in the shadows. "Which one is it this time?" he demanded.
"My opal ring," Caroline's voice came back, muffled by distance and the dark hair draped along both
sides of her face.
Roger looked away, not bothering to reply. It was always the same lately. If she wasn't running late
because the water heater had drained too far for another shower, then she was misplacing her watch
or losing her ring or suddenly remembering that the plants needed watering.
Why couldn't she ever get herself organized? She was a real estate agent, for heaven's sakeтАФshe
certainly had to have her ducks in a row at work. Why couldn't she do it at home, too?