"Charles De Lint - Jack, The Giant-Killer" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

Perhaps we’ll meet again in its pages.

—Charles de Lint
Ottawa, winter 1987


JACK THE GIANT-KILLER


CHAPTER ONE
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 The reflection that looked back at her from the mirror
wasn’t her own. Its hair was cut short and ragged like the
stubble in a cornfield. Its eye make-up was smudged and
the eyes themselves were red-veined and puffy. She
hadn’t been crying, but oh, she’d been drinking…
“Jacky,” she mumbled to the reflection. “What’ve you
done to yourself this time?”
Five hours ago she’d numbly watched the door of her
apartment slam shut behind Will.
“You’re so goddamn predictable!” he’d shouted at the
end. “Nothing changes the routine. It’s just night after
night of burrowing away in this place. What do I have to
do to drag you away from your books or that glass tit?
This place is a prison, Jacky, and I’m not buying into it.
Not anymore. I’m tired of going out on my own, tired
of… Christ, we’ve got absolutely nothing in common and
I don’t know what I ever thought we did have.”
He’d stood there, red-faced, a vein throbbing at his
temple, then turned and walked out the door. She knew he
wasn’t coming back. And after that outburst, she didn’t
want him back.
There was nothing wrong with being a homebody.
There was nothing wrong with not wanting—not needing
—the constant jostle and noise of a party or a bar or…
whatever. Maybe it was better this way. She didn’t need
what Will offered any more than he seemed to want what
she had. So why did she feel guilty? Why did she feel
so… empty? Like there was something missing.
She remembered going to the window, reaching it in
time to see Will disappearing down the street. Then she’d
gone into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror
looking at herself. What was missing? Could you see it by
just looking at her?
Her waist-length blonde hair hadn’t been cut in twelve
years—not since she was, God, seven. She was wearing
her favorite clothes: a baggy plaid shirt and a comfortable
pair of old Levi’s. When she walked down the street, did
people turn to look at her and maybe… laugh? Did they
think she was some kind of hippie burn-out, even though