"H. L. Gold - Trouble With Water" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gold H. L)

TROUBLE WITH WATER
Unknown, March 1939 by H. L. Gold (1914- )

Greenberg did not deserve his surroundings. He was the first fisherman of the season, whi
guaranteed him a fine catch; he sat in a dry boat—one without a single leak—far out on a lake th
was ruffled only enough to agitate his artificial fly.
The sun was warm, the air was cool; he sat comfortably on a cushion; he had brought a hear
lunch; and two bottles of beer hung over the stern in the cold water.
Any other man would have been soaked with joy to be fishing on such, a splendid da
Normally, Greenberg himself would have been ecstatic, but instead of relaxing and waiting for
nibble, he was plagued by worries.
This short, slightly gross, definitely bald, eminently respectable businessman lived a gypsy li
During the summer he lived in a hotel with kitchen privileges in Rockaway; winters he lived in
hotel with kitchen privileges in Florida; and in both places he operated concessions. For yea
now, rain had fallen on schedule every week end, and there had been storms and floods o
Decoration Day, July 4th and Labor Day. He did not love his life, but it was a way of making
living.
He closed his eyes and groaned. If he had only had a son instead of his Rosie! Then thin
would have been mighty different.
For one thing, a son could run the hot dog and hamburger griddle, Esther could draw beer, an
he would make soft drinks. There would be small difference in the profits, Greenberg admitted
himself; but at least those profits could be put aside for old age, instead of toward a dowry for h
miserably ugly, dumpy, pitifully eager Rosie.
"All right—so what do I care if she don't get married?" he had cried to his wife a thousan
times. "I'll support her. Other men can set up boys in candy stores with soda foun-tains that ha
only two spigots. Why should I have to give a boy a regular International Casino?"
"May your tongue rot in your head, you no-good piker!" she would scream. "It ain't right for
girl to be an old maid. If we have to die in the poorhouse, I'll get my poor Rosie a husband. Eve
penny we don't need for living goes to her dowry!"
Greenberg did not hate his daughter, nor did he blame her for his misfortunes; yet, because
her, he was fishing with a broken rod that he had to tape together.
That morning his wife opened her eyes and saw him pack-ing his equipment. She instantly cam
awake. "Go ahead!" she shrilled—speaking in a conversational tone was not one of h
accomplishments—"Go fishing, you loafer! Leave me here alone. I can connect the beer pip
and the gas for soda water. I can buy ice cream, frankfurters, rolls, sirup, and watch the gas an
electric men at the same time. Go ahead—go fishing!"
"I ordered everything," he mumbled soothingly. "The gas and electric won't be turned o
today. I only wanted to go fishing—it's my last chance. Tomorrow we open the conces-sion. T
the truth, Esther, can I go fishing after we open?"
"I don't care about that. Am I your wife or ain't I, that you should go ordering everythin
without asking me—"
He defended his actions. It was a tactical mistake. While she was still in bed, he should ha
picked up his equipment and left. By the time the argument got around to Rosie's dowry, s
stood facing him.
"For myself I don't care," she yelled. "What kind of a monster are you that you can go fishin
while your daughter eats her heart out? And on a day like this yet! You should only have to ma
supper and dress Rosie up. A lot you care that a nice boy is coming to supper tonight and may
take Rosie out, you no-good father, you!"
From that point it was only one hot protest and a shrill curse to find himself clutching half
broken rod, with the other half being flung at his head.