"Goodis, David - Nightfall" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goodis David)

"How do you feel about it?"
"Monotony's a relative thing."
"That isn't a pun, is it?"
"No," the man said. "I'm saying it in a positive way. You go out and look for a thrill and when you get it there's no thrill. The only thrill is looking for it. When you have someone you can look for a thrill together."
"Isn't that going a little deep?"
"I met her at a dance," the man said. "I had a devil of a time really getting to know her. She hadn't been around much, and you know how it is in New York. I bet you'll find more virgins in New York than any other town in the country. I mean in ratio. Even the little towns in the sticks. This is one burg where they build a defense mechanism at an early age. You can wear yourself out breaking it down. But don't get the wrong idea. That isn't why I married her."
"Why did you marry her?"
"I got to like her," the man said. "We had a lot of fun together. I don't know who you are and I'll never see you again in a hundred years, so it's all right to talk this way. I think it's a good idea to get things off your chest with strangers now and then."
"There's something to that."
"I developed a feeling for her," the man said. "I wanted to put my hands on her and at the same time I didn't want to do that and I got to thinking about it. It reached the point where I was buying things for her and I got a kick out of watching her face light up when she opened the packages. That had never happened before. We went around together for a little more than a year and then I went out and bought a ring."
"It always works that way."
"Not always," the man said. "I think I really fell in love with her about two years after the marriage. She was in the hospital then. We were having our first kid. I remember standing there at the bed, and there she was, and there was a baby, and I got all choked up. That was it, I guess. That was the real beginning."
"How many you got now?"
"Three."
"Three is just right."
"They're great kids," the man said. He raised a wrist toward his eyes and peered at the dial of a compact little watch. "Well," he said, "I've got to be running. Keep in trim."
"I will," Vanning said as the man started away. "Good luck."
"Thanks," the man said, and he was crossing the street. He turned a corner and walked up another block and crossed another street. A taxi came down the street in a listless way, the driver indifferent at the wheel, a cigarette miraculously hanging onto the driver's lips. The man raised his arm, waved it, and the taxi pulled toward the curb.
The man got in and gave the driver an address on the east side, slightly north of Forty-second Street, in the section known as Tudor City. The driver threw his cab into second gear and they were on their way.
In a little more than five minutes the man was home. He had an apartment on the seventh floor of a place once in the high-rent category but now toned down a bit. In the elevator he lit a cigarette, glanced again at his wrist watch as he left the elevator, and saw the hands indicating a quarter to twelve. Walking down the hall, he took a key ring from his trousers pocket, and as he came to the door marked 714 he glanced once more at his wrist watch. Then he inserted the key, opened the door and entered the apartment.
It was a pleasant little place, definitely little for a family of five, but furnished to give an impression of more space. The main element was a large window that showed the East River. And there was a grand piano that had put him in the red for several months. There was a presentable secretary desk with some intelligent-looking books behind glass. The top row was given over to a set of The Book of Knowledge, but underneath that it was all strictly adult stuff. A good deal of Freud and Jung and Homey and Menninger, and some lesser-known works by other psychiatrists and neurologists.The kids were always standing on chairs to get at The Book of Knowledge, and once in a while they'd mess around with the other books and sometimes use crayon on the pages, but the top row was the only place for The Book of Knowledge because the other rows weren't high enough. There'd been a bit of discussion about that, especially when the six-year-old daughter had torn out all the pictures in one of the more involved and pathological works of Man's Nervous System, but there just wasn't enough room for another bookcase and it was rather useless to make a big issue over the matter.
He came into the living room and his wife put down a book and stood up and walked toward him.
"Hello, Mr. Fraser."
"Hello, Mrs. Fraser."
He kissed her on the cheek. She wanted to be kissed on the mouth. He kissed her on the mouth. She was an inch or so taller than he was, and she was on the skinny side and had the kind of face they use in fashion magazine ads where they don't want to concentrate too much on the face. It was an interesting face even though there was nothing sensational about it. It was interesting because it showed contentment but no smugness.
She put her hands on the sides of his head. She rubbed his temples. "Tired?"
"Just a little."
"How about a drink?"
"I could eat something."
"Sandwich?"
"No meat. Something light. God, but it's hot."
"I couldn't get the kids to sleep. They must be swimming in there."
"You look cool."
"I was in the bathtub an hour," she said. "Come on in the kitchen. I'll fix you something."
In the kitchen he sat down at a small white table and she began preparing a salad. It looked good to her and she added things to it and made enough for two. There was a pitcher of lemonade and she put more ice and sugar and water in it and sat down at the table with him.
She watched him as he tackled the salad. He looked up and smiled at her. She smiled back.
She poured some lemonade for him and as he lifted a forkful of lettuce and hard-boiled egg toward his mouth she said, "Didn't you have dinner?"
"Who can eat in this weather?"
"I thought we'd get a breeze from the river."
"Should have sent you and the kids to the country."
"We went through that."
"It isn't too late," he said.
"Forget about it," she said. "The hot spell's almost over."
"I could kick myself."
"We'll go next year."
"We said that last summer."
"Is it my fault?"
"No," he said, "it's mine. I'm sorry, honey, really I am."
"You know something?" she said quietly. "You're a very nice guy."
"I'm not nice at all. I was thinking of the money."