"Steven Gould - Jumper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

about money?

I jumped back to the hotel room and sorted through my clothes for something clean to wear. I
was running out of underwear and all of my socks were dirty. I considered going to a store, picking
out a selection of clothing, and then jumping without paying the bill. The ultimate shoplifter.

Real class, Davy. I shook my head violently, gathered up all my dirty clothes, and jumped back
to my father's house.

There—more and more, I was thinking of it as his house, not ours. I considered that a good
step.

Well, he had left some of his clothes in the washing machine without moving them to the dryer.
From the smell of the mildew, they'd been there a couple of days. I piled them on the dryer, then
started a load of my clothes.

If it was his house, then why was I there? He owes me at least the odd meal and load of
laundry. I refused to feel guilty for taking anything from him.

Of course, while the washer ran, I paced through the house and felt guilty.

It wasn't the food, or doing laundry. I felt guilty about the twenty-two hundred I took from his
wallet. It was stupid. The man made good money but made me wear secondhand clothes. He drove a
car that cost over twenty thousand dollars but kept me, so he wouldn't have to pay my mom child
support.

And I still felt guilty. Angry, too.

I thought about trashing the place, tearing up all the furniture, and burning his clothes. I
considered coming back tonight, opening his Cadillac's gas tank and lighting it off. Maybe the house
would catch fire, too.

What am I doing? Every minute I stood in that house made me feel angrier. And the angrier I
got, the more guilty I felt. This is not worth it. I jumped to Manhattan and walked through Central
Park, until I was calm again.

After forty minutes, I jumped back to Dad's house, took the clothes out of the washer and put
them in the dryer. Dad's mildewed clothes I put back in the washing machine.

There was something else I needed from the house. I went down the hall to Dad's den—his
"office." I wasn't supposed to go in there, but I was a little past caring about his rules and regulations.
I started in the three-drawer filing cabinet, then moved to his desk. By the time the clothes were
finished drying, I was finished, too, but I hadn't found my birth certificate anywhere.

I slammed the last drawer shut, then gathered my dried clothes up and jumped back to the hotel
room.

What am I going to do about money?

I put the clothes on the bed, then jumped to Washington Square, in front of the park bench.