"Joe Haldeman - Guardian" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Joe)

similar beatings, which at the time we thought were natural between father and son.
Edward spent a lot of time with him when he was growing up, teaching him how to fish
and sail and ride, and practicing sports with him. They laid out a small baseball diamond
in the backyard, and installed a canvas pad in the basement, for boxing and wrestling.
One Sunday in 1894, the servants out of the house, I heard a strange sound from
the basement, a strained whimpering, and I opened the door slightly and peeked down.
There on the boxing mat, my husband had pulled down their garments and was having
his son the way he had me, like two dogs coupling. He had his hand over Daniels' mouth,
but couldn't quite muzzle his agonized grunts.
 I ran upstairs to where Edward kept his pistols, but there was no ammunition in
sight, and I wasn't really sure how to load and fire one. So I went to the kitchen and got a
large cleaver.
When I returned to the basement door, they were finished. Edward was buttoning
up his clothing and spoke in harsh whispers to our son, cowering half naked on the mat.
Daniel saw me looking down, and at his expression I eased the door shut. I would
find some more sure and safe way to deal with this.
I was in the kitchen making tea cookies when Edward came up. He said that
Daniel had been slightly injured in their wrestling practice, and I was not to be worried if
he had tears. After all, he was only fourteen.
There was a large knife on the counter, and only God's hand stayed me, saved me,
from plunging it into his heart.
He went upstairs to change, and then left for the club, his Sunday round of golf
and cards. I waited for Daniel to come up, but he didn't, and after some time I finally
went down to the basement.
He was sitting in the darkest corner, quiet, not crying. He asked whether he might
launder his clothing alone. I said that he could, but I knew more about such things. I
haltingly told him his father had used me the same way, and we cried together.
I washed the blood from his unmentionables and mixed an astringent poultice for
him to apply. I told him to take a bath and then pack everything he could not live without
into a small trunk. We were leaving.
I was so agitated my heart was leaping in my chest. Trying to sort out my
thoughts—how to get away, where to go—I went out on the back porch, for some fresh
air. I closed my eyes and tried to think clearly. Then opened them at the sound of
clashing wings.
There on the wooden steps was a black bird larger than any crow I had ever seen,
a raven. He hopped up two steps and cocked his head at me. "No. Gold," he said.
I knew they could be trained to talk. But why would he be taught those two
words?
He hopped closer. "No!" He squawked. "Gold!" In an explosion of feathers he
flew past me, out into the backyard. He perched on the birdbath and repeated, "No gold!"
Then he flew away.
I was completely unnerved by the experience. But then I wondered whether it
might have been a sign. And the truth was immediately clear.
I ran up to the bath and spoke to Daniel through the door. "Don't rush, darling.
We can't leave until tomorrow morning."
"But Father won't be home until late," he said in a voice strained with fear. "We
can run all day."
I told him no, I had thought it through, and that would be disastrous. We would be
almost penniless unless I could get to the bank Monday morning, for my gold. And I had
seven ladies coming for afternoon tea; if I weren't here, they would suspect the worst, and