"Lisa Tuttle - Jamie's Grave" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuttle Lisa)

other side.

Jamie was involved with his friends, laughing and leaping around. His eyes flickered over her, taking in
her presence but not acknowledging it, and when she hugged him she could feel his reluctance to return
to her and leave the exciting, still new world of school.

He pulled away quickly, and wouldn’t let her hold his hand as they walked. But he talked to her, needing
to share his day’s experiences, giving them to her in excited, discontented bursts of speech. She tried to
make sense of what he said, but she couldn’t always. He used strange words—sometimes in a different
accent—picked up from the other children, and the events he described might have been imaginary, or
related to schoolyard games rather than to reality. Once they had spent all their time together, in the same
world. She had understood him better then, had understood him perfectly before he could even talk.

She looked at the little stranger walking beside her, and caught a sudden resemblance to Clive in one of
his gestures. It struck her unpleasantly, that he was well on his way to becoming a man.

“Would you like to help me make some biscuits this afternoon?” she asked.

He shook his head emphatically. “I got to dig,” he said.

“Dig? In the garden? Oh, darling, it’s so wet!”

He frowned and tilted back his head. “Isn’t.”

“I know it’s stopped raining, but the ground…” Mary sighed, imagining the mess. “Why not wait until
tomorrow? It might be nicer then, the sun might come out, it might be much nicer to dig in the garden
tomorrow.”

“I dig tomorrow, too,” Jamie said. He began to chant, swinging his arms stiffly as he marched, “Dig! Dig!
Dig!”

During the summer they had taken a trip to the seashore and Mary had bought him a plastic shovel. He
had enjoyed digging in the soft sand, then, but had not mentioned it since. Mary wondered what had
brought it back to mind—was it a chance word from his teacher, or an enthusiasm caught from one of the
other children?—and realized she would probably never know.

He found his shovel in the toy chest, flinging other toys impatiently across the room. Not even the offer of
a piece of cake could distract him. He suffered himself to be changed into other clothes, twitching
impatiently all the while. When he had rushed out into the garden, Mary stood by the window and
watched.

The plastic shovel, so useful for digging at the beach, was less efficient in the dense soil of the garden. As
Jamie busily applied himself, the handle suddenly broke off in his hands. He looked for a moment almost
comically shocked; then he began to howl.

Mary rushed out to comfort him, but he would not be distracted by her promises of other pleasures. All
he wanted was to dig, and he would only be happy if she gave him a new shovel. Finally, she gave him
one of her gardening spades, and left him to it.

She felt rejected, going into the house and closing the door, staying away from the windows. He didn’t