×àðëüç Áóêîâñêè
âûïüåì çà ýòî
ìû áûëè íà ËàÁðè àâåíþ è ÿ ó íå¸ ñïðîñèë:
"õî÷åøü óâèäåòü äîì â êîòîðîì ÿ æèë
â 15 ëåò êîãäà áûë ìàëü÷èøêîé?"
"êîíå÷íî" - ñêàçàëà îíà.
ÿ ïîåõàë íà Ëîíãâóä àâåíþ è ìû
ïðèïàðêîâàëèñü íàïðîòèâ äîìà.
ýòî áûëî ñïóñòÿ 50 ëåò
è îí áûë íà ìåñòå
äîì óæàñîâ
äîì òûñÿ÷è èçáèåíèé
äîì áåçæàëîñòíîñòè è íåñ÷àñòüÿ.
"ïîêàæè ãäå áûëà òâîÿ ñïàëüíÿ" -
ñêàçàëà îíà.
ìû ïåðåøëè ãàçîí
ãàçîí ÷òî ÿ ñòðèã è ïîëèâàë
750 ðàç.
ìû ïðîøëè ñîñåäñêóþ ïîäúåçäíóþ äîðîæêó.
"âîò îí" - ñêàçàë ÿ åé - "çäåñü
îêíî ÷åðåç êîòîðîå ÿ âûïîëçàë íî÷üþ, è
äóìàþ ýòî òîò æå êóñò
íàä êîòîðûì ÿ è ñêîëüçèë.
Ãîñïîäè, äàâàé âûáèðàòüñÿ îòñþäà!"
ìû âåðíóëèñü â ìàøèíó è óêàòèëè.
ÿ áûë æåðòâîé îòñóòñòâèÿ ëþáâè îò
îáîèõ ðîäèòåëåé
è ÿ áûë æåðòâîé äàæå ãîðàçäî áîëüøåãî
íåæåëè ýòî. è óäà÷à äîëãîå âðåìÿ ïîñëå
íå ïðèõîäèëà.
"òû íå õîòåë ýòîò äîì âèäåòü îïÿòü,
íå òàê ëè?" - ñïðîñèëà îíà.
"ýòî áûëà ìîÿ èäåÿ" - ñêàçàë ÿ - "ìíå î÷åíü æàëü."
"Äåòêà" - ñêàçàëà îíà - "è ìíå î÷åíü æàëü."
"âñ¸ êîí÷åíî" - ñêàçàë ÿ - "÷òî-òî èç ýòîãî
êîí÷èëîñü."
êîãäà ìû âåðíóëèñü êî ìíå äîìîé è
îòêðûëè äâåðü
àíãåëû âûïðûãíóëè èç êîðçèí äëÿ áóìàã
è ïîáåæàëè ÷åðåç ñòàðûé, êîðè÷íåâûé
êîâðèê
ñâåò è óäà÷à îòñêàêèâàëè îò
ñòåí êîãäà
îíà ïîøëà â âàííóþ
â òî âðåìÿ êàê ÿ ðàññëàáèëñÿ è
õëîïíóë áóòûëêó ðèñëèíãà "Havemeyer
Bernkastel."
"Night Torn Mad with Footsteps"
15.11.19
a drink for that
we were on LaBrea Ave. and I asked her,
“want to see the house I lived in for
15 years when I was a boy?”
“sure,” she said.
I drove over to Longwood Ave. and we
parked across the street.
there it was 50 years later
it was still there
the house of horrors
the house of a thousand beatings
the house of brutality and unhappiness.
“show me where your bedroom was,”
she said.
we walked across the lawn
the lawn I had mowed and watered
750 times.
we walked up the neighbor’s driveway.
“there it is,” I told her, “there is the
window I crawled out of at night, and
I think that’s the same bush I slid over.
Christ, let’s get out of here!”
we got back into the car and drove off.
I had been the victim of no love from
either parent. and I had been the victim
of much more than that. and the luck had
held bad for a long long time
thereafter.
“you didn’t want to see that house again,
did you?” she asked.
“it was my idea,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Baby,” she said, “I’m sorry too.”
“it’s over,” I said, “some of it is
over.”
when we got back to my place and
opened the door
the angels jumped out of the wastebaskets
and ran across the worn, brown
rug
light and luck were bouncing from the
walls as
she went to the bathroom
while I kicked back and
popped a bottle of Havemeyer
Bernkastel Riesling.