The Guild of Saint Cooper

Начало книги

MY BROTHER HAD LEFT, my wife had left, and Fred, the only neighbor left on the block, was packing. Even those who stayed were tired of waiting. Soon, the few stores remaining would close. The pharmacy. The grocery. Everything under a buck. What then? From my perch on the high porch I watched my mother gather blooms in the back yard. Her long white hair fell loose around her narrow shoulders, coating them with snow. It was hot. The sun smashed down on her back and on the upturned faces of the flowers and she clipped one — bright orange, many-petaled — then held her bouquet at arm’s length and nodded, turning it slowly in her hands.

“Zinnias are from Mexico,” she said, seeing me, and then, “Keep an eye out for Zane, will you? He’s delivering some marijuana today.”

As she walked to the edge of the porch and held up the bouquet, a shadow flickered across her face as a crow passed overhead. I took the flowers inside. Yesterday’s flowers, only slightly faded, still filled a vase at the center of the dining-room table, and I replaced them, then joined my mother’s masks in staring. Masks from all over the world covered the walls, staring impassively at whatever unfamiliar thing the room produced. Years ago they’d spooked me. I’d thought they were watching me, spying on me, whispering my secrets. Now I just felt bad for them, unwilling spectators at a strange and impenetrable ritual. I felt bad, and I empathized.

Читать дальше →