[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
rehearsed what they were going to say to Charlie before they went shopping, to
see if they could get the better of him; but they rarely did. Charlie had
learned his bantering the hard way, from being a fat and unpopular child.
Because of his unhappy childhood and his lonely growing-up years, Charlie's
personal tragedy was in many ways more poignant than most. By one of those
Godsent miracles of circumstance and fate, Charlie had met and married at the
age of 31 a handsome and hardworking lady schoolteacher from Beverly; and
although she had suffered two anguished years of gynecological complications,
she had at last given him a son, Neil. However, the doctors had warned the
Manzis that any more pregnancies would kill Mrs Manzi, and so Neil would have
to remain their only child.
They had brought Neil up with a care and a love that, according to Jane, had
been the talk of Granitehead. 'If they spoil that boy any more, they'll ruin
him for good,' old Thomas Essex had remarked. And, sure enough, on the
brand-new 500 cc motorcycle which his doting parents had bought him for his
eighteenth birthday, Neil had skidded one wet afternoon on Bridge Street, in
Salem, and hurtled headfirst into the side of a passing panel van. Massive
cranial injuries, dead in fifteen minutes.
Charlie's hard-won paradise had collapsed after that. His wife had left him,
unable to cope with his obsessive
54
preoccupation with Neil's death; or with her own inability to give him another
child. He had been left with nothing but his store, his customers, and his
memories.
Charlie and I often talked about our bereavement. Sometimes, when he thought I
was looking particularly down, he would invite me into the small office at the
back of the store, hung with lists of wholesale orders and sexy Japanese
Page 24
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
calendars, and he would pour me a couple of shots of whisky and give me a
lecture on what he had felt like when he had heard that Neif had been killed,
telling me how to manage, how to come to terms with it, and how to learn to
live my life again. 'Don't let anyone tell you that it ain't hard, or
miserable, because it is. Don't let anyone tell you that it's easier to forget
about someone who's dead rather than someone who's simply left you, because
that ain't so, either.' And I had those very words in mind as I stood wet and
chilled in his store that stormy March evening.
'What are you looking for, Mr Trenton?' he asked me, as he measured out coffee
beans for Jack Williams, from the Granitehead Gas Station.
'Liquor, mainly. My outside's drowned, I thought I might as well drown my
inside as well.'
'Well,' said Charlie, pointing down the aisle with his coffee scoop, 'you know
where it is.'
I bought a bottle of Chivas, two bottles of Stonegate Pinot Noir, the very
best, and some Perrier. At the freezer, I collected a lasagne dinner, a frozen
lobster-tail, and a couple of packs of mixed vegetables. By the counter, I
picked up half a pecan pie.
That it?' asked Charlie.
'That's it,' I nodded.
He began to punch out the prices on the cash register. 'You know something,'
he said, 'you should eat better. You're losing weight and it doesn't suit you.
You look like Gene Kelly's walking-stick after he'd been singing in the rain.'
'How much did you lose?' I asked him. I didn't have to say when.
55
He smiled. 'I didn't lose nothing. Not a single pound. In fact, I put twelve
pounds on. Whenever I felt low, I cooked myself up a big plate of fettucine
and clam sauce.'
He shook out two brown-paper sacks, and began to pack away my liquor and
groceries. Tat?' he said. 'You should have seen me. Charlie the Great.'
I stood there for a while, watching him put everything away. Then I said,
'Charlie, do you mind if I ask you a question?'
'Depends what it is.'
'Well, let me ask you this. Did you ever get the feeling, after what happened
with Neil - '
Charlie looked at me carefully, but he didn't say anything. He waited while I
tried to put into words what had happened to me up at Quaker Lane Cottage, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
rehearsed what they were going to say to Charlie before they went shopping, to
see if they could get the better of him; but they rarely did. Charlie had
learned his bantering the hard way, from being a fat and unpopular child.
Because of his unhappy childhood and his lonely growing-up years, Charlie's
personal tragedy was in many ways more poignant than most. By one of those
Godsent miracles of circumstance and fate, Charlie had met and married at the
age of 31 a handsome and hardworking lady schoolteacher from Beverly; and
although she had suffered two anguished years of gynecological complications,
she had at last given him a son, Neil. However, the doctors had warned the
Manzis that any more pregnancies would kill Mrs Manzi, and so Neil would have
to remain their only child.
They had brought Neil up with a care and a love that, according to Jane, had
been the talk of Granitehead. 'If they spoil that boy any more, they'll ruin
him for good,' old Thomas Essex had remarked. And, sure enough, on the
brand-new 500 cc motorcycle which his doting parents had bought him for his
eighteenth birthday, Neil had skidded one wet afternoon on Bridge Street, in
Salem, and hurtled headfirst into the side of a passing panel van. Massive
cranial injuries, dead in fifteen minutes.
Charlie's hard-won paradise had collapsed after that. His wife had left him,
unable to cope with his obsessive
54
preoccupation with Neil's death; or with her own inability to give him another
child. He had been left with nothing but his store, his customers, and his
memories.
Charlie and I often talked about our bereavement. Sometimes, when he thought I
was looking particularly down, he would invite me into the small office at the
back of the store, hung with lists of wholesale orders and sexy Japanese
Page 24
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
calendars, and he would pour me a couple of shots of whisky and give me a
lecture on what he had felt like when he had heard that Neif had been killed,
telling me how to manage, how to come to terms with it, and how to learn to
live my life again. 'Don't let anyone tell you that it ain't hard, or
miserable, because it is. Don't let anyone tell you that it's easier to forget
about someone who's dead rather than someone who's simply left you, because
that ain't so, either.' And I had those very words in mind as I stood wet and
chilled in his store that stormy March evening.
'What are you looking for, Mr Trenton?' he asked me, as he measured out coffee
beans for Jack Williams, from the Granitehead Gas Station.
'Liquor, mainly. My outside's drowned, I thought I might as well drown my
inside as well.'
'Well,' said Charlie, pointing down the aisle with his coffee scoop, 'you know
where it is.'
I bought a bottle of Chivas, two bottles of Stonegate Pinot Noir, the very
best, and some Perrier. At the freezer, I collected a lasagne dinner, a frozen
lobster-tail, and a couple of packs of mixed vegetables. By the counter, I
picked up half a pecan pie.
That it?' asked Charlie.
'That's it,' I nodded.
He began to punch out the prices on the cash register. 'You know something,'
he said, 'you should eat better. You're losing weight and it doesn't suit you.
You look like Gene Kelly's walking-stick after he'd been singing in the rain.'
'How much did you lose?' I asked him. I didn't have to say when.
55
He smiled. 'I didn't lose nothing. Not a single pound. In fact, I put twelve
pounds on. Whenever I felt low, I cooked myself up a big plate of fettucine
and clam sauce.'
He shook out two brown-paper sacks, and began to pack away my liquor and
groceries. Tat?' he said. 'You should have seen me. Charlie the Great.'
I stood there for a while, watching him put everything away. Then I said,
'Charlie, do you mind if I ask you a question?'
'Depends what it is.'
'Well, let me ask you this. Did you ever get the feeling, after what happened
with Neil - '
Charlie looked at me carefully, but he didn't say anything. He waited while I
tried to put into words what had happened to me up at Quaker Lane Cottage, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]