Читать «Полёт фантазии, фантазии в полёте» онлайн - страница 114

The next morning Julia occupied a well-chosen position from which she could safely observe Jim and Helen’s front door. She had to wait for almost an hour before Jim appeared on the doorsteps. He couldn’t see Julia, but Julia was able to watch his every move perfectly well: opening the garage, getting into his car, sending kisses to Helen, driving away.

Julia clicked her fingers quickly and… «Oh, what a curious sensation, so light, so weightless as if I’m a balloon flying away from its negligent owner. How nice to be a cloud floating in the sky! But I must hurry up, Jim’s car is gaining speed». Julia, or rather Julia’s soul, for her body remained lying lifeless on the pavement, waited for the Human Soul Travellers Club ambulance, got into the car easily through the open side-window and gently kissed Jim on the forehead.

— «Oh, Christ! This damned blood pressure jumps like crazy grasshopper» — thought Jim as he felt a sudden influx of blood to his temples. — «What a fool I am! I shouldn’t have drink so much whisky yesterday, I shouldn’t have started quarrelling with that silly bitch. (Who does he mean? I wonder — said Julia to herself). She has succeeded in spoiling the better days of my life, she has destroyed my talent, she has murdered my son. Yes, what else can one call that awful abortion at nearly four month’s pregnancy, without saying a word to me, secretly. And the only thing which could have made our marriage at least tolerable was the baby. A son, my son David, how passionately I wanted you to become real. Alas! ( — Helen, he means Helen! — reflected Julia frightened by these revelations.) Stupid fool, she is to blame for all my failures. But I’ll teach her a lesson, I’ll prove to her that I’m still a writer, not just a waste paper basket, filled with idiotic screen plays».

«Where are we going?» — thought Julia, as they passed West Hill park and took the turn to the left. Jim stopped his car in front of a bleak grey house with dirty windows. He opened the door with his won key and went up the shaky stairs.

A big dirty room looked deserted-very little furniture: an old table with a type-writer on it, a Victorian wooden chair with a broken head, an old-fashioned fridge in the corner and a blotchy carpet of uncertain dirty colour on the floor.

«What is he going to do in this awful room?» — wondered Julia.

Jim looked off his jacket and sat at the table. — «Settled! Work, work and work. I won’t get out till I finish at least the first chapter. Nobody will interfere with my writing here». Julia looked at the sheet of paper stuck into the type-writer and read: «On a bright October morning when the air is transparent and the leaves and the leaves are golden I meet Julia…»