Spider Webs
- Автор: Миллар Маргарет
- Год: 1986
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 978-0-688-06593-5
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «Spider Webs». Краткое содержание книги:
“Not as fatal as what you’ll get if you don’t drag yourself into that den. And for your information, by the way, endometriosis is a disease of the womb, and boys don’t have wombs.”
“I could be an exception. Nobody ever X-rayed me.” Vee closed the dishwasher with a bang. “Beat it, Thatcher.”
“Okay. But you’ll be sorry if I’m terminal.”
“We are all terminal, Thatcher. However, at the moment you’re more terminal than most, and endometriosis has nothing to do with it. Your father doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Vee switched on the dishwasher, wiped her hands on her apron, found out she wasn’t wearing one and reached for a towel.
“Thatcher, I want you to do me a favor.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for you? Joy in bringing happiness to someone, pride in your ability to show compassion to another human being.”
“How much is that in dollars?”
“One.”
“What’s the deal?”
“Be patient with your father. You know how proud he is of you and how much he loves you.”
“If he loves me so much, how come I’m not at the football game? If I’m too young for football, I’m too young to memorize the amendments.”
“Oh, come on, Thatcher, be reasonable.”
“I’m reasonable. It’s everybody else that isn’t.”
“A buck is a buck. Take it or leave it.”
“All right, it’s a deal. What do I have to do?”
“Be nice to your father. The case he’s prosecuting is very important to him, and he’s working so hard he needs to get his mind off the law.”
“The amendments,” Thatcher pointed out in a deadly reasonable voice “are the law.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Make an effort to memorize at least some of them. Give it the old college try.”
“I’m only in the sixth grade.”
“So give it the old sixth-grade try. Will you do that for me, please?”
“No. I’ll do it for a buck.”
Vee gave him a hug and kissed the top of his head. She loved this boy who was so much like his father as deeply as she loved the father who was so much like his son.
In the small, book-lined den Oliver Owen sat in the red leather chair in front of the fireplace. The leather was actually vinyl, and the fireplace was a gas grate, but the books were real and read.
Thatcher sat on the floor, arms clasped around his legs, chin resting on his knees.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a chair, Thatcher?”
“No.” Then, thinking of the dollar, Thatcher added, “Dad.”
“Very well, we’ll get right down to business. What are the first ten amendments called?”
“The Bill of Rights.”
“Good. You remembered.”
“I don’t remember what they are, though, except the one about how we should all carry guns around.”
“That’s not quite what it says, Thatcher. We’ll get back to that later. For now let’s go through some of the other amendments to give you some idea of what’s ahead. Let’s look at Amendment Thirteen. Like the other amendments, it is indicated by a Roman numeral — in this case an X followed by three ones. In Roman numerals an X is a ten, and three ones add up to what?”
“If I had a computer like all the other kids—”
“You don’t need a computer to add ten and three, especially when I’ve already told you the answer, which is thirteen.”
“I was just going to say thirteen.”
“Amendment Thirteen reads as follows: ‘Section One. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States or any place subject to their jurisdiction. Section Two. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.’ December eighteenth, 1865.”
Thatcher chewed thoughtfully on the hangnail on his left thumb. “Does that mean we can’t have slaves?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
“Because slavery is wrong.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Thatcher. Figure it out for yourself. Would you like to be someone’s slave, having to obey orders, to work without salary or allowance?”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind having one of my own. Man, think how great it would be having a slave to do all your chores, pick up your clothes and do your homework and beat up on the kids you don’t like. Wow, wouldn’t that be super?”
“No, it would not be super, Thatcher. It would be immoral and illegal, and the possession of a slave would make you hopelessly dependent.”
“I already am, Chadwick says. Wow, when I think what my slave could do to that creep—”
“Let’s stick to the subject. At the time, 1865, there were actually some arguments in favor of slavery. And certainly some results of the Thirteenth Amendment were not adequately foreseen by its creators. I refer to the excessive proliferation of the black race in the last hundred years.”
“Maybe a slave could even go to school for me and take my exams. And Friday nights he could stay home for me while I went to the football game. Boy, oh, boy, when I get to be President, I’m going to bring back slavery.”
“Shut up, Thatcher.”
“Why?”
“Because you... because I... because. Just because.”
“That doesn’t sound like a legal argument to me.”
“It may not be legal, but I suggest you obey it. Now.”
“Okay, okay. This wasn’t my idea anyway.”
“Now.”
Thatcher darted out of the room like a freed slave. With a sigh Oliver returned the amendment booklet to his pocket. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes.
When Vee came in half an hour later, she found him asleep. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head just the way she had kissed the top of Thatcher’s, with the same mixed feelings of pride, joy and resignation.
“Oliver, dear.”
He awoke with a start. There were no slow, sweet awakenings for Oliver. His eyes snapped open, ready to confront an enemy. “What’s the matter?”
“Your office called. A man named Harry Arnold has been trying to reach you. He’s at five-five-five-one-eight-one-eight.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Do they have to disturb you like this on a weekend?”
“Harry Arnold is my most important witness in this case. I’ve got to find out what he wants.”
Harry’s wants were simple: two plane tickets back to the Virgin Islands for him and his son, Richie. He was sick of waiting around for his turn in the witness box; he was sick of Santa Felicia, as he was sick of the climate, the people, the food.
“I want to go home,” Harry said.
“That’s impossible.”
“What if I just do it anyway?”
“If you leave now, while you are under subpoena, the court will order you to be brought back, and in addition, they could fine you a considerable sum of money or even put you in jail. My advice—”
“Who asked for it?”
“—is to stay put and consider this a little vacation. The Judge’s allowance for your food and shelter has been very generous.”
“Some vacation, stuck in a crummy motel and my son, Richie, hanging out at the waterfront most of the time. It’s a rough place for a fifteen-year-old, bums, winos, pushers. Sure, he hangs around the waterfront at home, but everybody knows him, and he ain’t the only black, like he is here.”
“I’m putting you on the stand Monday morning. We’ve already discussed in detail the questions I’m going to ask you. After I’ve finished my questioning, the defense will cross-examine. Then I might decide to reexamine, and the defense will very likely recross. You’ve been advised of all this before.”