Crossroads
- Автор: Франзен Джонатан
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Crossroads». Краткое содержание книги:
Universally recognized as the leading novelist of his generation, Jonathan Franzen is often described as a teller of family stories. Only now, though, in *Crossroads* , has he given us a novel in which a family, in all the intricacy of its...
“I don’t even know how it happened,” Russ said. “How I came to hate you so much. It goes way beyond pride—it’s basically consumed my life, and I don’t understand it. How I can be a servant of God and feel this way. Just being in this office is a torture. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I can’t control it. I can’t think of you for five seconds without feeling sick. I can’t even look at you now—your face makes me sick.”
He sounded like a little girl running to her parents with hurt feelings. Mean Rick made me feel bad.
“If it’s any comfort,” Ambrose said, “I don’t like you, either. I used to have a lot of respect for you, but that’s long gone.”
Beneath them, the bass vibrations crescendoed and stopped. That Russ could hear the crowd’s cheering at all, at this distance, suggested that it was very large. It really should have been a comfort to know that his hatred was reciprocated, but now it only reminded him of Clem’s disrespect.
“Be that as it may,” he said, “we can’t keep doing this to the church. It’s just too obscene. I don’t know how to get out of it, but we have to find a way to be more—civil.”
“It was brave of you to knock on my door. To take that step.”
“Oh my God.” Russ clutched at the air and made his hands into fists. “Talk about things that make me sick. That little tremor in your voice when you tell someone they’re brave. As if you’re the world’s leading authority on courage. As if your opinion is of the utmost importance.”
Ambrose laughed. “That was a brave thing to say.”
“I used to love you, Rick. I thought we were friends.” Again the hurt little girl.
“It was good while it lasted,” Ambrose said.
“No. I don’t think so. I think I was always basically a fraud. I had no business trying to be a youth minister—I was never any good at it. And then you came into my church, and you’re right, it was a blow to my pride. How good at it you were. It was stupid of me to envy that, because I’m good at other things—things you’re not good at. But none of them seemed to matter.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve gotten better at carpentry and plumbing.”
“You’ll never be as good as me. I’ve got any number of skills to feel good about. But all I have to do is think of you, and—none of them matters.”
Russ glanced at Ambrose, caught the gaze of his dark eyes, and quickly looked away again.
“I feel for you, Russ. But you probably don’t want to hear that.”
“You’re damn right I don’t. It’s easier for me if you’re an asshole. Which, by the way, I think you are. I think you’re a raging egomaniac. I think Crossroads for you is one big power trip. I think you get off on having all the pretty girls lined up outside your office. You’re an even bigger fraud than I was, but it doesn’t matter, because the kids still love you. You really do help them, because they’re too stupid to see through you. And then I don’t just hate you—I hate the kids for loving you.”
“What if I told you that I worry about the same thing? That I wrestle with these questions all the time?”
“That would be interesting. It’s interesting to imagine you as a person more or less like me, trying to be good, trying to serve God, but constantly doubting yourself. Rationally, I ought to be able to build on that and find a way to forgive you. But as soon as I put your face to the person I’m imagining, I’m sick with hatred. All I can see is you having it both ways. Getting off on your power and feeling good about the fact that it worries you. Being an asshole and congratulating yourself on your ‘honesty’ about it. And maybe everyone does that. Maybe everyone finds a way to feel good about their fundamental sinfulness, but it doesn’t make me hate you any less. It’s the other way around. I hate you so much that I start hating all of humanity, including myself. The idea that you and I are in any way alike—it’s disgusting.”
“Wow.” Ambrose shook his head, as if in wonder. “I knew things were bad, but I had no idea.”
“Do you see what I’ve been dealing with?”
“I guess I should be honored that I loom so large in your imagination.”
“Really? I thought you were the Second Coming. I’d have thought you’d be used to looming large.”
“But what you’re saying now, the way you’re speaking to me—there’s a level to this that I never saw when you were in the group. A level of honesty, vulnerability. If you could have opened yourself up like this even once … It’s kind of amazing to see it now.”
“Yeah, screw that. Screw you. I mean, Jesus Christ, Rick—you approve of my honesty? Who the hell are you to approve of me? I’m an ordained minister—I’m twice your age! I’m supposed to sit here and be grateful that some posturing upper-middle-class asshole from Shaker Heights approves of me? When he couldn’t care less if I approve of him?”
“You misunderstood me.”
“I’ve been thinking about Joseph and his brothers. I know how you feel about citing Scripture, but you’ll remember that the Bible is very clear on who the bad guys were. The older brothers sold Joseph into slavery, because why? Because they were envious. Because the Lord was with Joseph. That’s the refrain in Genesis: The Lord was with Joseph. He was the wunderkind, the favorite son, the person everyone went to with their dreams, because he had the gift from God. Everywhere he went, people put him in charge, they raised him up and praised him. And boy, did his approval matter to them. When I used to read Genesis as a young person, it seemed crystal clear who was good and who was bad. But you know what? When I read that book now, Joseph makes me sick. My sympathies are completely with the brothers, because God didn’t choose them. It was all preordained, and they were the unlucky ones, and it’s incredible: I hate you so much, I’ve started hating God!”
“Yikes.”
“I ask myself what I did to offend Him, what kind of abominations I committed, that I deserved the curse of you coming to this church. Or whether it was just His plan when He created me. That I be the bad guy. How am I supposed to love a God like that?”
Ambrose leaned forward, bringing his head closer to the height of Russ’s.
“Try to think,” he said. “Let’s both try to think. Is there anything I could say to you that wouldn’t set you off? I can’t express sympathy, I can’t say I admire you, I can’t apologize. It seems like literally any human response I could give you, you’ll turn it against me.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“Then what did you come here for? What do you want?”
“I want you to be a person you could never be.”
“What kind of person is that?”
Russ considered the question. It was a relief to finally air his feelings, but he was following a familiar pattern. Later on—soon—he would be mortified by everything he’d said. For better or worse, this was who he was. When he saw the answer to Ambrose’s question, he went ahead and spoke it.
“I want you to be a person who needs something. Who cares about my approval. You ask me what you could say that wouldn’t set me off, well, there is one thing. You could say you loved me, the way I used to love you.”
Ambrose sat up straight again.
“Don’t worry,” Russ said. “Even if you could say it, I wouldn’t believe you. You never loved me, and both of us know it.”
Afraid that he might cry, like a little girl, he closed his eyes. It seemed unfair that he’d been punished for loving Ambrose. Punished for loving Clem, too. Punished even for loving Marion, because she was the one person who loved him in return, and she was the very person he seemed fated to injure. Shouldn’t his capacity for love, which was the essence of Christ’s gospel, have earned him a modicum of credit with God?