Читаем The Lighthouse полностью

An hour later the trapdoor was not only carpet-covered, but she had tacked the remnant down at its four corners to make sure it stayed in place. She had also finished cleaning up the kitchen, had polished her blue enamel cookware and hung it on the new hooks on the wall, and was feeling rather pleased with herself. Hungry, too. A tuna sandwich, she thought, and maybe a glass of wine.

She was mixing up the tuna at the drainboard when she saw, through the window, that she was about to have company. Mandy Barnett, of all people, had just come through the gate and was walking toward the lighthouse.

Frowning, Alix put the tuna salad into the refrigerator, went into the living room, and opened the door just before Mandy reached it. The girl was dressed in the same Indian-style poncho, jeans, and beaded leather headband; she grinned at Alix and said, “I didn’t see the car and I was afraid you wouldn’t be home.”

“Well, this is a surprise. How did you get all the way out here?”

“A guy I know brought me. He’s waiting down the road.”

“The boy in the green Chevvy?”

“That’s right. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

Alix hesitated; but she was curious about why the girl was here. “All right, come ahead.”

Inside, Mandy said, “It’s not too bad here.”

“We like it.”

“Nicer than where I live, that’s for sure. You know the trailers up on the north end of town?”

“Yes.”

“My mom, dad, two brothers, and me live in one of them. We don’t even have running water.”

Alix didn’t know what to say, so she kept silent.

“We take turns hauling water from the faucet,” Mandy said. “I sleep on the couch. Last week we had egg sandwiches for supper four days.”

“Mandy, why are you telling me all this?”

“I just want you to know where I’m coming from.” The girl began to pace around the room the way she had at the launderette, examining things and humming a vaguely recognizable rock tune. The lyrics, Alix recalled, had something to do with wanting to “get it on all night.” At Mandy’s age she wouldn’t have even considered getting it on all night, much less sung about it. Mandy was obviously much more precocious; she had a tough, put-on assurance that might have been amusing if she hadn’t been so serious.

She said, “Suppose you tell me why you’re here.”

Mandy stopped pacing. “I wanted to talk. You’re from California, right? Someplace near San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Nice there.”

“Yes.”

“What do you think of Hilliard?”

Alix debated an answer, but took too long for Mandy’s liking; the girl answered her own question.

“Well, I hate it!”

The outburst cracked her tough-girl veneer. Alix took advantage of it and asked her, “Why, Mandy?”

“It’s ugly and cold, and everybody’s poor. There’s nothing to do but go to church or to the fucking Bingo games at the community center. I hate living in that trailer. We used to rent a house, but when my dad lost his boat we couldn’t even afford that. My mother used to have a dream that someday we’d own our own house, somewhere nice like Bandon or Coos Bay, but that’ll never happen. She doesn’t dream about anything anymore.”

“Don’t you have friends in the village? At school?”

“I dropped out this year.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Sitting in school wasn’t getting me anywhere and I had a chance to go to work at a boutique in Bandon. But that fell through. Besides, my dad’s got a high school diploma and look what it’s done for him.”

“What about your friend in the green Chevvy?”

“Him? He’s just my connection for dope. That’s about the only other thing there is to do around here-smoke dope. And get it on on weekends. But that doesn’t mean he’s my friend.” She met Alix’s eyes defiantly; the tough veneer had hardened again.

Alix kept her expression neutral. “Okay, now I know where you’re coming from. What do you want?”

“I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

“Oh? What sort of business proposition?”

“I want to get out of Hilliard. Go to California. L.A., maybe.”

“And do what? Try to get into the movies?”

“God, no! I may live in a hick town but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Nobody goes to Hollywood and gets rich and famous anymore; that’s a lot of shit. But I figure I could get by down there, and at least it’s sunny and warm.”

“How would you ‘get by’? By turning tricks?”

“What?”

“Prostitution, Mandy.”

“If I have to. That’s no big thing.”

Alix sighed.

“Anyway,” Mandy said, “I’ve got it figured out-the price of a bus ticket and enough money to keep me going until I can find a job or something. And what I’ve got to sell is worth just about what I’ll need.”

“Sell?”

“To you, Mrs. Ryerson.”

“Now what could you possibly have to sell to me?”

“Information. Something I heard.”

“What would that be?”

“Come on. If I told you, I wouldn’t have anything to sell.”

“Look, Mandy-”

“Five hundred dollars,” Mandy said. “Cash.”

“Five hundred-! That’s ridiculous!”

“You think so? Well, you’d better think twice, Mrs. Ryerson. What I heard could be important to you. Very important.”