JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 218 из 425Even the regional publishers passed.” She sighed. “The locals bought it, but that’s not many books, is it?”
“No, I suppose not,” I said.
“He just wasn’t much of a writer. Not much of a photographer, either—those little black-and-white snaps of his make my eyes hurt.
Still, he tells some good stories. The Micmac Drive, General Wing’s trick horse, the twister in the eighteen-eighties, the fires in the nine-teen-thirties…”
“Anything about Sara and the Red-Tops?”
She nodded, smiling. “Finally got around to looking up the history of your own place, did you? I’m glad to hear it. He found an old photo of them, and it’s in there. He thought it was taken at the Fryeburg Fair in 1900. Ed used to say he’d give a lot to hear a record made by that bunch.”
“So would I, but none were ever made.” A haiku by the Greek poet George Seferis suddenly occurred to me: Are these the voices of our dead friends / or just the gramophone? “What happened to Mr. Osteen? I don’t recall the name.”
“Died not a year or two before you and Jo bought your place on the lake,” she said. “Cancer.”
“You said there were two histories?”
“The other one you probably know-A History of Castle County and Castle Rock. Done for the county centennial, and dry as dust. Eddie Osteen’s book isn’t very well written, but he wasn’t dry. You have to give him that much. You should find them both over there.” She pointed to shelves with a sign over them which read of MAINE INTEREST. “They don’t circulate.” Then she brightened. “Although we will happily take any nickels you should feel moved to feed into our photocopy machine.”
Mattie was sitting in the far corner next to a boy in a turned-around baseball cap, showing him how to use the microfilm reader. She looked up at me, smiled, and mouthed the words Nice catch. Referring to my lucky grab at Warrington’s, presumably. I gave a modest little shrug before turning to the of MAINE INTEREST shelves. But she was right—lucky or not, it had been a nice catch.
“What are you looking for?”
I was so deep into the two histories I’d found that Mattie’s voice made me jump. I turned around and smiled, first aware that she was wearing some light and pleasant perfume, second that Lindy Briggs was watching us from the main desk, her welcoming smile put away.
“Background on the area where I live,” I said. “Old stories. My housekeeper got me interested.” Then, in a lower voice: “Teacher’s watching. Don’t look around.
“No, I suppose not,” I said.
“He just wasn’t much of a writer. Not much of a photographer, either—those little black-and-white snaps of his make my eyes hurt.
Still, he tells some good stories. The Micmac Drive, General Wing’s trick horse, the twister in the eighteen-eighties, the fires in the nine-teen-thirties…”
“Anything about Sara and the Red-Tops?”
She nodded, smiling. “Finally got around to looking up the history of your own place, did you? I’m glad to hear it. He found an old photo of them, and it’s in there. He thought it was taken at the Fryeburg Fair in 1900. Ed used to say he’d give a lot to hear a record made by that bunch.”
“So would I, but none were ever made.” A haiku by the Greek poet George Seferis suddenly occurred to me: Are these the voices of our dead friends / or just the gramophone? “What happened to Mr. Osteen? I don’t recall the name.”
“Died not a year or two before you and Jo bought your place on the lake,” she said. “Cancer.”
“You said there were two histories?”
“The other one you probably know-A History of Castle County and Castle Rock. Done for the county centennial, and dry as dust. Eddie Osteen’s book isn’t very well written, but he wasn’t dry. You have to give him that much. You should find them both over there.” She pointed to shelves with a sign over them which read of MAINE INTEREST. “They don’t circulate.” Then she brightened. “Although we will happily take any nickels you should feel moved to feed into our photocopy machine.”
Mattie was sitting in the far corner next to a boy in a turned-around baseball cap, showing him how to use the microfilm reader. She looked up at me, smiled, and mouthed the words Nice catch. Referring to my lucky grab at Warrington’s, presumably. I gave a modest little shrug before turning to the of MAINE INTEREST shelves. But she was right—lucky or not, it had been a nice catch.
“What are you looking for?”
I was so deep into the two histories I’d found that Mattie’s voice made me jump. I turned around and smiled, first aware that she was wearing some light and pleasant perfume, second that Lindy Briggs was watching us from the main desk, her welcoming smile put away.
“Background on the area where I live,” I said. “Old stories. My housekeeper got me interested.” Then, in a lower voice: “Teacher’s watching. Don’t look around.