Читать книгу The Favourite Game - Leonard Cohen - Страница 10
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ОглавлениеHis father lived mostly in bed or a tent in the hospital. When he was up and walking he lied.
He took his cane without the silver band and led his son over Mount Royal. Here was the ancient crater. Two iron and stone cannon rested in the gentle grassy scoop which was once a pit of boiling lava. Breavman wanted to dwell on the violence.
‘We’ll come back here when I’m better.’
One lie.
Breavman learned to pat the noses of horses tethered beside the Chalet, how to offer them sugar cubes from a flat palm.
‘One day we’ll go riding.’
‘But you can hardly breathe.’
His father collapsed that evening over his map of flags on which he plotted the war, fumbling for the capsules to break and inhale.
