Читать книгу The Luck of the Maya - Theodore Brazeau - Страница 4

CARLOS 2017

I’m sitting on my deck with a beer in my hand, looking at the water in Galveston Bay and the fading day beyond it, contemplating ideas about luck, good and bad. Where it comes from, how it changes. Who doesn’t have it, who does, and where do they get it.

I’m Carlos Montoya (sometimes), Sam Stockman (other times), and various other people on occasion. I’ve been sitting here doing my contemplating for a while now. I thought about getting up and doing something useful. But when you have no feet, sometimes sitting is easier.

Lucy has been telling me I should write it all down, and I‘ve been telling her no, what for, but I’m getting a little bored sitting around with a beer in my hand, contemplating things, so I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will pay attention…

Lucy says if I write it down, she will, too. And she has her diaries to back her up. “I’m going to write this story, too. I don’t know if you remember all this stuff right. You didn’t even remember our anniversary last year,” she said.

Well, yeah, I said, but that was because...

“No excuses,” she interrupted, “this is important stuff. Just don’t forget.”

Forget? Forget what? I asked.

“Forget anything,” she said. “I won’t.” She smiled her off-center smile. I hadn’t seen that for a while.

The feet? Well, they’re in México somewhere, but we’ll get to that. There’s a lot more to this weird story than feet.