Conversation
Cluster 6
“sdelai perevod na literaturnyi russkii iazyk fragmenta teksta: The bright aftern” (1 conversations)
toxic
9 turns
Feb 21, 2024 at 9:47 AM MSK
Russia
Redacted
USER
sdelai perevod na literaturnyi russkii iazyk fragmenta teksta: The bright afternoon sun bled through the closed blinds. Fully clothed, Edward lay on his bed, their bed. His eyes were open. He was afraid to close them, afraid of the nightmares he would encounter in his dreams. He had tried to drink, upending the Scotch bottle and swallowing half of the burning liquid in the bottle as quickly as he could. Not being used to it, he had vomited it over the side of the bed. A police cruiser had returned him to his apartment, along with Lily's possessions in their plastic bags. Almost immediately on entering the apartment, the telephone had rung, and he had picked it up by rote. It was Lily's sister. "Edward." He cleared his throat, the sound of which must have passed for acknowledgment. Until then the dread of informing her family had not surfaced in his mind. "No word?" No need to soften the blow. Hadn't he seen her remains? "Lily's dead," he said abruptly. He was surprised that the words did not come out with a sob. Blinking, tears fell onto his cheeks, and he wondered who they were for, Lily or himself. His sister-in-law had screamed in response, a primitive female shriek of mourning, he supposed. Looking blankly at the telephone receiver, he waited until the odd sound abated, while tangled thoughts rolled around in his mind. Was the Lily he had seen really Lily? Was the Lily they had talked about really Lily? Could he have been mistaken? Could that policeman be mistaken? He felt compelled to explain. "She went down in the plane crash last week. I didn't know." He was deliberately evasive. Had he resolved not to tell them the truth, not to tell anyone? The truth? Was there a real truth? Then, suddenly, the screaming ceased, and his sister-in-law's voice was clear and stern. "How come you didn't know?" she snapped. Her tone was sharp, accusatory. "You said she was going to L.A." "She must have changed her mind at the last minute." "How could you not know that? You're her husband." "I was." He felt foolish, defensive. "How could a husband not know where his wife was going? How is that possible? What kind of a man are you?" That fact had been challenged as well. Indeed, he thought, what kind of a man am I? Obviously a stupid one. And worse. "I didn't know," he said, feeling the full impact of his impotence. "How am I going to tell Mama?" "I don't know." "Lily was her favorite." He heard the familiar hint of sibling rivalry. "You'd better bring her home. She wasn't married Catholic, but she'd better be buried Catholic." A threat was clearly implied, summoning an image of Vinnie, their brother. "
CHATBOT
Iarkii poludennyi solnechnyi svet prosachivalsia skvoz' zakrytye zhaliuzi. Edvard, polnost'iu odetyi, lezhal na svoei krovati, ikh obshchei krovati. On byl s otkrytymi glazami. On boialsia ikh zakryt', boialsia koshmarov, kotorye mogli by ego ugnetat' vo sne. Pytalsia on i pit', oprokinul butylku viski, bystro proglotiv polovinu zhguchei zhidkosti. Ne buduchi k etomu privychnym, on vyrval soderzhimoe priamo za krai krovati. Politseiskii patrul' otvioz ego obratno v ego kvartiru vmeste s lichnymi veshchami Lili v plastikovykh paketakh. Pochti srazu posle vkhoda v kvartiru zazvonil telefon, i on avtomaticheski ego podnial. Zvonila sestra Lili. "Edvard." On otkashlialsia, i etot zvuk, po vsei vidimosti, byl vospriniat kak podtverzhdenie. Do togo momenta uzhas pered mysl'iu o tom, chtoby soobshchit' eio sem'e, ne podnimalsia v ego soznanii. "Nikakikh novostei?" Ne nuzhno bylo smiagchat' udar. Razve on ne videl eio ostanki? "Lili mertva," vnezapno brosil on. K ego udivleniiu, slova vyshli bez vskhlipa. Sliozy slepili glaza, i on zadalsia voprosom, za kogo oni - za Lili ili za sebia. Ego sestra po zakonu otvetila krikom -, kak on predpolozhil, primitivnym zhenskim voplem skorbi. Gliadia nevidiashchim vzgliadom na trubku telefona, on zhdal, poka strannyi zvuk ne utikhnet, a v ego razume koposhilis' smutnye mysli. Byla li eto deistvitel'no Lili, kotoruiu on videl? Byla li eto deistvitel'no Lili, o kotoroi oni govorili? Ne mog li on oshibit'sia? Ne mog li oshibit'sia politseiskii? Emu khotelos' vsio ob'iasnit'. "Ona pogibla pri krushenii samoliota na proshloi nedele. Ia ne znal." On soznatel'no uklonchivo govoril. Ili on reshil ne govorit' im pravdu, ne govorit' pravdu nikomu? Pravda? Sushchestvuet li nastoiashchaia pravda? Tut vdrug krik stikh, i golos ego sestry po zakonu zazvuchal iasno i strogo. "Kak ty mog etogo ne znat'?" - rezko sprosila ona. Eio ton byl zhiostkim i obvinitel'nym. "Ty govoril, chto ona uekhala v Los-Andzheles." "Dolzhno byt', ona v poslednii moment peredumala." "Kak ty mog etogo ne znat'? Ty eio muzh." "Byl." On pochuvstvoval sebia glupo i zashchishchionno. "Kak muzh mozhet ne znat', kuda edet ego zhena? Kak eto vozmozhno? Kakim ty chelovekom iavliaesh'sia?" I eto tozhe bylo pod somneniem. Deistvitel'no, on podumal, kakim ia chelovekom iavliaius'? Ochevidno, glupym. I chto khuzhe. "Ia ne znal," skazal on, chuvstvuia vsiu tiazhest' svoei bespomoshchnosti. "Kak ia eto skazhu Mame?" "Ne znaiu." "Lili byla eio liubimitsei." On uslyshal znakomyi privkus rodstvennoi revnosti. "Tebe luchshe privezti eio domoi. Ona ne vyshla zamuzh po-katolicheski, no pokhoronit' eio nuzhno po-katolicheski." V ego slovakh chiotko prozvuchala ugroza, kotoraia vyzvala obraz Vinni, ikh brata.
USER
eshche fragment: "Of course," he said, relieved in a way by the sense of direction being offered. Up to then a paralysis of action had set in. "I'll make arrangements." "How am I going to tell Mama?" "I suppose I should." He felt the sheer terror of it. "No." There was a long pause. "I wish she had never met you. How could you not know where your wife was going?" He felt a tiny urge toward maliciousness. I'll tell them what she did, he thought. Then he rejected it. Out of shame? he wondered. He could not deny his humiliation. What did it matter? To Lily's family he had always been the enemy. "I'll make the arrangements," he repeated. "What is the name of that church?" Saint something, he thought. She told him, and he scrawled it on a notepad. "How am I going to tell Mama?" "Let Vinnie." "Vinnie! Vinnie will bust your balls." He heard the click and shrugged. They've already been, he thought. Through some miracle of concentration, he managed with the aid of telephone information to find a funeral parlor near the family home in Baltimore. The man on the phone instructed him on costs and details. Then Edward gave him his sister-in-law's number. He was sure the family had cemetery plots. They had lived in the area for two generations. The man from the funeral parlor asked for a deposit, and he promised to send it immediately. He wanted the whole matter to be disposed of as quickly as possible. He went to his desk, took out their joint checkbook, wrote a check, addressed the envelope, and pasted the stamp on it. All so banal, so ordinary, he thought. When the telephone rang again, he let it ring until he could not bear the sound. It was the Washington Post. They wanted a picture of Lily. "I don't have one," he lied. He couldn't bear the idea of it in the paper, visualizing it next to--what was his name?--Simpson? "Surely you have a picture." "Bug off," he said, slamming down the phone. He had never experienced this kind of emotion. When each of his parents had died, he had known terrible grief. The loss seemed overwhelming at the time, unbearable. For a while in the Medical Examiner's office, before the sergeant had brought them into that little room and told them about Lily and that man, he had felt a familiar sense of grief, a recognizable and understandable emotion. Now it had become confused with anger, which created other feelings, feelings with no frame of reference. Yet what the sergeant implied was incredible. A fantasy. An absurd concoction. Perhaps his own hysterical mind had conceived it. He had absolutely no perception of Lily as other than what she was, the loyal, devoted, loving wife. But this new perception, despite a conscious effort to deny it, forced its way into his consciousness. Still, logic challenged memory. Not Lily. How could it be? When the sharp knife of reason had done its work, a single lie blocked his path, one among what was surely many. It loomed, a giant presence, too overwhelming to escape: Lily had embellished the L.A. trip with such a wealth of detail--the design festival, the time the plane would leave, the time of return. He had barely listened. Now it gurgled up at him with the stench of stale lies like a backed-up drain. He had trusted her. He had believed in her. To doubt her then would have been inconceivable.
CHATBOT
"Konechno," skazal on, pochuvstvovav oblegchenie ot togo, chto emu predlagalos' napravlenie deistvii. Do etogo ego okhvatilo otsepenenie, paralich deistvii. "Ia uladzhu vse organizatsionnye voprosy." "Kak mne skazat' Mame?" "Po vsei vidimosti, mne sleduet." On oshchutil nevynosimyi uzhas tol'ko pri mysli ob etom. "Net." Byla dolgaia pauza. "Khotela by ia, chtoby ona tebia nikogda ne vstretila. Kak ty mog ne znat', kuda edet tvoia zhena?" Vnezapno on pochuvstvoval maluiu vspyshku zloradstva. Ia rasskazhu im, chto ona sdelala, - podumal on. Zatem otverg etu ideiu. Iz styda? - zadumalsia on. On ne mog otritsat' svoio unizhenie. Vo chto eto vsio obernetsia? Dlia sem'i Lili on vsegda byl vragom. "Ia vsio uladzhu," - povtoril on. "Kak nazyvaetsia ta tserkov'?" Sviatoi kakoi-to, on podumal. Ona nazvala emu imia tserkvi, i on nabrosal ego na bloknote. "Kak mne eto skazat' Mame?" "Pust' Vinni skazhet." "Vinni! Vinni tebe iaitsa otorvet." On uslyshal shchelchok trubki i pozhal plechami. Uzhe otorvali, - podumal on. Blagodariu chudu kontsentratsii, s pomoshch'iu telefonnoi spravochnoi sluzhby, on nashel pokhoronnoe biuro nedaleko ot rodnogo doma v Baltimore. Muzhchina po telefonu proinstruktiroval ego otnositel'no stoimosti i detalei. Zatem Edvard soobshchil emu nomer telefona ego sestry po zakonu. On byl uveren, chto u sem'i est' semeinyi uchastok na kladbishche. Oni zhili v etom raione uzhe vtoroe pokolenie. Sotrudnik pokhoronnogo biuro poprosil vnesti depozit, i on obeshchal nemedlenno eto sdelat'. On khotel, chtoby vsio bylo ulazheno kak mozhno skoree. Podoshel k svoemu stolu, dostal obshchuiu s Lili chekovuiu knizhku, vypisal chek, adresoval konvert, i nakleil marku. Vsio tak banal'no, tak obydenno, podumal on. Kogda telefon snova zazvonil, on pozvolil emu zvonit', poka ne smog bol'she vynosit' etot zvuk. Eto byla Washington Post. Oni khoteli fotografiiu Lili. "U menia eio net," sovral on. On ne mog vynesti mysli o eio fotografii v gazete, predstavliaia eio riadom s - kak ego tam - Simpsonom? "Naverniaka u tebia est' fotografiia." "Otvalite," skazal on i rezko povesil trubku. On nikogda ranee ne ispytyval nichego podobnogo etomu chuvstvu. Kogda umirali ego roditeli, on perezhil uzhasnuiu skorb'. Poteria kazalas' razdavlivaiushchei, nevynosimoi. Na nekotoroe vremia, v ofise sudmedeksperta, do togo kak serzhant privel ikh v nebol'shuiu komnatu i rasskazal o Lili i tom muzhchine, on oshchutil znakomuiu bol' skorbi, uznavaemoe i poniatnoe chuvstvo. Teper' eto smeshalos' s gnevom, chto vyzvalo drugie oshchushcheniia, chuvstva bez tochki otscheta. Odnako to, chto namekal serzhant, bylo neveroiatnym. Fantaziia. Absurdnoe vymysel. Vozmozhno, eto bylo plodom ego sobstvennogo isterichnogo uma. U nego absoliutno ne bylo predstavlenii o Lili, krome kak o vernoi, predannoi, liubiashchei zhene. No eto novoe predstavlenie, nesmotria na soznatel'nye popytki otritsaniia, probivalos' v ego soznanie. I vsio zhe logika brosala vyzov pamiati. Ne Lili. Kak eto vozmozhno? Kogda ostryi nozh razuma sdelal svoio delo, emu vstretilas' edinstvennaia lozh' na puti, odna iz tekh, chto, veroiatno, bylo mnogo. Ona zamaiachila, ogromnoe prisutstvie, slishkom podavliaiushchee, chtoby izbezhat': Lili ukrasila poezdku v L.A. takim kolichestvom detalei - festival' dizaina, vremia vyleta, vremia vozvrashcheniia. On edva slushal. Teper' eto vsio podnimalos' pered nim s zapakhom zastareloi lzhi, kak zasorivshiisia vodostok. On doverial ei. On veril ei. Somnevat'sia v nei togda bylo by nepostizhimo.
USER
eshche fragment: "You dirty lousy bitch," he muttered aloud, his body stiffening. Then the image of her mutilated face intruded. "God punished you," he cried. "How could you?" Where was his compassion? he wondered. Forgiveness? So far he had found only anger, bitterness. Humiliation gnawed at him. What had happened to love? When he looked further inward, he found only a heart that raged with hate. He wondered if there were those among her colleagues who knew: Mr. Parks, Milly Halpern, others? Surely someone had to know. It was one thing for them, the spouses, not to know, but could they have fooled the entire world? He remembered the identical keys. Suddenly he began to cry, losing all control. "It can't be. It simply cannot be," he moaned. Stripping away his soiled clothing, he got into the shower and stood under the spray until the hot water had cooled. Still wet and dripping, he stretched out on the couch, soaking the pillows, feeling the chill; he was utterly bereft of self-worth, of dignity. Along with Lily, his own persona had surely died. Finally, he took a Valium and drifted into semiconsciousness. Sometime in the middle of the night he awoke. His skin felt icy. His teeth chattered, but it was not from the physical cold. He had no doubt about its source. He was alone, brutally, cruelly alone. To survive, to be saved, he needed to touch someone, someone who would understand the heart of his anguish. A woman's face, ashen but whole, surfaced in his memory. She would understand. He had forgotten the man's first name, but a search through the various area directories had triggered his memory. Orson Oscar Simpson. He had no idea what the woman's first name was, nor could he recall her features distinctly, only her pale face. For a brief moment their eyes had met. Had they both seen the similarity in their mutual pain? They had turned away simultaneously. With a shaking finger, he dialed the numbers on his telephone. "Yes?" A woman's voice made an urgent effort to respond. He heard her breathing, hesitant, quivering. "Mrs. Simpson?" he asked tentatively. "Yes." "Forgive me. I'm terribly sorry. I'm <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>." He felt her tension in the long pause. Had she remembered? "I wasn't sleeping," she said hoarsely. "I..." he began, suddenly forgetting what he might have said. No sense larding it with politeness. "Had you any idea, Mrs. Simpson?" "Idea?" "About them." "Them?" He felt a flash of anger. "This is Davis. The woman's husband." "I know." "Do you understand what I'm saying?" "Of course." "I must ask it. Please don't be offended." He swallowed. The bitter taste of phlegm rose in his throat. "Did you really not know?"
CHATBOT
"Griaznaia podlaia suka," prosheptal on vslukh, ego telo napriaglos'. Zatem v ego voobrazhenii vsplylo izobrazhenie eio izurodovannogo litsa. "Tebia nakazal Bog," voskliknul on. "Kak ty mogla?" Gde zhe ego sostradanie? - zadavalsia on voprosom. Proshchenie? Do etogo momenta on nakhodil tol'ko gnev, razocharovanie. Unizhenie zhglo ego iznutri. Chto sluchilos' s liubov'iu? Zaglianuv vglub' sebia, on nashel lish' serdtse, polnoe nenavisti. On zadumalsia, znali li sredi eio kolleg: mister Parks, Milli Khelpern, kto-to drugoi? Naverniaka kto-to dolzhen byl byt' v kurse. Eto odno delo - dlia suprugov ne znat', no mogli li oni obmanut' ves' mir? On vspomnil odinakovye kliuchi. Vdrug on nachal plakat', poteriav kontrol'. "Tak byt' ne mozhet. Prosto nevozmozhno," stonal on. Snimaia svoiu izmazannuiu odezhdu, on voshel v dush i stoial pod struiami vody, poka voda ne ostyla. Mokryi i kapaiushchii, on rastianulsia na divane, promokaiushchem ot podushek, oshchushchaia kholod; on byl sovershenno lishen samootsenki, dostoinstva. Vmeste s Lili, opredelionno, umerla i ego sobstvennaia lichnost'. Nakonets, on prinial Valium i pogruzilsia v polusoznanie. Gde-to posredi nochi on prosnulsia. Ego kozha byla ledianaia. Zuby stuchali, no eto bylo ne ot fizicheskogo kholoda. On ne somnevalsia v ego istochnike. On byl odin, zhestoko, besposhchadno odin. Chtoby vyzhit', byt' spasennym, emu neobkhodimo bylo prikosnut'sia k komu-to, k komu-to, kto poimet glubinu ego muchenii. V ego pamiati vsplylo litso zhenshchiny, blednoe, no tseloe. Ona by poniala. On zabyl imia muzhchiny, no poisk po razlichnym telefonnym spravochnikam osvezhil ego pamiat'. Orson Oskar Simpson. On ne imel predstavleniia, kak zvali etu zhenshchinu, i eio cherty litsa on takzhe ne mog vspomnit' iasno, tol'ko blednoe litso. Na mgnovenie ikh vzgliady vstretilis'. Poniali li oni, uvidev podobie svoei obshchei boli? Oni oba otvernulis' odnovremenno. S drozhashchim pal'tsem on nabral nomera na telefone. "Da?" Golos zhenshchiny sudorozhno pytalsia otvetit'. On slyshal eio dykhanie, robkoe, drozhashchee. "Missis Simpson?" - neuverenno sprosil on. "Da." "Prostite menia. Mne uzhasno zhal'. Ia Edvard Devis." On oshchutil eio napriazhenie v dolgoi pauze. Pomnila li ona? "Ia ne spala," siplo skazala ona. "Ia..." on nachal, vnezapno zabyv, chto khotel skazat'. Ne stoilo priukrashivat' vezhlivost'iu. "Dogadyvalis' li vy, missis Simpson?" "Dogadyvalas' li?" "Ob ikh otnosheniiakh." "O nikh?" On pochuvstvoval vsplesk gneva. "Eto Devis. Muzh zhenshchiny." "Ia znaiu." "Vy ponimaete, o chiom ia govoriu?" "Konechno." "Ia dolzhen sprosit'. Pozhaluista, ne obizhaites'." On proglotil kom. Gor'kii vkus mokroty podstupil k ego gorlu. "Vy deistvitel'no ne znali?"
USER
eshche fragment: There was another long pause, then a sigh. Her breathing seemed troubled. "How could I know?" she asked, struggling to control her indignation. "I didn't know either. It came as a complete shock. I'm stunned." "Only that?" "Do you believe it?" "I don't know what to believe. About anything." He wanted to hear more, to say more, to break the barrier of suspicion. We have common enemies, he wanted to say. Instead he asked: "Have you ... made arrangements?" "Please," she began, "is this necessary?" "I'm sorry. Please don't misunderstand. There is simply no one else to discuss this with." "Why must it be discussed?" "I don't know." He started to drop the receiver into its cradle but then put it to his ear again. "Mrs. Simpson?" She did not respond, but she had not broken the connection. "Maybe some day we can talk about this," he said into the silence. "I don't mean now. Now is not the time." He felt the words racing on under their own power. "It's bothering the hell out of me. The person ... the woman they referred to, the woman I identified." The memory of her broken face intruded, and he suppressed a sob. "The woman they talked about wasn't her at all." The words choked him finally. "I can see that this is not the time. Look, I live in Georgetown. Edward Davis. If you feel like calling ... Please forgive me." He hung up. Was it an irrational act? He had, of course, lost his moorings. Looking toward the window, he searched for dawn breaking. No sign. He got up and looked out, shivering. His teeth continued to chatter. Daybreak would soon arrive gray and gloomy. There seemed to be a hint of more snow in the black sky. When the telephone rang again, the sound seemed different, ethereal. Lily, he thought, his logic totally disoriented. She's calling to apologize. He picked up the phone. "All right," Mrs. Simpson said, as if the previous conversation had not ended, "I'm willing to discuss it." "I'm really grateful." "I can't imagine why." "Who else is there?" "There's something in that," she said gloomily. "I'm not sure it will do either of us any good." "We won't know until we do it." Was it sarcasm or aggression in her tone? He wasn't certain. "Not on the phone. I can't bear the phone," she said. "I'll meet you anywhere you say." "What time is it?" He looked at the digital clock. "Five-thirty. You mean now?" "Well, neither of us is sleeping." Now it seemed to be she who was pressing. "And my maid's here for Ben." "Ben?" "The boy." It sounded odd, and he wondered if the "boy" was her child. "There's an all-night coffee shop on Lee Highway." There was no mistaking her resolve now. She was leading him. "Say..." She hesitated. "Where did you say you lived?" "Georgetown." "Forty minutes, then."
CHATBOT
Posle dolgoi pauzy posledoval vzdokh. Eio dykhanie kazalos' zatrudnionnym. "Otkuda mne znat'?" sprosila ona, pytaias' sderzhat' svoio vozmushchenie. "Ia tozhe ne znala. Eto stalo polnoi neozhidannost'iu. Ia v shoke." "Tol'ko eto?" "Vy verite etomu?" "Ia ne znaiu, vo chto verit'. Voobshche." On khotel uslyshat' bol'she, skazat' bol'she, preodolet' stenu podozrenii. Khotel skazat', chto u nas est' obshchie vragi. Vmesto etogo on sprosil: "Vy... organizovali pokhorony?" "Pozhaluista," nachala ona, "neobkhodimo li eto?" "Proshu proshcheniia. Pozhaluista, ne nedoponimaite. Prosto bol'she nekomu obsudit' eto." "Zachem ob etom govorit'?" "Ne znaiu." On sobiralsia povesit' trubku, no snova pristavil eio k ukhu. "Missis Simpson?" Ona ne otvetila, no sviaz' ne preryvala. "Vozmozhno, kak-nibud' my smozhem obsudit' eto," skazal on v tishinu. "Ia ne imeiu v vidu seichas. Seichas ne vremia." Slova sami soboi lilis' u nego iz ust. "Eto nevynosimo menia bespokoit. Ta zhenshchina... zhenshchina, o kotoroi oni govorili, zhenshchina, kotoruiu ia uznal." Vospominanie eio razrushennogo litsa nakhlynulo, i on sderzhal vskhlip. "Ta zhenshchina, o kotoroi oni govorili, vovse ne byla ona." V kontse kontsov slova ego perekhvatilo. "Ia vizhu, chto seichas ne vremia. Slushaite, ia zhivu v Dzhordzhtaune. Edvard Devis. Esli zakhotite pozvonit'... Proshu proshcheniia." On polozhil trubku. Byl li eto irratsional'nyi postupok? Konechno, on poterial oporu. Gliadia v okno, on iskal pervye priznaki rassveta. Ikh ne bylo. On vstal i vyglianul naruzhu, drozha. Zuby ego prodolzhali stuchat'. Rassvet ne za gorami, dolzhno byt', seryi i mrachnyi. Pokazalos', chto v chiornom nebe zatailsia namiok na novyi sneg. Kogda telefon snova zazvonil, zvuk pokazalsia inym, efirnym. Lili, podumal on, ego logika byla polnost'iu rasstroena. Ona zvonit, chtoby izvinit'sia. On podnial trubku. "Ladno," skazala missis Simpson, slovno predydushchii razgovor ne zakonchilsia, "ia gotova obsudit' eto." "Ia deistvitel'no priznatelen." "Ne predstavliaiu, pochemu." "Komu eshchio?" "V etom chto-to est'," skazala ona mrachno. "Ne uveren, chto eto nam na pol'zu." "Ne uznaem, poka ne poprobuem." Byl li eto sarkazm ili agressiia v eio golose? On ne byl uveren. "Ne po telefonu. Ia ne mogu vynosit' telefon," skazala ona. "Vstrechu vas v liubom meste, kotoroe skazhete." "Kotoryi chas?" On posmotrel na tsifrovye chasy. "Piat' tridtsat'. Vy imeete v vidu seichas?" "Nu, my oba ne spim." Teper' eto, kazalos', ona nastaivala. "I u menia zdes' guvernantka dlia Bena." "Ben?" "Mal'chik." Eto pokazalos' emu strannym, i on zadumalsia, ne eio li eto rebionok. "Na Li Khaivei est' kafe, kotoroe rabotaet kruglosutochno." Teper' v eio golose ne bylo somnenii v eio reshimosti. Ona vela ego. "Skazhite..." Ona kolebalas'. "Vy govorili, chto zhiviote?" "V Dzhordzhtaune." "Togda cherez sorok minut."
USER
eshche fragment: He made her repeat the location of the coffee shop, then hung up. Compulsion, he decided, was writing its own scenario. It frightened him. She was wearing jeans and a beige turtleneck sweater, which emphasized the fullness of her breasts. He felt slightly ashamed that such a detail should arrest him at that moment. In his mind she had seemed neutered, like him. Her skin was as white as alabaster, as smooth as polished marble. The air of vulnerability which he had observed about her at the Medical Examiner's office was gone. Instead, a tightness in her pursed lips hinted of resolve. It made him curious. Where had she found the strength? They sat in a booth at the rear of the coffee shop. A steady stream of customers came in and out, people of the night and early morning. They seemed much different from humans who lived by day, an alien breed. "I've never been to an all-night anything before," she said after the waitress had poured them coffee, automatically. "I remembered the sign." Her fingers fluttered nervously until she finally steadied them around the coffee cup. "It seemed a logical choice. Only ten minutes from the house." She looked at him briefly, then turned her eyes away. "Convenient." He shrugged. "It's awful. Absolutely awful," she said abruptly. "Like the ground opened up under my feet." "Our feet, Mrs. Simpson." She tried to lift her coffee cup, but her hands shook too much. She let it clatter back into the saucer, spilling drops. "I feel so stupid and foolish," she said, shaking her head. "Even being here is ... well, bizarre. I can't imagine why I came." She lowered her eyes. "As you said, who else is there?" "Not another soul, I'm afraid. Just you and me." "Stuck in the same cell. You'd think we'd want to escape." "I wish I knew how." He wondered if she was having regrets about coming. "Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea," he said. "As good as any. What will I do back there? Toss and turn. Besides, I'm cried out." "Me, too." "I can't believe it's possible for us not to have known," she said. "I just can't grasp that." She looked at him, accusing. "I swear to you, Mrs. Simpson. It comes as a total shock." "But she was your wife. How can she have hidden it from you?" She looked into the coffee cup. "Now that's a stupid question. Where was I, you might ask." "All right. I'll ask it. Where were you? They say a woman can sense those things." "We'll just have to stop these generalizations," she said irritably
CHATBOT
On poprosil eio povtorit' adres kofeini, zatem povesil trubku. Poryv, reshil on, pisal svoi sobstvennyi stsenarii. On ispugalsia. Ona byla odeta v dzhinsy i sviter bezhevogo tsveta s gorlom-vorotnikom, kotoryi podchiorkival pyshnost' eio grudi. On pochuvstvoval nelovkost', chto imenno etot moment privliok ego vnimanie. V ego soznanii ona kazalas' obezlichennoi, kak i on sam. Eio kozha byla beloi kak alebastr, gladkoi kak polirovannyi mramor. Atmosfera uiazvimosti, kotoruiu on zametil u neio v ofise sudmedeksperta, ischezla. Vmesto etogo napriazhionnost' eio slozhennykh gub govorila o reshimosti. Eto vyzvalo u nego liubopytstvo. Otkuda ona vziala silu? Oni sideli v kabinke v dal'nem uglu kofeini. Postoiannyi potok posetitelei zakhodil i vykhodil: liudi nochi i rannego utra. Oni kazalis' sovershenno inymi, chem liudi, zhivushchie dniom - pokhozhi byli na inoplanetian. "Ia nikogda ran'she ne byvala ni v kakikh zavedeniiakh, rabotaiushchikh noch'iu," skazala ona posle togo, kak ofitsiantka avtomaticheski nalila im kofe. "Ia zapomnila etu vyvesku." Eio pal'tsy nervno dergalis', poka ona nakonets ne ovladela soboi, obkhvativ chashku. "Eto pokazalos' logichnym vyborom. Vsego lish' desiat' minut ot doma." Ona kratko posmotrela na nego, zatem otvela svoi vzgliad. "Udobno," pozhal plechami on. "Uzhasno. Prosto uzhasno," vnezapno skazala ona. "Kak budto zemlia ushla iz-pod nog." "Iz-pod nashikh nog, missis Simpson." Ona popytalas' podniat' chashku kofe, no ruki eio slishkom sil'no triaslis'. Ona ostavila eio grokhnuvshis' ob bliudtse, razliv kapli. "Chuvstvuiu sebia takoi glupoi i nelepoi," skazala ona, kachaia golovoi. "Dazhe byt' zdes'... nu, eto absurdno. Ne mogu poniat', zachem ia prishla." Ona opustila glaza. "Kak vy skazali, kto eshchio ostalsia?" "Ni dushi, boius'. Tol'ko vy i ia." "Zapertye v odnoi kamere. Kazalos' by, my dolzhny khotet' vybrat'sia." "Razumeetsia. No kak?" On zadumalsia, ne pozhalela li ona o prikhode. "Vozmozhno, eto i byla plokhaia ideia," on skazal. "Ne khuzhe, chem liubaia drugaia. Chto ia budu delat' doma? Vertet'sia i krutit'sia. Krome togo, ia isplakalas' vdovol'." "I ia tozhe." "Ia ne mogu poverit', chto my mogli ne znat'," skazala ona. "Prosto ne mogu eto poniat'." Ona posmotrela na nego, budto obviniala. "Ia klianus' vam, missis Simpson. Eto polnaia neozhidannost'." "No ona byla vashei zhenoi. Kak ona mogla skryt' eto ot vas?" Ona posmotrela v chashku kofe. "Eto glupyi vopros. No gde byla ia, vy mogli by sprosit'." "Khorosho. Ia sproshu. Gde byli vy? Govoriat, zhenshchina chuvstvuet takie veshchi." "Nam prosto nuzhno perestat' delat' takie obobshcheniia," razdrazhionno skazala ona.
USER
eshche fragment: "I'm sorry," he said. It had started badly. Perhaps this was not really a good idea after all. "Did it happen before?" she asked, ignoring his apology. "Did what?" "Her being, you know, unfaithful." "She wasn't a whore," he said between clenched teeth, instantly defensive. "What about him?" Was he trying to assign blame? She shook her head. "Never?" he asked cautiously. "Who can say that now? I'll never say never again." He rubbed his chin, feeling the rough stubble. "Neither will I," he mumbled facetiously. "Maybe she was a whore. She certainly was a liar on a grand scale." "Both of them were, Mr. Davis. Both of them were." She lifted her cup again. Coffee spills gathered in the saucer, but she managed a sip. "But how? Why?" "I don't know. That's why we're here, I suppose." "Where did she say she was going, for God's sake?" "To L.A. She's a--she was--a fashion buyer for Woodies. I thought nothing of her traveling. She did it periodically. She was, after all, a responsible executive." The old pride in her surfaced. Recognizing it again, he cursed her in his heart. "A buyer for Woodies? Where would she have crossed Orson's path? He was a lawyer. Corporations. Lobbying. Far afield." "They could have met anywhere, I suppose." Then, after a pause, "It doesn't matter now." "That's what I keep saying to myself. But I can't get it out of my mind. All the speculation. I saw nothing. Nothing. I keep asking myself: Am I so insensitive, so thick and stupid?" "The pronoun, Mrs. Simpson. Use the plural." It seemed a misplaced stab of humor. "We!" "What is even worse"--she lowered her voice--"is that I feel more anger than grief." "I know what you mean." Her brown eyes inspected him, and he felt drawn to meet them. "I wish I didn't feel that. I've never felt it before. And I keep saying to myself that a stranger was killed, not my Orson." He nodded. Nor my Lily. "I had no reason to assume that we had anything but a good marriage. I can't even envision Orson in this role. At first I thought there must be some other explanation--a dual personality. I'm sure it's possible. But then, in your case ... Two dual personalities? What are the odds against that?"
CHATBOT
"Proshu proshcheniia," skazal on. Nachalo poluchilos' neudachnym. Vozmozhno, eta vstrecha i vpravdu byla ne luchshei ideei. "Eto sluchalos' ran'she?" sprosila ona, ignoriruia ego izvinenie. "Chto imenno?" "Eio izmeny, vy znaete." "Ona ne byla shliukhoi," skazal on skvoz' szhatye zuby, tut zhe zashchishchaias'. "A chto naschiot nego?" Pytalsia li on perelozhit' vinu? Ona pokachala golovoi. "Nikogda?" ostorozhno sprosil on. "Kto seichas mozhet chto skazat'? Ia bol'she ne skazhu 'nikogda.'" On potior podborodok, pochuvstvovav nebrituiu shchetinu. "Ia tozhe bol'she ne budu," protsedil on skepticheski. "Mozhet, ona i byla shliukhoi. Ona opredelionno vrala na bol'shom urovne." "Oba oni vrali, mister Devis. Oba oni vrali." Ona snova podniala chashku. Kapli kofe nakopilis' na bliudtse, no ona smogla sdelat' glotok. "No kak? Pochemu?" "Ne znaiu. Veroiatno, poetomu my i zdes'." "Kuda ona sobiralas' ekhat', radi Boga?" "V Los-Andzheles. Ona - net, ona byla - zakupshchikom modnoi odezhdy dlia 'Vudis'. Ia nichego ne podumal o eio poezdkakh. Ona ezdila vremia ot vremeni. V kontse kontsov, ona byla otvetstvennym direktorom." Gordost' za neio bukval'no bila cherez krai. Priznav eto, on proklinal eio v dushe. "Zakupshchik dlia 'Vudis'? Gde mogli oni peresech'sia? Orson byl iuristom. Zanimalsia korporatsiiami, lobbirovaniem. Sovsem daleko ot mody." "Oni mogli vstretit'sia gde ugodno, polagaiu." Zatem, posle pauzy, dobavil: "Seichas eto uzhe ne imeet znacheniia." "Vot chto ia prodolzhaiu govorit' sebe. No ia ne mogu vybrosit' eto iz golovy. Vse eti domysly. Ia nichego ne zametil. Absoliutno nichego. Ia vsio vremia sprashivaiu sebia: neuzheli ia nastol'ko nechuvstvitelen, nastol'ko tup i glup?" "Mestoimenie, missis Simpson. Ispol'zuite mnozhestvennoe chislo." Eto pokazalos' kakim-to neumestnym vypadom iumora. "My!" "Chto dazhe khuzhe,"-- ona ponizila golos, --"ia chuvstvuiu bol'she gneva, chem goria." "Ia ponimaiu, o chiom vy govorite." Eio korichnevye glaza izuchili ego, i on pochuvstvoval vlechenie vzglianut' na neio. "Zhelaiu, chtoby ia ne ispytyvala etogo. Ia nikogda ran'she ne chuvstvovala podobnoe. I ia vsio vremia govoriu sebe, chto pogibla neznakomka, a ne moi Orson." On kivnul. Ni moia Lili. "U menia ne bylo osnovanii dopuskat', chto u nas byl chto-to, krome khoroshego braka. Ia dazhe ne mogu predstavit' Orsona v etoi roli. Snachala ia dumala, chto dolzhno byt' kakoe-to drugoe ob'iasnenie - dvoinaia lichnost'. Ia uverena, eto vozmozhno. No togda, v vashem sluchae... Dve dvoinye lichnosti? Kakovy shansy protiv etogo?"
USER
eshche fragment: "Staggering, I suppose." "And you?" Their eyes had not drifted. Now his turned away, and he looked at his fingers. "The same. As you said, I had no reason to assume otherwise. I felt good about our marriage. I didn't pretend to be the greatest husband. I've got faults." He checked himself. His instinct was to be selfeffacing, but something held him back. He did not want this woman to see his imperfections, although he was not quite certain why. "There could be some other explanation." It sounded almost like a wish. "Like a CIA thing, something like that. A secret mission, like on TV." Her eyes widened. "You think I'm crazy?" "Not crazy." "Grasping at straws?" "More like that," he said gently. "Anything to explain it away, I suppose. To absolve them and us." "Us?" He did not wish to pursue that line. Next, they would be blaming themselves. "We'll never know for sure," he sighed. "That policeman said the only connection was that key." She fished out the key case from her pocketbook. Then she opened it and upended the keys. "I don't even know which one it was." "I left the key ring at the house." "I've thought a great deal about that key. What did it open? Just another unbearable question to live with. God, I hate thinking about it." She raised her eyes to his and locked them there again. "I hate discussing it." "I'm sorry." "So am I. Sorry for everything. You know something?" He felt the intimacy of her tone, and it disturbed him. "I don't think I'll ever be able to trust anyone again," she said. "I don't even trust myself. If I couldn't see what was happening right under my nose, how could I ever again trust my own instincts or judgment?" Bending low over the table, she began to raise the cup again. Her hands trembled, and she put it down, placing her hands on the table's edge. Edward looked at her fingers. They struck him as being delicate, gentle. He felt an urge to be touched by them, as if somehow they would soothe, assuage pain. "How long do you suppose it was going on?" she asked. "I was afraid to ask myself," he murmured. "A long time? Months? Years?" Her alabaster skin seemed to whiten as she spoke. "Are you all right?" he asked, reaching out but not touching her. "I'll never be all right."
CHATBOT
"Potriasaiushche, navernoe." "A vy?" Ikh vzgliady ne raskhodilis'. Teper' on otviol svoi vzgliad i posmotrel na svoi pal'tsy. "Tozhe samoe. Kak vy skazali, ne bylo prichin predpolagat' inoe. Nash brak daval mne chuvstvo udovletvoreniia. Ia i ne pretendoval na zvanie luchshego muzha. U menia tozhe est' nedostatki." On ostanovilsia. Ego instinkt byl prinizit' sebia, no chto-to uderzhivalo ego. On ne khotel, chtoby eta zhenshchina videla ego nedostatki, khotia i ne sovsem ponimal, pochemu. "Mozhet byt', est' kakoe-to drugoe ob'iasnenie." Eto prozvuchalo pochti kak zhelanie. "Chto-to vrode agentskoi raboty v TsRU, podobnoe tomu, chto byvaet po televizoru." Eio glaza rasshirilis'. "Vy dumaete, ia soshla s uma?" "Ne soshli s uma." "Khvataius' za solominku?" "Skoree tak," miagko otvetil on. "Vsio, chto ugodno, chtoby ob'iasnit' eto, predpolagaiu. Chtoby opravdat' ikh i nas." "Nas?" On ne khotel prodolzhat' v etom napravlenii. V sleduiushchii raz oni mogli nachat' vinit' sebia. "My nikogda ne uznaem naverniaka," on vzdokhnul. "Etot politseiskii skazal, chto edinstvennaia sviaz' - eto kliuch." Ona vytashchila brelok s kliuchami iz sumochki. Zatem otkryla ego i vysypala kliuchi. "Ia dazhe ne znaiu, kakoi eto byl." "Ia ostavil sviazku kliuchei doma." "Ia mnogo dumala ob etom kliuche. Chto on otkryval? Prosto eshchio odin nevynosimyi vopros, s kotorym predstoit zhit'. Bozhe, kak ia nenavizhu ob etom dumat'." Ona podniala glaza na nego i snova zamerla v ego vzgliade. "Mne nenavistno ob etom govorit'." "Mne zhal'." "I mne tozhe zhal'. Zhal' vsio. Znaete chto?" On oshchutil intimnost' eio tona, i eto ego smutilo. "Ia dumaiu, ia bol'she nikogda ne smogu doveriat' komu-to," skazala ona. "Ia dazhe sebe ne doveriaiu. Esli ia ne smogla zametit', chto proiskhodit priamo u menia pod nosom, kak ia smogu snova doveriat' svoim instinktam ili rassudku?" Ona nagnulas' nad stolom, pytaias' vnov' podniat' chashku. Eio ruki triaslis', i ona postavila eio obratno, polozhiv ruki na krai stola. Edvard posmotrel na eio pal'tsy. Oni pokazalis' emu iziashchnymi, nezhnymi. On pochuvstvoval zhelanie byt' kosnutym imi, kak budto eto kakim-to obrazom smoglo by uspokoit', smiagchit' bol'. "Kak dolgo eto dlilos', kak vy dumaete?" sprosila ona. "Ia boialsia zadat' sebe etot vopros," prosheptal on. "Dolgo? Mesiatsy? Gody?" Eio alebastrovaia kozha, kazalos', pobelela eshchio bol'she, kogda ona govorila. "Vam khorosho?" sprosil on, potianuvshis' k nei, no ne kasaias'. "Mne nikogda ne budet khorosho."
USER
eshche fragment: Outside, it was getting light, and more recognizable daytime types, white collar workers, began arriving. Vivien and Edward sat in silence for a long time. Edward felt enervated, emptied of all vitality. Vivien nodded her head as if she were contemplating the oil slick on the surface of her tepid coffee. "I'm just taking it one day at a time," he said finally, clearing his throat of a sudden hoarseness. "The worst thing will be facing my wife's family. They'll think I murdered Lily...." "Lily?" She shot him a quick angry glance, as if to repeat the name was somehow an obscenity. "A bit old-fashioned, naming kids after flowers. Her parents were oldfashioned Italians." "Corny. Like Orson. His mother is dead, but his sister is still alive." Her throat emitted an odd bubbling sound. "She objects to my decision to cremate Orson, so she won't come to the service." He searched her face for some sign of irony, but her features were impenetrable. "She called it a burning." "It's a perfectly proper way to dispose of the body," he said, as if suddenly compelled to come to her defense. "Perfectly proper." She looked at him, offering an unmistakable flash of belligerence. Their eyes locked. In hers he imagined he could see the battle between fury and resignation, a mirror of his own. "What an odd way to put it," she said. In his heart, he agreed with her choice, sensing it was deliberate. But he did not explore it further, fearing that his own choice for Lily's disposal was somehow an act of cowardice. "It was all so strange. The way he looked. All pink and healthy. Lying there so quiet and innocent." Her lips pursed. His last image of Lily intruded suddenly. The upper part of her head was caved in: Retribution? The question posed itself as though it were independent of his will. His stomach lurched, and a chill shot through him. Such ideas were alien and terrible, part of the distorted perceptions of a nightmare. He looked about him, fixing his sense of place and reality. He was, he told himself, completely awake, living the immediacy of the moment. "Anyway, that part will be over by tomorrow afternoon." She took a deep breath. "I'll have to go up to Baltimore and face it with her family. Clannish, emotional Italians. It will be a ghastly experience. In a way they have a point. If I hadn't married her, she'd still be alive." "I doubt that. Women like that always create some kind of mischief." She checked herself quickly, but it was too late to retrieve. "Like what?" Incredibly, he was still defending. As he watched her, she seemed to be debating what she might say next. Her tense expression gave away her response. Oddly, he seemed to be girding himself. "You're not going to deny it. The woman must consent. It's not exactly like rape." Her features distorted in anger.
CHATBOT
Snaruzhi nachinalo svetat', i v kofeiniu stali prikhodit' bolee uznavaemye liudi, rabotaiushchie ofisnymi sluzhashchimi. Viv'en i Edvard dolgo sideli v tishine. Edvard chuvstvoval obessilennost', slovno ego opustoshili ot vsei zhiznennoi sily. Viv'en kivnula golovoi, budto razmyshliala nad zhirovoi plionkoi na poverkhnosti svoego chaia. "Ia prosto zhivu odnim dniom," nakonets skazal on, proiasniaia gorlo ot vnezapnoi khripoty. "Samoe uzhasnoe budet stolknovenie s sem'ioi moei zheny. Oni podumaiut, chto ia ubil Lili..." "Lili?" Eio vzgliad brosil na nego bystryi i razdrazhennyi vzgliad, kak budto povtorenie etogo imeni kakim-to obrazom bylo nepristoinym. "Nemnogo staromodno, nazyvat' detei imenami tsvetov. Eio roditeli byli staromodnymi ital'iantsami." "Banal'no. Kak Orson. Ego mat' umerla, no ego sestra eshchio zhiva." Eio gorlo izdalo strannoe bul'kaiushchee zvuk. "Ona ne odobriaet moio reshenie kremirovat' Orsona, poetomu ona ne pridet na tseremoniiu." On iskal na eio litse priznaki ironii, no eio cherty byli nepronitsaemy. "Ona nazyvala eto sozhzheniem." "Eto vpolne priemlemyi sposob izbavit'sia ot tela," skazal on, slovno vdrug pochuvstvovav neobkhodimost' zastupit'sia za neio. "Vpolne priemlemyi." Ona posmotrela na nego, predlagaia neosporimo boevoi vzgliad. Ikh glaza stsepilis'. V eio glazakh emu kazalos', chto on mozhet uvidet' bor'bu mezhdu iarost'iu i smireniem, otrazhenie ego sobstvennogo. "Kak stranno eto zvuchit," skazala ona. V dushe on soglasilsia s eio vyborom, oshchushchaia, chto eto bylo sdelano namerenno. No on ne stal eto obsuzhdat' dal'she, boias', chto ego sobstvennyi vybor otnositel'no Lili byl kakim-to obrazom aktom trusosti. "Vsio bylo tak stranno. Kak on vygliadel. Ves' rozovyi i zdorovyi. Lezhal takoi tikhii i nevinnyi." Eio guby szhalis'. Vnezapno pered ego glazami vstalo poslednee izobrazhenie Lili. Verkhniaia chast' eio golovy byla vdavlena: Vozdaianie? Vopros zadaval sebia, kak budto byl nezavisim ot ego voli. Ego zheludok szhalsia i po nemu probezhal oznob. Takie mysli byli chuzhdymi i uzhasnymi, chast'iu iskazhennogo vospriiatiia koshmara. On ogliadelsia, pytaias' ubedit' sebia v real'nosti mesta i momenta. On byl, kak on sam sebe napomnil, sovershenno prosnuvshimsia, zhivushchim neposredstvennost'iu momenta. "Tak ili inache, zavtra posle obeda vsio budet pozadi." Ona gluboko vzdokhnula. "Mne pridetsia ekhat' v Baltimor i stolknut'sia s eio sem'ioi. Sem'ia strastnykh, emotsional'nykh ital'iantsev. Eto budet uzhasnyi opyt. V kakom-to smysle u nikh est' osnovaniia. Esli by ia ne zhenilsia na nei, ona byla by zhiva." "V etom ia somnevaius'. Zhenshchiny takogo tipa vsegda ustraivaiut kakuiu-to pakost'." Ona vnezapno sderzhalas', no bylo uzhe slishkom pozdno, chtoby ostanovit'sia. "Kakuiu pakost'?" On do sikh por zashchishchal eio. Nabliudaia za nei, on uvidel, kak ona somnevaetsia v tom, chto skazat' dal'she. Eio napriazhennoe vyrazhenie vydalo eio otvet. Stranno, no on kazalsia gotovym k skhvatke. "Vy zhe ne budete otritsat'. Zhenshchina dolzhna soglasit'sia. Eto sovsem ne to zhe samoe, chto iznasilovanie." Eio cherty litsa iskazhala zlost'.
USER
eshche fragment: "And the man? Isn't he supposed to be the pursuer?" "Orson was not like that," she stammered. "Takes two to tango," he said. Was she actually trying to affix blame? "Maybe three," he muttered. "Or four." "Four?" The idea transformed the issue. Up until then she had seemed poised for combat. "Us. Something lacking in us," he said. "Something that drove them away from us, toward each other. Maybe we're cold, indifferent, unloving." He watched her facial muscles go slack. "I was a devoted, loving, dedicated wife, an old-fashioned hausfrau and mother. I tended, the home. I was a good little lamb." "Who never strayed?" "Never." She sucked in a gasp of indignation. "Me, too," he sighed. Suckers, he thought. Unless she lied. "Maybe we are to blame," she said after another long silence. She lifted her hands from the table, clasping her fingers to keep them from trembling. "Maybe." "Well, they're not here to explain it." Her voice rose. People in the next booth turned. "That's for sure," he said bitterly. "And even if they were..." Her lips clamped shut as she fought for control. "Did you tell anyone?" he asked, surprised at the direction of his thoughts. Public shame was another alien idea. Now, for some reason, it filled him with dread. He could not deny the challenge to his manhood. He thought suddenly of Jan Peters mocking his faithfulness. "Absolutely not. Never." The vehemence of her tone startled him, but it, too, merely articulated his own reaction. "Not even Dale, my husband's partner. It's not his business. He pressed me. Wanted to sue the airline for withholding the names so long. I said absolutely not. It won't bring Orson back. Thank God. I wouldn't want him." She looked determined. "I told no one. My parents are coming down tomorrow. I usually tell them most things. But not this." "Do you suppose it will be in the papers? The Post called for a picture. I gave them nothing." "I didn't either." She paused. "I couldn't bear to see it in the papers." "Do you trust the cop? I mean, not to spread it everywhere. It would make a juicy story." "I told you, I will never trust anyone again." "I'll vote yea on that." "Never."
CHATBOT
"A muzhchina? Razve on ne dolzhen byt' tem, kto dobivaetsia?" "Orson byl ne takov," zapnulas' ona. "Na tango nuzhny dvoe," skazal on. Pytalas' li ona real'no vozlozhit' vinu? "Mozhet byt', troe," prosheptal on. "Ili chetvero." "Chetvero?" Eta mysl' preobrazila vsiu situatsiiu. Do etogo momenta ona kazalas' gotovoi k srazheniiu. "My. Chego-to ne khvatalo v nas," skazal on. "Chto-to ottolknulo ikh ot nas, chto-to, chto privelo ikh drug k drugu. Vozmozhno, my kholodny, ravnodushny, ne liubiashchi." On smotrel, kak eio myshtsy litsa rasslabilis'. "Ia byla predannoi, liubiashchei, zabotlivoi zhenoi, staromodnoi domokhoziaikoi i mater'iu. Ia zabotilas' o domashnem ochage. Ia byla poslushnym agntsem." "Kotoryi nikogda ne sbegal?" "Nikogda." Ona rezko vtianula v sebia vozmushchionnoe dykhanie. "I ia tozhe," vzdokhnul on. Durachki, podumal on. Esli tol'ko ona ne vriot. "Vozmozhno, v etom vina nasha," skazala ona posle ocherednoi dolgoi pauzy. Ona otpustila ruki ot stola, perepletia pal'tsy, chtoby predotvratit' ikh drozhanie. "Vozmozhno." "Ved' oni zdes' ne mogut nam eto ob'iasnit'." Eio golos podnialsia. Liudi za sosednim stolom obernulis'. "Eto tochno," gor'ko skazal on. "Dazhe esli by oni byli..." Eio guby szhalis', poka ona borolas' za samoobladanie. "Vy komu-nibud' skazali?" sprosil on, udivlennyi napravleniem svoikh myslei. Obshchestvennoe styd -- eto byla eshchio odna chuzhdaia emu ideia. Teper', pochemu-to, ona napolniala ego uzhasom. On ne mog otritsat' vyzov svoei muzhestvennosti. On vdrug vspomnil, kak Ian Piters izdevalsia nad ego vernost'iu. "Nikoim obrazom. Nikogda." Reshitel'nost' eio tona udivila ego, no eto lish' ozvuchilo ego sobstvennuiu reaktsiiu. "Ni dazhe Deilu, partneru moego muzha. Eto ne ego delo. On nastaival. Khotel podat' v sud na aviakompaniiu za to, chto oni tak dolgo skryvali imena. Ia kategoricheski otkazalas'. Eto ne vernet Orsona. Slava Bogu. Ia by ne zakhotela ego." Ona vygliadela reshitel'no. "Ia nikomu ne skazala. Moi roditeli priezzhaiut zavtra. Obychno ia rasskazyvaiu im mnogoe. No ne ob etom." "Vy dumaete, eto budet v gazetakh? Post prosili fotografiiu. Ia im nichego ne dal." "I ia tozhe." Ona sdelala pauzu. "Ne mogla by perenesti, esli by eto okazalos' v gazetakh." "Vy doveriaete tomu politseiskomu? Ia imeiu v vidu, chto on ne rasprostranit informatsiiu povsemestno. Eto byla by sochnaia istoriia." "Ia uzhe govorila, ia bol'she nikogda nikomu ne doveriu." "Ia tozhe golosuiu za eto." "Nikogda."