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Where I'm Calling From

Where I'm Calling From

Titel: Where I'm Calling From Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Raymond Carver
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shuffled in the other room.
    It moved forward a step. Then another step.
    “Can I hold the baby?” Fran said. She said it like it would be a favor if Olla would let her.
    Olla handed the baby across the table to her.
    Fran tried to get the baby settled in her lap. But the baby began to squirm and make its noises.
    “Harold,” Fran said.
    Olla watched Fran with the baby. She said, “When Harold’s grandpa was sixteen years old, he set out to read the encyclopedia from A to Z. He did it, too. He finished when he was twenty. Just before he met my mama.”
    “Where’s he now?” I asked. “What’s he do?” I wanted to know what had become of a man who’d set himself a goal like that.
    “He’s dead,” Olla said. She was watching Fran, who by now had the baby down on its back and across her knees. Fran chucked the baby under one of its chins. She started to talk baby talk to it.
    “He worked in the woods,” Bud said. “Loggers dropped a tree on him.”
    “Mama got some insurance money,” Olla said. “But she spent that. Bud sends her something every month.”
    “Not much,” Bud said. “Don’t have much ourselves. But she’s Olla’s mother.”
    By this time, the peacock had gathered its courage and was beginning to move slowly, with little swaying and jerking motions, into the kitchen. Its head was erect but at an angle, its red eyes fixed on us.
    Its crest, a little sprig of feathers, stood a few inches over its head. Plumes rose from its tail. The bird stopped a few feet away from the table and looked us over.
    “They don’t call them birds of paradise for nothing,” Bud said.
    Fran didn’t look up. She was giving all her attention to the baby. She’d begun to patty-cake with it, which pleased the baby somewhat. I mean, at least the thing had stopped fussing. She brought it up to her neck and whispered something into its ear.
    “Now,” she said, “don’t tell anyone what I said.”
    The baby stared at her with its pop eyes. Then it reached and got itself a baby handful of Fran’s blond hair. The peacock stepped closer to the table. None of us said anything. We just sat still. Baby Harold saw the bird. It let go of Fran’s hair and stood up on her lap. It pointed its fat fingers at the bird. It jumped up and down and made noises.
    The peacock walked quickly around the table and went for the baby. It ran its long neck across the baby’s legs. It pushed its beak in under the baby’s pajama top and shook its stiff head back and forth. The baby laughed and kicked its feet. Scooting onto its back, the baby worked its way over Fran’s knees and down onto the floor. The peacock kept pushing against the baby, as if it was a game they were playing.

Fran held the baby against her legs while the baby strained forward.
    “I just don’t believe this,” she said.
    “That peacock is crazy, that’s what,” Bud said. “Damn bird doesn’t know it’s a bird, that’s its major trouble.”
    Olla grinned and showed her teeth again. She looked over at Bud. Bud pushed his chair away from the table and nodded.
    It was an ugly baby. But, for all I know, I guess it didn’t matter that much to Bud and Olla. Or if it did, maybe they simply thought, So okay if it’s ugly. It’s our baby. And this is just a stage. Pretty soon there’ll be another stage. There is this stage and then there is the next stage. Things will be okay in the long run, once all the stages have been gone through. They might have thought something like that.
    Bud picked up the baby and swung him over his head until Harold shrieked. The peacock ruffled its feathers and watched.
    Fran shook her head again. She smoothed out her dress where the
    baby had been. Olla picked up her fork and was working at some lima beans on her plate.
    Bud shifted the baby onto his hip and said, “There’s pie and coffee yet.”
    That evening at Bud and Olla’s was special. I knew it was special. That evening I felt good about almost everything in my life. I couldn’t wait to be alone with Fran to talk to her about what I was feeling. I made a wish that evening. Sitting there at the table, I closed my eyes for a minute and thought hard.
    What I wished for was that I’d never forget or otherwise let go of that evening. That’s one wish of mine that came true. And it was bad luck for me that it did. But, of course, I couldn’t know that then.
    “What are you thinking about, Jack?” Bud said to me.
    “I’m just thinking,” I said. I grinned

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