What to read: a novel "Patrick Melrose" of drug addicts and alcoholics, who is trying to cope with the trauma of childhood

Patrick went to the well. In his hands he clutched tightly gray plastic sword with a gold handle and knocked them pink flowers of valerian, which grew on the wall enclosing the terrace. If the stalk of fennel sat snail, Patrick banged his sword to drop it on the ground. According dropped cochlea had to stamp and headlong escape, because it becomes slimy like snot. Then he came back, looked at the brown shell splinters in soft gray flesh and regretted that it crushed. Crush snails after the rain was not fair, because they go out to play, swim in the pools under the wet leaves and pulled the horns. If you touch the horns, they otdorgivalis, and he also otdorgival hand. it was like an adult for the snails.

One day he happened to be at the well, but went completely the wrong way, and so he decided that he had discovered the secret short trail. Since then, when there was no one with him, he went to the well, only this trail. Through the terrace, where there were olive trees, and the wind yesterday ruffling their leaves so that it turns gray from the green, and then vice versa, from the gray - green, as if someone had his finger on velvet, transforming it from the dark in light coloured.

He revealed the secret trail Bennillu Andrew, but Andrew said that it is too long and that the usual way is shorter, so Patrick threatened to throw Andrew in the well. Andrew was frightened and began to cry. And before Andrew flew to London, Patrick said he will throw him out of the plane. Henna-henna-henna. Patrick will not fly away, it even on the plane was not, but he told Andrew that hide and sawed the floor around his chair. I babysitting named Andrew Patrick naughty boy, and Patrick told her that Andrew wimp.

Babysitting Patrick died. Mom's friend said she was taken up to heaven, but Patrick himself had seen her put in a wooden box and lowered into the pit. And the sky in a completely different side. Perhaps the lady lied to all, although perhaps a babysitter sent as a parcel.

My mother was very cried when the nurse put in a drawer, and said that she was crying because his nurse. Only it's silly, because her nanny is alive and well, they went to her on the train, and it was very boring. She regaled Patrick tasteless cake, which in almost no jam, just nasty cream from all sides. Nanny said, "I know you like", but it was not true, because it is the last time explained that he was not a bit like that. Cake called Sandy, and Patrick said he was likely made from sand. Mom's nurse long laughed and hugged him. It was disgusting, because she pressed her cheek against his cheek, and loose skin hanging down like a chicken neck from the kitchen table.

And anyway, why mom babysitter? His nanny was no more, although he is only five years. The father said that he was now - little man. Patrick remembered traveled to England when he was three years old. Winter. He is the first time I saw snow. He remembered standing on the road near the stone bridge. The road was covered with frost, and the field - snow. The sky was shining, the road and hedges sparkled, and he had a blue woolen mittens, and the nurse held his hand, and they had a long standing and looking at the bridge. Patrick often thought of it all, and then how they sat in the backseat of the car, and he lay down to nurse on his knees and looked into her face, and she smiled, and sky behind it was very wide and blue, and he I fell asleep.

He scrambled up the steep trail to the laurel tree, and found himself at the well. Patrick was not allowed to play here, but he loved this place the most. Sometimes he climbs on rotten lid and jumped on it like on a trampoline. No one could stop. Not very much and tried. Under cracked bubbles pink paint was visible black wood. The lid creaked ominously, and his heart sank. He lacked silenok fully slide the cover, but when the well was left open, Patrick threw him stones and lumps of earth. They fell into the water with a loud splash, and broke into the black depths.

At the top of Patrick triumphantly raised his sword. well lid was shifted. He started looking for a suitable stone - a large, round and hard. In the nearby found a reddish boulder. Patrick grabbed it with both hands, ceilings to the well, took on a side, pulled himself up, tore his leg off the ground and his head hanging down, staring into the darkness, which hid the water. He grabbed the rim with his left hand, pushed down the boulder and heard him slumped in depth saw splashed water is disturbed in the surface of the deceptive light reflected sky. The water was heavy and black as oil. He shouted in well pit, where he first turned green, and then the dry blackened bricks. If you lean over more below, you could hear the echo of his voice moist.

Patrick decided to climb to the top of the well. Shabby blue sandals just placed in the cracks between the stones of the masonry. He wanted to get up on the ledge above the well hole. He has already done so, on a dare, when they visited Andrew. Andrew stood at the well, and whined: "Patrick, do not, get down, oh please." Andrew Coward, but Patrick is not a coward, but now, as he sat on his haunches on the edge, with his back to the water, he felt dizzy. He slowly stood up and straightened, felt the emptiness calls to him, draws to itself. It seemed to him that if he shevelnotsya, be sure to slide down. To avoid being shaken, he clenched his fists tight, pursed his toes and stared intensely at the hard-packed earth at the well. Sword still lay on the edge. Sword needed uplift to commemorate the feat, so Patrick cautiously reached out, an incredible effort of will, overcoming fear, bound with the whole body, and grabbed scratched, pokoryabanny gray blade. Then he hesitantly bent his knees, he dropped to the ground, shouted "Hurray!", The voice of saber-painted steel and triumphantly waved his sword, reflecting the attack of the invisible enemy. He slapped the blade on the trunk of the laurel, pierced the air under the canopy and dying groan grabbed the side. He liked to imagine how the Roman army surrounded by hordes of barbarians, and then there it is, the brave commander of a special legion of soldiers in a purple cloak, and saves all from imminent destruction.

When he walked through the forest, I often recalled Ivanhoe, the hero of his favorite comics. Ivanhoe, striding through the woods, left a swath. Patrick had to go around the trunks of pine trees, but he imagined that cuts its way majestically sweeping the forest at the far end of the terrace, felling trees right and left. He read in the books all sorts of things and a lot of thinking about it. He learned about the rainbow of tedious picture book, and then I saw a rainbow on the streets of London after Rain, when gasoline on the pavement blurred spot in the puddles and ryabili purple, blue and yellow circles.

Today, walking in the forest did not want to, and he decided to jump on the terraces. It was almost like flying, but in some places the fence was too high, and he threw his sword on the ground, sat on a stone wall, dangled his legs, and then clutched at the edge and hanging on your hands before you jump. The sandals jammed dry land from under the vines, so the two had to take off one's shoes and shake clods and stones. The lower down in the valley it is, the wider the flat terraces, and you can just jump over the fence. He took a deep breath, ready to the last flight.

Sometimes he jumped so far that it felt like Superman, and sometimes ran faster, remembering the shepherd who was chasing him on the beach in the windy day, when they were invited to dinner at George. Patrick begged my mother to let him go for a walk, because he loved to watch as the wind blows the sea, as if the bottle breaks on the rocks. He was told not to go away, but he wanted to be closer to the rocks. Go to the beach led sandy trail. Patrick went for it, but here on the top of the hill there was a thick, shaggy sheepdog and barked. Seeing her approach, Patrick began to run first on the winding path, and then straight on the mild slope, faster and faster, making great strides and his arms outstretched to the wind, until he finally went down the hill to the semi-circle of sand to the rocks, where the biggest doploskivali wave. He looked around and saw that the shepherd was far, far above, and realized that she had still not caught up, because he was racing so fast. Only then he wondered if she was chasing him at all.

Panting, he jumped into the channel scrambled stream and dried on a huge boulder between two bushes pale green bamboo. Once Patrick came up with the game and brought here, Andrew, play. Both climbed a boulder and tried to push him to each other, pretending that one side of the pit, full of debris and sharp edges, and on the other - honey pool. Anyone who fell into a hole and dying a million cuts, but the one who would collapse in a pool drowning in a thick viscous golden mire. Andrew was falling all the time, because he wimp.

And dad Andrew was also a wimp. In London, Patrick was invited to a birthday to Andrew, and there in the middle of the living room was a hefty box with gifts for all the guests. All in turn pulled out of a gift box, and then ran around the room, compared to whom it went. Patrick pushed his gift under the chair and went after the other. When he took out of the box one more glossy bundle, he was approached by Andrew Pope, squatted down and said, "Patrick, you've already taken itself a gift - but not angrily, but in a voice as if offered candy and added: - It is not good if one of the guests left without gift. " Patrick defiantly looked at him and said, "I have not taken anything," and dad Andrew somehow became sad and looked like a slyuntyaya, and then said, "Okay, Patrick, but do not take more gifts." Although Patrick has got two gifts, dad Andrew lose one's attraction to him, because I wanted more gifts.

Now, Patrick played the boulder alone: ​​he was jumping from one side to the other, and frantically waving his arms, trying not to stumble and fall. If it is still falling, then pretended nothing had happened, even though he knew that it was not fair.

Then he looked doubtfully at the rope that Francois tied to one of the trees near the stream so that you can swing over the bed. Patrick wanted to drink, so he started to get up to the house along a path through the vineyards, where already rattled the tractor. Sword has become a burden, and Patrick resentfully stuck it under his arm. One day, he heard his father say funny phrase to George: "Give him a rope and he will hang himself." Patrick did not understand what that means, but then decided with horror that they were talking about the very rope that Francois tied to a tree. At night he had a dream that turned into a rope octopus tentacle wrapped around his throat. He wanted to cut the noose, but could not because it was a toy sword. Mama wept when she saw him hanging on the tree.

Even if you do not sleep, it is difficult to understand what they mean adults when they talk. Once he seemed to guess that really mean their words: "no" means "no", "maybe" means "maybe", "yes" means "maybe" and "maybe" means "no", but the system did not fire, and he decided that, perhaps, they all mean "can be".

Tomorrow the terraces come grape pickers, will fill the baskets of grapes. Last year, Patrick Francois rolled on the tractor. Francois had strong hands, hard as wood. Francois was married to Yvette. At Yvette has a gold tooth, which is visible when she smiles. Someday Patrick insert himself gold teeth - all, not just two or three. Sometimes he sat in the kitchen with Yvette, and she gave him to try everything ready. I give him a spoonful of tomato, meat or soup, and asked: «Ça te plaît?» ( «Like it?" - fr.) He nodded and saw her gold tooth. Last year, Francois sat him down in the corner of the trailer, next to the two large barrels of grapes. If the road had potholes and it went uphill, Francois turned around and asked: «Ça va?» ( «How are you?") - and Patrick replied: «Oui, merci» ( «Yes, thank you"), over the noise of the motor, screeching brakes of the trailer and gnashing. When they came to the place where wine is made, Patrick was very happy. It was dark and cool floor poured water from a hose, and smelled strongly juice, which was turned into wine. The room was huge, and Francois helped him climb the ladder to the high platform above the juicer and all the vats. Scaffold was made of metal with holes. It was strange to stand high up with holes in the way.

Reaching for the dais to the winepress, Patrick looked at her and saw two steel rolls which spun side by side, but in different directions. Rolls, stained with grape juice, spinning loudly and rubbed against each other. Lower the platform railing Patrick reached up to his chin, and it seemed that the winepress is very close. Patrick looked at her and imagined that his eyes like grapes, made of transparent jelly, and they fall out of his head and rolls their crush.

Approaching the house, as usual, on the right, a happy flight of double stairs, Patrick turned to the garden, to see on the spot whether the frog that lived in: Peach tree. Meeting with the wood frog, too, it was a happy omen. Bright green frog skin looked smooth gloss on the background of smooth gray bark and the frog itself was very hard to see among the bright green, frog-colored foliage. Patrick saw a tree frog only twice. The first time he stood for ages without moving, and looked at her clear outlines, bulging eyes, round as beads mother's yellow necklace, and suction cups on the front legs, which are firmly held on its trunk, and, of course, to the swelling of the living body side, machined and fragile, like a jewel, but greedily inhaling air. For the second time Patrick reached out his hand and the tip of the index finger gently touched the frog's head. The frog did not move, and he decided that she trusts him.

Today, the frog was not. Patrick wearily, defeated the last flight of stairs, resting his hands on his knees, round the house, walked up to the entrance to the kitchen and pushed open the creaking door. He hoped Yvette in the kitchen, but it was not. He pulled the refrigerator door, which responded chime bottles of white wine and champagne, then went into the pantry, where in the corner on the bottom shelf were two bottles of warm chocolate milk. Not without difficulty, he opened one and took a soothing drink straight from the bottle, although Yvette did not allow to do so. As soon as he got drunk, he immediately became sad and sat on the locker, swinging her legs and looking at his sandals.

Somewhere in the house, behind closed doors, playing the piano, but Patrick was not paying attention to the music, until he learned the melody composed by his father for him. He jumped to the floor and ran down the hall from the kitchen into the hall, and then, prancing, galloping into the living room and began to dance to the music of his father. The melody was bravura, wobble, in the manner of a military march, with sharp bursts of high notes. Patrick jumped and danced between the tables, chairs and around the piano and stopped only when his father stopped playing.

- How you doing, Mr. master maestro? - my father asked, staring at him.

- Thank you, good - Patrick replied, frantically trying to figure out whether to trick question.

He wanted to take a breath, but when his father had to come together and focus. Patrick once asked what the most important thing in the world, and his father said, "Notice the all." Patrick often forget about this instruction, even in the presence of all his father's carefully examined, not quite understanding what it should be noted. He watched as his father moved his eyes behind dark glasses, as the jump from subject to subject, and person to person, as linger a moment on each as a passing glance, glutinous, though rapid language gecko, stealing licks from everywhere something very valuable. In the presence of his father, Patrick looked at all seriously, hoping that it will assess the seriousness of those who followed his gaze just as he watches his father's eyes.

- Come to me - my father said. Patrick stepped toward him.

- Get you by the ears?

- Not! - shouted Patrick.

They had such a game. The father pulled the hand and pinched the ears Patrick's thumb and forefinger. Patrick bowed palms father's wrist, and her father pretended that raises his ears, but actually Patrick kept his hands. Father stood up and lifted her Patrick on the level of their eyes.

- Release the hands, - he told.

- Not! - shouted Patrick.

- Release the hands, and I'll immediately let go, - he said the father imperiously.

Patrick opened his fingers, but his father was still holding him by the ears. For a moment, Patrick hung on the ears, quickly caught his father's wrist and gasped.

- You promised that you release. Please let your ears.

Father was still holding it aloft.

- Today I taught you an important lesson - he said. - Think independently. Do not let others make decisions for you.

- Let me go, please, - said Patrick, almost in tears. - You are welcome.

He could hardly contain. Hands ached with fatigue, but he could not relax, because he was afraid that the ears will come off with one jerk of the head, as the golden foil with a jar of cream.

- You promised! - he yelled. The father dropped him to the floor.

- not Noah, - he said in a dull tone. - It's very ugly.

He sat down at the piano and began to play a march.

Patrick did not dance, ran from the room and ran through the hall to the kitchen, and from there to the terrace, to the olive grove and beyond, in a pine forest. He reached the thickets of the bramble, slid under the thorny branches and pulled off a gently sloping hill in his most secret hideout. There, at the roots of pine trees, surrounded on all sides by dense bushes, he sat down on the ground, gulping sobs that stuck in my throat, like a hiccup.

Here I have no one finds, he thought frantically sucking air, but cramps gripping his throat, and he could not breathe, as if confused head a sweater, and I did not get in the gates, and wanted to free my arm out of the sleeve, but it stuck, and all torsion, and he could not get out and gasped.

Why would a father do this? So no one can do with anyone, thought Patrick.

In winter when ice tightened puddles remained icy crust in frozen air bubbles. Ice caught them and froze, they, too, could not breathe. Patrick did not like it because it is unfair, so he always broke the ice to let the air of freedom.

Here I have no one finds, he thought. And then I thought: what if I do not find anybody here?

Mini-series "The Patrick Melrose" with Benedict Cumberbatch in the title role was the hands-free new year. He is based on the eponymous cycle of books by British author Edward St. Aubyn. The first three stories of the five already can be found in the printed version, the final two will publish in December.

Protagonist of the book - the playboy, drug addict and an alcoholic - is trying to rein in his desire for self-destruction and to rein in the internal demons which were the result of childhood trauma. If you missed the subtle British humor, spiced with a good portion of drama, be sure to read a book.

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