"Aldiss, Brian W - Short Stories" - читать интересную книгу автора (Aldiss Brian W)

experiencing."
"He's a brave man."
Westermark had been home a week now. Janet saw that
each day they were more removed from each other, as he
spoke less and stood frequently as still as a statue, gazing at
the ground raptly. She thought of something she had once
been afraid to utter aloud to her mother-in-law; but with
Clem Stackpole she was safer.
"You know why we manage to exist in comparative har-
mony," she said. He was slowing the car, half-looking at her.
"We only manage to exist by banishing all events from our
lives, all children, all seasons. Otherwise we'd be faced at
every moment with the knowledge of how much at odds we
really are."
Catching the note in her voice, Stackpole said soothingly,
"You are every bit as brave as he is, Janet."
"Damn being brave. What I can't bear isnothing!" .
Seeing the sign by the side of the road, Stackpole glanced
into his driving mirror and changed gear. The road was
deserted in front as well as behind. He whistled through his
teeth again, and Janet felt compelled to go on talking.
"We've already interfered with time too muchall of us, I
mean. Time is a European invention. Goodness knows how
mixed up in it we are going to get ifwell, if this goes on."
She was irritated by the lack of her usual coherence.
As Stackpole spoke next, he was pulling the car into a
lay-by, stopping it by overhanging bushes. He turned to her
smiling tolerantly. "Time was God's invention, if you believe
in God, as I prefer to do. We observe it, tame it, exploit it
where possible."
"Exploit it!"
"You mustn't think of the future as if we were all wading
knee deep in treacle or something." He laughed briefly,
resting his hands on the steering wheel. "What lovely weather
it is! I was wonderingon Sunday I'm playing cricket over in
the village. Would you like to come and watch the match?
And perhaps we could have tea somewhere afterwards."
All events, all children, all seasons
She had a letter next morning from Jane, her five-year-old
daughter, and it made her think. All the letter said was: "Dear
Mummy, Thank you for the dollies. With love from Jane,"
but Janet knew the labour that had gone into the inch-high
letters. How long could she bear to leave the children away
from their home and her care?
As soon as the thought emerged, she recalled that during
the previous evening she had told herself nebulously that if
there was going to be 'anything' with Stackpole, it was as well
the children would be out of the waypurely, she now
realised, for her convenience and for Stackpole's. She had not
thought then about the children; she had thought about