"Asimov Isaac - Gold, The Final Science Fiction Collection" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

Poor fellow! With what comfort eyes must rest on me after having been blinded by him. I thought for a moment, then said, ДBy the way, Winthrop, what about all those shoes? How do you tell which shoes go with which day of the month? Do you have them in numbered stalls?У
Winthrop shuddered. ДHow gauche that would be! To the plebeian eyes those shoes all look identical, but to the keen eye of a Cabell, they are distinct, and cannot be mistaken, one for another.У
ДAstonishing, Winthrop. How do you do that?У
ДBy assiduous childhood training, George. You have no idea the marvels of distinction I have had to learn to make.У
ДDoesnТt this concern for dress give you trouble sometimes, Winthrop?У
Winthrop hesitated. ДIt does on occasion, by Long fellow. It interferes with my sexual life now and then. By the time I have placed my shoes in the appropriate shoe trees, carefully hung up my trousers in such a way as to maintain the perfection of the crease, and carefully brushed my suit-coat, the girl with me has often lost interest. She has cooled down, if you know what I mean.У
ДI understand, Winthrop. It is indeed my experience that women grow vicious if forced to wait. I would suggest that you simply throw off your clothes--У
ДPlease!Т said Winthrop, austerely. ДFortunately, I am engaged to a wonderful woman, Hortense Hepzibah Lowot, of a family almost as good as mine. We have never yet kissed, to be sure, but we have on several occasions almost done so.У And he dug his elbow into my ribs.
ДYou Boston Terrier, you,У I said, jovially, but my mind was racing. Under WinthropТs calm words, I sensed an aching heart.
ДWinthrop,У I said, Дwhat would be the situation if you happened to put on the wrong pair of shoes, or unbuttoned your shirt collar, or drank the wrong wine with the wrong roast--У
Winthrop looked horrified. ДBite your tongue. A long line of ancestors, collaterals, and in-Iaws, the intertwined and inbred aristocracy of New England, would turn in their graves. By Whit tier, they would. And my own blood would froth and boil in rebellion. Hortense would hide her face in shame, and my post at the Brahman Bank of Boston would be taken away. I would be marched through serried ranks of vice-presidents, my vest-buttons would be snipped off, and my tie would be pulled around to the back.У
ДWhat! For one little miserable deviation?У
WinthropТs voice sank to an icy whisper. ДThere are no little, miserable deviations. There are only deviations.У
I said, ДWinthrop, let me approach the situation from another angle. Would you like to deviate if you could?У
Winthrop hesitated long, then whispered, ДBy Oliver Wendell Holmes, both Senior and Junior, I--I--У He could go no further, but I could see the telltale crystal of the teardrop in the corner of his eye. It bespoke the existence of an emotion too deep for words and my heart bled for my poor friend as I watched him sign the check for dinner for both of us.
I knew what I had to do.

I had to call Azazel from the other continuum. It is a complicated matter of runes and pentagrams, fragrant herbs and words of power, which I will not describe to you because it would permanently unhinge your already weak mind, old fellow.
Azazel arrived with his usual thin shriek at seeing me. No matter how often he sees me, my appearance always seems to have some strong influence on him. I believe he covers his eyes to shut out the blaze of my magnificence.
There he was, all two centimeters of him, bright red, of course, with little nubbins of horns and a long spiked tail. What made his appearance different this time was the presence of a blue cord wrapped about the tail in swatches and curlicues so intricate it made me dizzy to contemplate it.
ДWhat is that, O Protector of the Defenseless,У I asked, for he finds pleasure in these meaningless titles.
ДThat,У said Azazel, with remarkable complacence, Дis there because I am about to be honored at a banquet for my contributions to the good of my people. Naturally, I am wearing a zplatchnik.У
ДA splatchnik?У
ДNo. A zplatchnik. The initial sibilant is voiced. No decent male would consent to let himself be honored without wearing a zplatchnik.У
ДAha,У I said, a light of understanding breaking. ДIt is formal dress.У
ДOf course, it is formal dress. What else does it look like?У
Actually, it merely looked like a blue cord, but I felt it would be impolitic to say so.
ДIt looks perfectly formal,У I said, Дand bya peculiar coincidence it is this matter of perfect formality I wish to place before you.У
I told him WinthropТs story and Azazel spattered a few tiny teardrops, for, on rare occasions, he has a soft heart when someoneТs troubles remind him of his own.
ДYes,У he said, Дformality can be trying. It is not something I would admit to everyone, but my zplatchnik is most uncomfortable. It invariably obstructs the circulation of my magnificent caudal appendage. But what would you do? A creature without a zplatchnik at formal gatherings is formally rebuked. In actual fact, he is thrown out onto a hard, concrete surface, and he is expected to bounce.У
ДBut is there anything you can do for Winthrop, O Upholder of the Pitiful?У
ДI think so.У Azazel was unexpectedly cheerful. Usually, when I come to him with these little requests of mine, he makes heavy weather of it, decrying its difficulties. This time he said, ДActually, no one on my world, or, I imagine, on your slummish misery of a planet, enjoys formality. It is merely the result of assiduous and sadistic childhood training. One need merely release a spot in what, on my world, is called the Itchko Ganglion of the brain, and, spro-o-o-oing, the individual reverts instantly to the naturallackadaisicality of nature.У
ДCould you then spro-o-o-oing Winthrop?У
ДCertainly, if you will introduce us so that I may study his mental equipment, such as it must be.У
That was easily done for I simply put Azazel into my shirt pocket on the occasion of my next visit with Winthrop. We visited a bar, which was a great relief, for in Boston, bars are occupied by serious drinkers who are not discommoded by the sight of a small scarlet head emerging from a personТs shirt pocket and looking about. Boston drinkers see worse things even when sober.
Winthrop did not see Azazel, however, for Azazel has the power to cloud menТs minds when he chooses, rather resembling, in that respect, your writing style, old fellow.
I could tell, though, at one point, that Azazel was doing something, for WinthropТs eyes opened wide. Something in him must have gone spro-o-o-oing. I did not hear the sound, but those eyes gave him away.
The results did not take long to show themselves. Less than a week afterward, he was at my hotel room. I was staying at the Copley Manhole at the time, just five blocks and down several flights of stairs from the Copley Plaza.
I said, ДWinthrop. You look a mess.У Indeed, one of the small buttons on his shirt collar was undone.
His hand went to the erring button and he said, in a low voice. ДTo Natick with it. I care not.У Then, in a still lower voice, he said, ДI have broken off with Hortense.У
ДHeavens!У I said. ДWhy?У
ДA small thing. I visited her for Monday tea, as is my wont, and I was wearing SundayТs shoes, a simple oversight. I had not noticed that I had done so, but lately I have had difficulty noticing other such things, too. It worries me a little, George, but, fortunately, not much.У
ДI take it Hortense noticed.У
ДInstantly, for her sense of the correct is as keen as mine, or, at least, as keen as mine used to be. She said, СWinthrop, you are improperly shod.Т For some reason, her voice seemed to grate on me. I said, СHortense, if I want to be improperly shod, I can be, and you can go to New Haven if you donТt like it.УС
ДNew Haven? Why New Haven?У
ДItТs a miserable place. I understand they have some sort of Institute of Lower Learning there called Yell or Jale or something like that. Hortense, as a Radcliffe woman of the most intense variety, chose to take my remark as in insult merely because that was what I intended it to be. She promptly gave me back the faded rose I had given her last year and declared our engagement at an end. She kept the ring, however, for, as she correctly pointed out, it was valuable. So here I am.У
ДI am sorry, Winthrop.У
ДDonТt be sorry, George. Hortense is flat-chested. I have no definite evidence of that, but she certainly appears frontally concave. SheТs not in the least like Cherry.У
ДWhatТs Cherry?У
ДNot what. Who. She is a woman of excellent discourse, whom I have met recently, and who is not flat-chested, but is extremely convex. Her full name is Cherry Lang Gahn. She is of the Langs of Bensonhoist.У