"Asimov, Isaac - One Night of Song" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

One Night of Song
By Issac Asimov
As it happens, I have a friend who hints, sometimes, that he can
call up spirits from the vasty deep.
Or at least one spirit--a tiny one, with strictly limited powers.
He talks about it sometimes but only after he has reached his
fourth scotch and soda. It's a delicate point of equilibrium--
three and he knows nothing about spirits (the supernatural
kind); five and he falls asleep.
I thought he had reached the right level that evening, so I
said, "Do you remember that spirit of yours, George?"
"Eh?" said George, looking at his drink as though he won-
dered why that should require remembering.
"Not your drink," I said. "The little spirit about two centime-
ters high, whom you once told me you had managed to call up
from some other place of existence. The one with the
paranatural powers."
"Ah," said George. "Azazel. Not his name, of course.
Couldn't pronounce his real name, I suppose, but that's what I
call him. I remember him."
"Do you use him much?"
"No. Dangerous. It's too dangerous. There's always the temp-
tation to play with power. I'm careful myself; deuced careful. As
you know, I have a high standard of ethics. That's why I felt
called upon to help a friend once. The damage that did! Dread-
ful! Doesn't bear thinking of."
"What happened?"
"I suppose I ought to get it off my chest," said George,
thoughtfully. "It tends to fester--"

I was a good deal younger then (said George) and in those
days women made up an important part of one's life. It seems
silly now, looking back on it, but I distinctly remember thinking,
back in those days, that it made much difference which woman.
Actually, you reach in the grab bag and whichever comes out,
it's much the same, but in those days--
I had a friend, Mortenson--Andrew Mortenson. I don't think
you know him. I haven't seen much of him myself in recent
years.
The point is, he was soppy about a woman, a particular
woman. She was an angel, he said. He couldn't live without her.
She was the only one in the universe and without her the world
was crumbled bacon bits dipped in axle grease. You know the
way lovers talk.
The trouble was she threw him over finally and apparently did
so in a particularly cruel manner and without regard for his self-
esteem. She had humiliated him thoroughly, taking up with an-
other right in front of him, snapping her fingers under his nos-
trils and laughing heartlessly at his tears.
I don't mean that literally. I'm just trying to give the impres-