"Asimov, Isaac - Profession" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

УWho cares?Ф mumbled George, who felt he was sounding too interested and in danger of slipping into surrender.
УYou might. As you grow older, you will find yourself in a House with Occupants of both sexes.Ф
That surprised George somehow. УWomen, too?Ф
СOf course. Do you suppose women are immune to this sort of thing?Ф
George thought of that with more interest and excitement than he had felt for anything since before that day whenЧ He forced his thought away from that.

Ornani stopped at the doorway of a room that contained a small closedCircuit television and a desk computer. Five or six men sat about the

television Orn~ said, УThis is a classroom.Ф
George said, УWhatТs that?Ф
УThe young men in there are being educated. Not,Ф he added, quickly, Уin the usual way.Ф
УYou mean theyТre cramming it in bit by bit.Ф
УThatТs right. This is the way everyone did it in ancient times.Ф
This was what they kept telling him since he had come to the House but what of it? Suppose there had been a day when mankind had not known the diatherm-oven. Did that mean he should be satisfied to eat meat raw in a world where others ate it cooked?
He said, УWhy do they want to go through that bit-by-bit stuff?Ф
УTo pass the time, George, and because theyТre curious.Ф
УWhat good does it do them?Ф
УIt makes them happier.Ф
George carried that thought to bed with him.
The next day he said to Omani ungraciously, УCan you get me into a classroom where I can find out something about programming?Ф
Omarn replied heartily, УSure.Ф

It was slow and he resented it. Why should someone have to explain something and explain it again? Why should he have to read and reread a passage, then stare at a mathematical relationship and not understand it at once? That wasnТt how other people had to be.
Over and over again, he gave up. Once he refused to attend classes for a week.
But always he returned. The official in charge, who assigned reading, conducted the television demonstrations, and even explained difficult passages and concepts, never commented on the matter.
George was finally given a regular task in the gardens and took his turn in the various kitchen and cleaning details. This was represented to him as being an advance, but he wasnТt fooled. The place might have been far more mechanized than it was, but they deliberately made work for the young men in order to give them the illusion of worthwhile occupation, of usefulness. George wasnТt fooled.
They were even paid small sums of money out of which they could buy certain specified luxuries or which they could put aside for a problematical use in a problematical old age. George kept his money in an open jar, which he kept on a closet shelf. He had no idea how much he had accumulated. Nor did he care.
He made no real friends though he reached the stage where a civil good day was in order. He even stopped brooding (or almost stopped) on the miscarriage of justice that had placed him there. He would go weeks without dreaming of Antonelli, of his gross nose and wattled neck, of the leer with which he would push George into a boiling quicksand and hold him under, till he woke screaming with Omani bending over him in concern.
Omani said to him on a snowy day in February, УItТs amazing how youТre adjusting.Ф
But that was February, the thirteenth to be exact, his nineteenth birthday. March came, then April, and with the approach of May he realized he hadnТt adjusted at all.
The previous May had passed unregarded while George was still in his bed, drooping and ambitionless. This May was different.
All over Earth, George knew, Olympics would be taking place and young men would be competing, matching their skills against one another in the fight for a place on a new world. There would be the holiday atmosphere, the excitement, the news reports, the self-contained recruiting agents from the worlds beyond space, the glory of victory or the consolations of defeat.
How much of fiction dealt with these motifs; how much of his own boyhood excitement lay in following the events of Olympics from year to year; how many of his own plansЧ George Platen could not conceal the longing in his voice. It was too much to suppress. He said, УTomorrowТs the first of May. Olympics!Ф
And that led to his first quarrel with Omani and to OmaniТs bitter enunciation of the exact name of the institution in which George found himself.
Omani gazed fixedly at George and said distinctly, УA House for the Feeble-minded.Ф

George Platen flushed. Feeble-minded!
He rejected it desperately. He said in a monotone, УIТm leaving.Ф
He said it on impulse. His conscious mind learned it first from the statement as he uttered it.
Omani, who had returned to his book, looked up. УWhat?Ф
George knew what he was saying now. He said it fiercely, УIТm leaving.Ф
УThatТs ridiculous. Sit down, George, calm yourself.Ф
УOh, no. IТm here on a frame-up, I tell you. This doctor, Antonelli, took a dislike to me. ItТs the sense of power these petty bureaucrats have. Cross them and they wipe out your life with a stylus mark on some card file.Ф
УAre you back to that?Ф
УAnd staying there till itТs all straightened out. IТm going to get to Antonelli somehow, break him, force the truth out of him.Ф George was breathing heavily and he felt feverish. Olympics month was here and he couldnТt let it pass. If he did, it would be the final surrender and he would be lost for all time.
Omani threw his legs over the side of his bed and stood up. He was nearly six feet tall and the expression on his face gave him the look of a concerned Saint Bernard. He put his arm about GeorgeТs shoulder, УIf I hurt your feelingsЧФ
George shrugged him off. УYou just said what you thought was the truth, and IТm going to prove it isnТt the truth, thatТs all. Why not? The doorТs open. There arenТt any locks. No one ever said I couldnТt leave. IТll just walk out.Ф
УAll right, but where will you go?Ф
УTo the nearest air terminal, then to the nearest Olympics center. IТve got money.Ф He seized the open jar that held the wages he had put away. Some of the coins jangled to the floor.
УThat will last you a week maybe. Then what?Ф