"Bailey-Conquistador" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bailey Dale)

DALE BAILEY

CONQUISTADOR

Dale Bailey lives in Tennessee with his wife, Jean, and a portly cat named
Gatsby. He is pursuing his Ph.D. in English and teaching at the University of
Tennessee.

His short story, "Touched" (Oct/Nov 1993), will be reprinted in The Best from
Fantasy and Science Fiction, which St. Martin's Press will publish to
commemorate our 45th anniversary. He made his first appearance in print in these
pages last year, and we have several more of his stories in inventory.

WHEN THE PHONE RANG that Friday morning, Howard was staring blankly at the
picture of his wife, Bethesda, that stood on his desk. Occasionally, during the
long empty days, he stared at that picture and daydreamed of Bethesda as she
used to be. In those dreams, he found himself stripping away the pads of fatty
tissue which had accumulated about her features. He would pry them up and peel
them away, one by one, hoping at last to discover the woman he had married
imprisoned beneath the countless layers of flesh, like the tiny jeweled figure
at the core of a set of nesting dolls. It was an endless task, even in the
dreams.

And so it was that on this day, as on most days, he dreamed instead of fish.
Fish of all colors and types -- infinitely varied and beautiful schools of
butterfly fish and leopard fish and common gold fish --drifted through his mind.
Long ago, Howard had hoped to be an ichthyologist, but that dream had slowly
died, crushed beneath the weight of time and circumstance. These days, he worked
in data entry at a water treatment plant, a job he had taken years ago to make
ends meet. Now, the report he should have been typing lay forgotten on his
blotter while he dreamed of the tropical fish in his basement hideaway. If he
couldn't actually go look at them when he was at work, he often consoled
himself, he could at least think about them.

When the phone rang, however, even that tiny consolation was lost. Fragile as
spun glass, his fantasy shattered and his mind returned abruptly to the busy
office where he worked. Outside his cubicle, Howard could hear a cacophony of
ringing phones, typing, and conversation. His own phone rang again. Without
interest, Howard picked up the receiver. "This is Howard. How can I help you?"

"Howard?" said the voice at the other end of the phone. A male voice, breathless
with excitement.

"Yes, this is Howard," Howard said. "Can I help you?"

"You've got to come down here at once. At once."

"Frank?" Howard asked. Frank, Howard's only friend, was the proprietor of the