"Ballard, J G - The Subliminal Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ballard J G)

Judith was in the kitchen when he reached home, watching the TV program on the handset over the cooker. Franklin climbed past a big cardboard carton, its seals still unbroken, which blocked the doorway, kissed her on the cheek as she scribbled numbers down on her pad. The pleasant odor of pot-roast chicken-or, rather, a gelatine dummy of a chicken fully flavored and free of any toxic or nutritional properties-mollified his irritation at finding her still playing the Spot Bargains.
He tapped the carton with his foot. "What's this?"
"No idea, darling, something's always coming these days, I can't keep up with it all." She peered through the glass door at the chicken-an economy 12-pounder, the size of a turkey, with stylized legs and wings and an enormous breast, most of which would be discarded at the end of the meal (there were no dogs or cats these days; the crumbs from the rich man's table saw to that)-and then glanced at him pointedly.
"You look rather worried, Robert. Bad day?"
Franklin murmured noncommittally. The hours spent trying to detect false clues in the faces of the Spot Bargain announcers had sharpened Judith's perceptions, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the legion of husbands similarly outmatched.
"Have you been talking to that crazy beatnik again?"
"Hathaway? As a matter of fact, I have. He's not all that crazy." He stepped backward into the carton, almost spilling his drink. "Well, what is this thing9 As I'll be working for the next fifty Sundays to pay for it I'd like to find out."
He searched the sides, finally located the label. "A TV set? Judith, do we need another one? We've already got three. Lounge, dining room, and the handset. What's the fourth for?"
"The guest room, dear; don't get so excited. We can't leave a handset in the guest room, it's rude. I'm trying to economize, but four TV sets is the bare minimum. All the magazines say so."

"And three radios?" Franklin stared irritably at the carton. "If we do invite a guest here how much time is he
going to spend alone in his room watching television? Judith, we've got to call a halt. It's not as if these things
were free, or even cheap. Anyway, television is a total waste of time. There's only one program. It's ridiculous
to have four sets. "
"Robert, there are four channels."
"But only the commercials are different." Before Judith could reply the telephone rang. Franklin lifted the kitchen receiver, listened to the gabble of noise that poured from it. At first he wondered whether this was some offbeat prestige commercial, then realized it was Hathaway in a manic swing.
"Hathaway!" he shouted back. "Relax, man! What's the matter now?"
--Doctor, -you'll have to believe me this time. I tell you I got on to one of the islands with a stroboscope, they've got hundreds of high speed shutters blasting away like machine guns straight into people's faces and they can't see a thing, it's fantastic! The next big campaign's going to be cars and TV sets; they're trying to swing a two month model change--can you imagine it, Doctor, a new car every two months? God Almighty, it's just-"
Franklin waited impatiently as the five-second commercial break cut in (all telephone calls were free, the length of the commercial extending with range-for long-distance calls the ratio of commercial to conversation was as high as 10: 1, the participants desperately trying to get a word in edgeways to the interminable interruptions), but just before it ended he abruptly put the telephone down, then removed the receiver from the cradle.
Judith came over and took his arm. "Robert, what's the matter? You look terribly strained."
Franklin picked up his drink and walked through into the lounge. "It's just Hathaway. As you say, I'm getting a little too involved with him. He's starting to prey on my mind."
He looked at the dark outline of the sign over the supermarket, its red warning lights glowing in the night sky. Blank and nameless, like an area forever closed off in an insane mind, what frightened him was its total anonymity-
"Yet I'm not sure," he muttered. "So much of what Hathaway says makes sense. These subliminal techniques are the sort of last ditch attempt You'd expect from an overcapitalized industrial system."
He waited for Judith to reply, then looked up at her. She stood in the center of the carpet, hands folded limply, her sharp, intelligent face curiously dull and blunted. He followed her gaze out over the rooftops, then with an effort turned his head and quickly switched on the TV set.
"Come on," he said grimly. "Let's watch television. God, we're going to need that fourth set."

A week later Franklin began to compile his inventory. He saw nothing more of Hathaway; as he left the hospital in the evening the familiar scruffy figure was absent. When the first of the explosions sounded dimly around the city and he read of the attempts to sabotage the giant signs, he automatically assumed that Hathaway was responsible, but later he heard on a newscast that the detonations had been set off by construction workers excavating foundations.
More of the signs appeared over the rooftops, isolated on the palisaded islands near the suburban shopping centers. Already there were over thirty on the ten-mile route from the hospital, standing shoulder to shoulder over the speeding cars like giant dominoes. Franklin had given up his attempt to avoid looking at them, but the slim possibility that the explosions might be Hathaway's counterattack kept his suspicions alive.
He began his inventory after hearing the newscast, discovered that in the previous fortnight he and Judith had traded in their

Car (previous model 2 months old)
2 TV sets (4 months)
Power mower (7 months)
Electric cooker (5 months)
Hair dryer (4 months)
Refrigerator (3 months)
2 radios (7 months)
Record player (5 months)
Cocktail bar (8 months)

Half these purchases had been made by himself, but exactly when he could never recall realizing at the time. The car, for example, he had left in the garage near the hospital to be greased, that evening had signed for the new model as he sat at its wheel, accepting the sales- man's assurance that the depreciation on the two-month trade-in was virtually less than the cost of the grease job. Ten minutes later, aass hhee sped along the expressway, he suddenly realized that he had bought a new car. Similarly, the TV sets had been replaced by identical models after developing the same irritating interference pattern (curiously, the new sets also displayed the pattern, but as the salesman assured them, this promptly vanished two days later).
Not once had he actually decided of his own volition that he wanted something and then gone out to a store and bought it!
He carried the inventory around with him, adding to it as necessary quietly and without protest analyzing these new sales techniques, wondering whether total capitulation might be the only way of defeating' them. As long as he kept up even a token resistance, the inflationary, growth curve would show a controlled annual 10 percent climb. With that resistance removed, however, it would begin to rocket upward out of control . . . .

Then, driving home from the hospital two months later, he saw one of the signs for the first time.
He was in the 40 mph lane, unable to keep up with the flood of new cars, had just passed the second of the three clover leafs when the traffic half a mile away began to slow down. Hundreds of cars had driven,,, up onto the grass verge, and a large crowd was gathering around one ,~ of the signs. Two small black figures were climbing up the metal face_~ and a series of huge gridlock patterns of light flashed on and off, illuminating the evening air. The patterns were random and broken, as if the sign was being tested for the first time.
Relieved that Hathaway's suspicions had been completely groundless, Franklin turned off onto the soft shoulder, then walked forward through the spectators as the lights blinked and stuttered in their faces.., Below, behind the steel palisades around the island, was a large group~,~ of police and engineers, craning up at the men scaling the sign a hundred feet over their heads.
Suddenly Franklin stopped, the sense of relief fading instantly. With a jolt he saw that several of the police on the ground were armed with shotguns, and that the two policemen climbing the sign carried submachine guns slung over their shoulders. They were converging on a third figure, crouched by a switchbox on the penultimate tier, a ragged bearded man in a grimy shirt, a bare knee poking through his jeans .

Hathaway!