"Barker, Clive - Books of Blood 02" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

УWhat?Т
Quaid was staring at his empty brandy glass, seeming to will it to be full again.
СWant another?Т said Steve, praying that the answer would be no.
СWhat do we risk?Т Quaid repeated the question. СWell, I think if we donТt go out and find the beast -С
Steve could see the punchline coming.
С- sooner or later the beast will come and find us.Т

There is no delight the equal of dread. As long as itТs someone elseТs.

Casually, in the following week or two, Steve made some enquiries about the curious Mr Quaid.
Nobody knew his first name.
Nobody was certain of his age; but one of the secretaries thought he was over thirty, which came as a surprise.
His parents, Cheryl had heard him say, were dead. Killed, the thought.
That appeared to be the sum of human knowledge where Quaid was concerned.
СI owe you a drink,Т said Steve, touching Quaid on the shoulder.
He looked as though heТd been bitten.
СBrandy?Т
СThank you.Т Steve ordered the drinks. СDid I startle you?Т СI was thinking.Т
СNo philosopher should be without one.Т
СOne what?Т

СBrain.Т
They fell to talking. Steve didnТt know why heТd approached Quaid again. The man was ten years his senior and in a different intellectual league. He probably intimidated Steve, if he was to be honest about it. QuaidТs relentless talk of beasts confused him. Yet he wanted more of the same: more metaphors: more of that humourless voice telling him how useless the tutors were, how weak the students.
In QuaidТs world there were no certainties. He had no secular gurus and certainly no religion. He seemed incapable of viewing any system, whether it was political or philosophical, without cynicism.
Though he seldom laughed out loud, Steve knew there was a bitter humour in his vision of the world. People were lambs and sheep, all looking for shepherds. Of course these shepherds were fictions, in QuaidТs opinion. All that existed, in the darkness outside the sheep-fold were the fears that fixed on the innocent mutton: waiting, patient as stone, for their moment.
Everything was to be doubted, but the fact that dread existed.
QuaidТs intellectual arrogance was exhilarating. Steve soon came to love the iconoclastic ease with which he demolished belief after belief. Sometimes it was painful when Quaid formulated a water-tight argument against one of SteveТs dogma. But after a few weeks, even the sound of the demolition seemed to excite. Quaid was clearing the undergrowth, felling the trees, razing the stubble. Steve felt free.
Nation, family, Church, law. All ash. All useless. All cheats, and chains and suffocation.
There was only dread.

СI fear, you fear, we fear,Т Quaid was fond of saying. СHe, she or it fears. ThereТs no conscious thing on the face of the world that doesnТt know dread more intimately than its own heartbeat.Т
One of QuaidТs favourite baiting-victims was another Philosophy and Eng. Lit. student, Cheryl Fromm. She would rise to his more outrageous remarks like fish to rain, and while the two of them took knives to each otherТs arguments Steve would sit back and watch the spectacle. Cheryl was, in QuaidТs phrase, a pathological optimist.
СAnd youТre full of shit,Т sheТd say when the debate had warmed up a little. СSo who cares if youТre afraid of your own shadow? IТm not. I feel fine.Т
She certainly looked it. Cheryl Fromm was wet dream material, but too bright for anyone to try making a move on her.
СWe all taste dread once in a while,Т Quaid would reply to her, and his milky eyes would study her face intently, watching for her reaction, trying, Steve knew, to find a flaw in her conviction.
СI donТt.Т
СNo fears? No nightmares?Т
СNo way. IТve got a good family; donТt have any skeletons in my closet. I donТt even eat meat, so I donТt feel bad when I drive past a slaughterhouse. I donТt have any shit to put on show. Does that mean IТm not real?Т
СIt means,Т QuaidТs eyes were snake-slits, Сit means your confidence has something big to cover.Т
СBack to nightmares.Т
СBig nightmares.Т
СBe specific: define your terms.Т

СI canТt tell you what you fear.Т
СTell me what you fear then.Т
Quaid hesitated. СFinally,Т he said, СitТs beyond analysis.Т
СBeyond analysis, my ass!Т
That brought an involuntary smile to SteveТs lips. CherylТs ass was indeed beyond analysis. The only response was to kneel down and worship.
Quaid was back on his soap-box.
СWhat I fear is personal to me. It makes no sense in a larger context. The signs of my dread, the images my brain uses, if you like, to illustrate my fear, those signs are mild stuff by comparison with the real honor thatТs at the root of my personality.Т