"Alfred Bester - Galatea Galante" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

"No, no! They were dreams. Dreams!"
"Were they? Were they?" Manwright was having difficulty controlling his impatience with her damned obtuseness.


"How else did you get yourself pregnant, eh; enceinte, gravida, knocked up? Don't you dare argue with me, you impudent red saucebox! You know," he reflected, "there should have been a smidgen of Margaret Sanger in the programming. Never occurred to me."
He was back to his familiar impossible self, and everybody relaxed.
"What now, Reg?"
"Oh, I'll marry the snip, of course. Can't let a dangerous creature like Galatea out of the house."
"Out of your life, you mean?"
"Never!" Galatea shouted. "Never! Marry you, you dreadful, impossible, conceited, bullying, know-it-all, wicked man? Never! If I'm a demon, what are you? Come, Claudia."
The two women went very quickly upstairs.
"Are you serious about marrying Gally, Reg?"
"Certainly, Charles. I'm no Valera. I don't want a relationship with a popsy, no matter how perfect."
"But do you love her?"
"I love all my creations."
"Answer the question. Do you love Gally, as a man loves a woman?"
"That sexy succubus? That naive demon? Love her? Absurd! No, all I want is the legal right to tie her to a stake every night, when I'm awake. Ha!"
Corque laughed. "I see you do, and I'm very happy for you both. But, you know, you'll have to court her."
"What! Court? That impertinent brat?"
"My dear Reg, can't you grasp that she isn't a child anymore? She's a grown young woman with character and pride."
"Yes, she's had you in thrall since the moment she was poured," Manwright growled. Then he sighed and accepted
defeat. "But I suppose you're right. My dear Igor!"
"Here, mahth-ter."
"Please set up that table again. Fresh service, candles, flowers, and see if you can salvage the monsters you created for the dinner. White gloves."
"No brainth, mahth-ter?"
"Not this evening. I see the Mouton Rothschild's been smashed. Another bottle, please. And then my compliments to Ms. Galatea Galante, and will she have the forgiveness to dine, a deux, with a most contrite suitor. Present her with a corsage from me . . . something orchidy. This will be a fun necromance. Charles," he mused. "Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, alevai. Man and Demon. Our boys will be devils, sorcery says, and the girls witches. But aren't they all?"