"Bester, Alfred - Demolished Man, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

lies Gleams
fair light
Upon the straights;---on the French coast the

What the devil was that? An eye in a glass? Eh? Oh. Not a glass. A stein. Eye in
a stein. Einstein. Easy.
"What d'you think of Powell for the job, Ellery?" That was Chervil with his
phoney smile and his big fat pontifical belly.
"For Guild President?"
"Yes."
"Damned efficient man. Romantic but efficient. The perfect candidate if only
he'd get married."
"That's the romance in him. He's having trouble locating a girl."
"Don't all you deep peepers? Thank God I'm not a 1st."
And then a smash of glass crashing in the kitchen and Preacher Powell again,
lecturing that little snot, Gus Tate.
"Never mind the glass, Gus. I had to drop it to cover for you. You're radiating
anxiety like a nova."
"The devil I am, Powell."
"The devil you're not. What's all this about Ben Reich?"
The little man was really on guard. You could feel his mental shell hardening.
"Ben Reich? What brought him up?"
"You did, Gus. It's been moiling in your mind all evening. I couldn't help
reading it."
"Not me, Powell. You must be tuning another TP."
Image of a horse laughing.
"Powell, I swear I'm not---"
"Are you mixed up with Reich, Gus?"
"No." But you could feel the blocks bang down into place.
"Take a hint from an old hand, Gus. Reich can get you into trouble. Be careful.
Remember Jerry Church? Reich ruined him. Don't let it happen to you."
Tate drifted back to the living room; Powell remained in the kitchen, calm and
slow-moving, sweeping up broken glass. Church lay frozen against the back door,
suppressing the seething hatred in his heart. The Chervil boy was showing off
for the lawyer's girl, singing a love ballad and paralleling it with a visual
parody. College stuff. The wives were arguing violently in sine curves, @kins
and West were interlacing cross-conversation in a fascinatingly intricate
pattern of sensory images that made Church's starvation keener.
"Would you like a drink, Jerry?"
The garden door opened. Powell stood silhouetted in the light, a bubbling glass
in his hand. The stars lit his face softly. The deep hooded eyes were
compassionate and understanding. Dazed, Church climbed to his feet and timidly
took the proffered drink.
"Don't report this to the Guild, Jerry. I'll catch hell for breaking the taboo.
I'm always breaking rules. Poor Jerry... We've got to do something for you. Ten
years is too long."
Suddenly Church hurled the drink in Powell's face, then turned and fled.