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

"Go ahead, Mr. Reich."
"The Man With No Face again," Reich growled.
"Nightmares?"
"You lousy blood-sucker, peep me and find out. No. Sorry. Childish of me. Yes,
nightmares again. I was trying to rob a bank. Then I was trying to catch a
train. Then someone was singing. Me, I think. I'm trying to give you the
pictures best I can. I don't think I'm leaving anything out..." There was a long
pause. Finally Reich blurted: "Well? You peep anything?"
"You persist that you cannot identify The Man With No Face, Mr. Reich?"
"How can I? I never see it. All I know is..."
"I think you can. You simply will not."
"Listen," Reich burst out in guilty rage. "I pay you twenty thousand. If the
best you can do is make idiotic statements..."
"Do you mean that, Mr. Reich, or is it simply a part of the general anxiety
syndrome?"
"There is no anxiety," Reich shouted. "I'm not afraid. I'm never..." He stopped
himself, realizing the inutility of ranting while the deft mind of the peeper
searched underneath his overturning words. "You're wrong anyway," he said
sulkily. "I don't know who it is. It's a Man With No Face. That's all."
"You've been rejecting the essential points, Mr. Reich. You must be made to see
them. We'll try a little free association. Without words, please. Just think.
Robbery...
"Jewels - watches - diamonds - stocks - bonds - sovereigns - counterfeiting -
cash - bullion - dort..."
"What was that last again?"
"Slip of the mind. Meant to think bort... uncut, gem stones."
"It was not a slip. It was a significant correction or, rather, alteration.
Let's continue. Pneumatique..."
"Long - car - compartments - air - conditioned... That doesn't make sense."
"It does, Mr. Reich. A phallic pun. Read `Heir' for `air' and you'll see it.
Continue, please."
"You peepers are too damned smart. Let's see. Pneumatique... train - underground
- compressed air - ultra sonic speed---`We transport You Into transports,'
slogan of the---What the devil is the name of that company? Can't remember.
Where'd the notion come from anyway?"
"From the pre-conscious, Mr. Reich. One more trial and you'll begin to
understand. Amphitheater...
"Seats - pits - balcony - boxes - stalls - horse stalls - Martian horses -
Martian Pampas..."
"And there you have it, Mr. Reich. Mars. In the past six months, you've had
ninety-seven nightmares about The Man With No Face. He's been your constant
enemy, frustrator, and inspirer of terror in dreams that contain three common
denominators... Finance, Transportation, and Mars. Over and over again... The
Man With No Face, and Finance, Transportation, and Mars."
"That doesn't mean anything to me."
"It must mean something, Mr. Reich. You must be able to identify this terrifying
figure. Why else would you attempt to escape by rejecting his face?"
"I'm not rejecting anything."
"I offer as further clues the altered word `Dort' and the forgotten name of the
company that coined the slogan `We Transport You Into---' "