"Card, Orson Scott - Cruel Miracles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Card Orson Scott)

little delightful variety, he decided to pick a fight with somebody.
Unfortunately, everyone he knew at all well was too nice to fight. And so
he decided that he had a bone to pick with the aliens.

When you're old, you can get away with anything.

He went to the alien temple and walked inside.

On the walls were murals, paintings, maps; on the floor, pedestals with
statues; it seemed more a museum than anything else. There were few places
to sit, and he saw no sign of aliens. Which wouldn't be a disaster; just
deciding on a good argument had been variety enough, noting with pride the
fine quality of the work the aliens had chosen to display.

But there was an alien there, after all.

"Good morning, Mr. Crane," said the alien.

"How the hell you know my name?"

"You perch on a tombstone every morning and watch as people come in and go
out. We found you fascinating. We asked around." The alien's voicebox was
very well programmed-- a warm, friendly, interested voice. And Willard was
too old and jaded with novelty to get much excited about the way the alien
slithered along the floor and slopped on the bench next to him like a
large, self-moving piece of seaweed.

"We wished you would come in."

"I'm in."

"And why?"

Now that the question was put, his reaso seemed trivial to him; but he
decided to play the game all'the way through. Why not, after all? "I have a
bone to pick with you."

"Heavens," said the alien, with mock horror.

"I have some questions that have never been answered to my satisfaction."

"Then I trust we'll have some answers."

"All right then." But what were his questions? "You'll have to forgive me
if my mind gets screwed around. The brain dies first, as you know."

"We know."

"Why'd you build a temple here? How come you build churches?"