"Carrol, Jonathan - Fish In A Barrel (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Carroll Jonathan)

known. But he didn't explain what he meant by that. As an employee of this
office, when a customer arrived, you opened any file cabinet drawer in the room.
Without knowing the name or anything about the person, whatever file you pulled
was the correct one. This mysterious process had deeply frightened Aoyagi when
he'd first begun work years ago, but like everything else he grew used to it.
Open a drawer, let your hand fall on a file--Bingo. Simple as that. My hand on
your secret history.

So while old Kropik continued to frown, grunt and burble to himself, Aoyagi went
to a different cabinet and opened a drawer. But when he reached in for a file
something went wrong. For the first time in his long career, something stopped
him from touching anything. Something very strong and final. You can't come in
here, it said. Period.

"You can't go in there." The boy said behind him.

Empty-headed, empty of anything after the shocks of the last few minutes, Aoyagi
simply turned and looked at the boy. "Why?"

"Because he already has my file in his hand. It's the correct one."

They both looked at old Kropik who was crying now -- huge fat tears streamed
down his cheeks.

There was no expression on the boy's face, nothing in his facial cast--no pity,
curiosity, not even derision when he said, "He saw the color of my hair. He
heard my name. You'd think those would tell him."

Aoyagi remembered something. Once he was in the men's room next to Kropik as
they did their standing business together at the urinals. For some reason he had
unthinkingly looked down at Kropik's dick when he was finished and shaking
himself off. The other man had absolutely carrot-colored pubic hair. Aoyagi had
never seen such colorful pubic hair on anyone. It was one of the only
interesting things he had ever discovered about Kropik but he sure as hell never
mentioned it.

Now like a hammer blow, the memory of that color came back when he heard the boy
calmly say, "He still doesn't know it's me. Look at him!"

Old Kropik was talking to the paper. His eyes pleaded, his lips said words with
many syllables. He was asking for forgiveness, he was trying to convince. Who
knows what he was saying but he was certainly enthusiastic.

Aoyagi didn't want to say it but did. "You're him, aren't you? And he's looking
at his own memories."

The boy nodded, pleased to be recognized. "Finally someone here gets it."

"But Jules had no CHOICE, Mother!" Old Kropik shouted to a longdead woman who
had never liked him very much, truth be told.