"Clark, Brian - The Man Who Walked On The Ceiling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clark Brian)neighborhood. In his own case, history would record that
George Kalewiski's contribution was as much beyond light and movement as the Concorde is beyond the stagecoach. But that would be tomorrow. Well, not exactly tomorrow. It was when his mother was coming home. Anyway, right now he was tired and needed to go to bed. Remarkably, George's sleep was dreamless. ------------------ "What are you saying? That he fell from the stratosphere or something?" "Maybe even higher than that." "Jesus!" ------------------ She phoned just before lunch on Sunday. Her bus would arrive at four fifteen, so would he please pick her up at the bus station. "Yes Ma." For a fleeting moment George was tempted to blurt out everything, but restrained himself with the knowledge of how she felt about unnecessary expense on long distance phone calls. What could he tell her anyway? That he "Yes dear," she would say before she prattled on about who wore what at the wedding, or gushed about another achievement of his cousin Clarence, the lawyer. George had an intense dislike for that insufferable offspring of his aunt's first marriage. Of course, things were different now. He would show them! But at 3.45 pm, George's cockiness evaporated while he was putting on his coat. The Plymouth was at the curb, less than fifty feet from the house. But what if, during that fifty feet, his subconscious decided to repeat what he achieved the night before? What if he fell up toward a floor that wasn't there? Could he reverse himself before it was too late? And if he did, would he fall back to a sickening termination on the hard pavement? A hard knot at the pit of his stomach, George crept to the window and looked out--and up. The sky was an empty blue. Yet the emptiness was not without expression. In a mocking, malevolent way, it seemed to beckon. "No!" Horrified, George whipped the blinds closed and backed into the room. "I am not going out there. I can't!" He clenched his fists until nails dug cruelly into flesh, forced himself to consider what would happen to his job if he locked himself indoors like a hermit. He thought |
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