"Blind Shemmy by Jack Dann" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

But before Joan could reply, he answered his own question. They must be picking up subliminal stuff.
The way we perceive ourselves, Joan said. The doppelgangers became hard and ugly, as if they were being eroded by time. And Joan's double was becoming smaller, insignificant.
If we can't cover up, we won't have a chance.
You can't cover everything, but neither can they, Joan said. It cuts both ways. She noticed a fissure in the otherwise perfect sphere below, and she became black fog, mi-
asma, protective covering. Pfeiffer was afraid, and vulnerable. But she had to give him credit: He was not hiding it from her, at least. That was a beginning ....
Did you pick up anything from them, an image, anything? Pfeiffer asked.
We've been too busy with ourselves. We'll just wait and be ready when they let something slip out.
Which they will, Pfeiffer said, suddenly confident again.
From deep inside their interior, symbolized world, Joan and Pfeiffer could look into the external world of croupier, felt-top table, cards, wood-covered walls, and masked creatures. This room was simply a stage for the play of thought and image.
Pfeiffer was well acquainted with this sensation of perceiving two worlds, two levels: inside and outside. He often awakened from a nightmare and found himself in his living room or library. He knew that he was wide awake, and yet he could still see the dream unfurl before him, watch the creatures of his nightmare stalk about the room-the interior beasts let loose into the familiar, comforting confines of his waking world. Those were always moments of terror, for surely h░ was near the edge then . . . and could fall.
The dealer combined two decks of cards and placed them in a shoe, a box from which the cards could be slid out one by one. He discarded three cards: the traditional burning of the deck.
Then he dealt a card to Pfeiffer and one to his opponent. Both cards landed face up. A queen of hearts for Pfeiffer. A nine of hearts for his opponent.
So Pfeiffer lost the right to call the wager.
Just as the object of black jack was to draw cards that add up to twenty-one, or as near to that figure as possible,
the object of blind shemmy was to draw cards that add up to nine. Thus, face cards, which would normally be counted as ten, were counted as zero. Aces, normally counted as eleven, became one; and all other cards had their normal pip (or face) value, with the exception of tens, which, like aces, were counted as one.
"Monsieur Deux wins, nine over zero," said the dealer, looking now at Pfeiffer's opponent. Pfeiffer was Monsieur Un and his opponent Monsieur Deux only because of their positions at the table.
A hell of a way to start, Pfeiffer said.
Keep yourself closed, Joan said, turning into mist, then dark rain, pure sunlight and rainbows, a perceptual kaleidoscope to conceal Pfeiffer from his enemies. Look now, he'll be more vulnerable when he speaks. I'll cover you.
Your choice, said the gamesmaster. The thought was directed to Pfeiffer's opponent, who was staring intently at Pfeiffer.
Look now, Joan said to Pfeiffer.
"Since we both turned up hearts, perhaps that is where we should begin," Pfeiffer's opponent said, speaking for the benefit of the dealer. His words felt like shards of glass to Pfeiffer. "They're the seats of our emotions; so we'd best dispose of them quickly." Pfeiffer felt the man smile. "Do you assent?"
"It's your choice," Pfeiffer said to the dealer tonelessly.
Don't let anything out, Joan said.
Pfeiffer couldn't pick up anything from his opponent and the woman with him; they were both empty doppelgangers of himself and Joan. Pretend that nothing matters, she said. If you expect to see his cards and look inside him for weakness, you must be removed.
She's right, Pfeiffer thought. He tried to relax, smooth himself down; he thought innocuous white thoughts and
ignored the knot of anxiety that seemed to be pulling at his groin.
"Cartes," said the dealer, dealing two cards from the shoe, facedown, one for Pfeiffer, the other for his opponent. Another two cards, and then a palpable silence; not even thoughts seemed to cut the air. It was an unnatural waiting ....
Pfeiffer had a natural nine, a winning hand (a queen and a nine of diamonds), and he looked up, about to turn over his cards, when he saw the furry boy sitting across the table from him.
What the hell -
Call your hand. Joan said, feeling his glands open up, a warm waterfall of fear. But before Pfeiffer could speak, his opponent said, "My friend across the table has a natural nine. A queen and a nine, both diamonds. Since I called his hand-and I believe I am correct, then . . ."
The dealer turned Pfeiffer's cards over and said, "Monsieur Deux is correct, and wins by call." If Pfeiffer's opponent had been mistaken about the hand, Pfeiffer would have won automatically, even if his opponent held better cards.
The dealer then dealt two more cards from the shoe.
You're supposed to be covering my thoughts, Pfeiffer said, but he was composed, thinking white thoughts again.
I'm trying, Joan said. But you won't trust me; you're trying to cover yourself from me as well as your opponent. What the hell am I supposed do?
I'm sorry, Pfeiffer thought.
Are you really so afraid that I'll see your true feelings?
This is neither the time nor the place. His rhythm of white thought was broken; Joan became a snowstorm, aiding him, lulling him back to white blindness. 1 think
the gamesmaster is making me nervous, having him hooked in, privy to all our thoughts ....
Forget the gamesmaster . . . and for God's sake, stop worrying about what I'll see. I'm on your side.
"Monsieur Un, will you please claim your cards," said the dealer. The gamesmaster nodded at Pfeiffer and thought neutral, papery thoughts.
Pfeiffer turned up the edges of his cards. He had a jack of diamonds-which counted as zero-and a two of spades. He would need another card.
Don't think about your cards, Joan exclaimed. Are you picking up anything from the other side of the table?
Pfeiffer listened, as if to his own thoughts. He didn't raise is head to look at his opponent, for seeing his own face-or that of the furry boy's-staring back at him from across the table was disconcerting, and fascinating. An image of an empty, hollow woman without any organs formed in his mind. He imagined her as a bag somehow formed into human shape.
Keep that, Joan said. It might be usable.
But I can't see his cards.
Just wait awhile. Keep calm.
"Does Monsieur wish another card?" the dealer asked Pfeiffer. Pfeiffer took another card, and so did his opponent.
Pfeiffer had no idea what cards is opponent was holding; it promised to be a blind play. When the cards were turned over, the dealer announced, "Monsieur Deux wins, six over five." Pfeiffer had lost again.
I'm playing blind, Pfeiffer said anxiously to Joan.
He couldn't see your cards, either, she replied.