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

They built a simple symbol structure: He was the world, a perfect sphere without blemish, made by
God's own hands, a world as strong and divine as thought; and she was his atmosphere. She
contained all the elements that could not exist on his featureless surface. She was the protective
cloak of his world.
They built a mnemonic in which to hide, yet they were still vulnerable to each other. But Pfeiffer
guessed that Joan would remain passive-after all, she always had. She also had the well-developed
conscience of a mystical liberal, and she was in love with him. He had seen that-or thought he
had.
She would not depose him to danger.
Pfeiffer congratulated himself for being calm, which re-
inforced his calmness. Perhaps it was Joan's presence. Perhaps it was the mnemonic. But perhaps
not. He had the willpower; this was just another test. He had managed to survive all the others,
he told himself.
Joan rained on him, indicating her presence, and they practiced talking within geometric shapes as
a protective device-it was literally raining geodesic cats and dogs.
When the gamesmaster opened the psyconductor to all involved, Joan and Pfeiffer were ready.
But they were not ready to find exact duplicates of themselves facing them across the table. The
doppelgangers, of course, were not wearing cowls.
"First, Mesdames and messieurs, we draw the wager," said the dealer, who was not hooked in. The
gamesmaster's thoughts were a neutral presence. "For each organ pledged, there will be three games
consisting of three hands to a game," continued the dealer. "In the event that a player wins twice
in succession, the third hand or game will not be played." His voice was an intrusion; it was
harsh and cold and came from the outside where everything was hard and intractable.
How do they know what we look like? Pfeiffer asked, shaken by the hallucination induced by his
opponents.
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


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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