"Love Called This Thing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Avram)

Love Called This Thing
by
Avram Davidson


Nan Peter Baker Four This Is Nan Peter Baker How do
You Receive Me Over and now a word from Our Sponsor
interviewed in his office the Commissioner said but Ruth I
can explain everything there is nothing to explain David it's
all too obvious I'm Bert Peel Officer and this is my brother
Harry a cold front coming down from Canada and we've
got to get word to the Fort colon congestion is absolutely
unnecessary in men and women over forty at any one of the
ninety-one offices of the Clinton National Bank and
Trust...
"Embarasse de richesse," the French count had said when
he looked at all the pretty girls on the high school swim
team, and explained what it meant in English. Penny wasn't
really in love with him; she only thought she was, after pre-
tending she was, to make David jealous, which she certainly
did. But after the count gently explained to her, she and
David made up just in time for the Spring From, which
made the distant observer very happy.
At least he thought it did. "What is happy?" he often
asked himself. Maybe just pretend. You never really loved
me Rick it was just a pretense wasn't it? Like the distant
observer thinking of himself as "him" when, really, he knew
nowhad known longhe was only an "it." it's about time
we faced up to reality, Alison. Yes. It was about time. We
can't go on like this. No, certainly not. It was time.
In the beginning, there was no time. There was sight
here dark, there bright. He did not know then, of course
and how long had "then" lasted? Memory did not tell that
the bright was stars. And there was soundwhispering,
crackling, shrilling. What do you mean. Professor, when you
say that outer space is not a place of silence? And then (he
knew now that this "then" was about fifty years ago) there
had begun a new kind of sound. Not steady, but interrupted,
and interrupted according to patterns. Awareness had
stirred, gradually, and wonder. He knew later that this was
"wireless." CQ, CQ, CQ . . . SOS, SOS, SOS ...
And then the other kinds of sounds, oh, very different.
These were voices. This was "radio." And music. It was too
different; the distant observer knew distress without even
knowing that it was distress. But he grew used to itthat
is, distress ceased: but not wonder. Urgency came with the
voices. What? What? He groped for meaning, not even
knowing what meaning was.
Presently there was another kind of sight, not just the
dark and the stars any longer, but picturesflickering, fad-