"L. Sprague De Camp - The Gnarly Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

"I'm not so sure," said Jeff cott, frowning. "There's something
funny about the business."
"What?" barked Blue. "Don't tell me that you believe this story
of being alive fifty thousand years? A caveman who uses perfume? Good
God!"
"N-no," said Jeffcott. "Not the fifty thousand part. But I
don't think it's a simple case of paranoia or plain lying either. And
the perfume's quite logical, if he were telling the truth."
"Huh?"
"Body odor. Saddler told us how dogs hate him. He'd have a
smell different from ours. We're so used to ours that we don't even
know we have one, unless somebody goes without a bath for a couple of
months. But we might notice his if he didn't disguise it."
Blue snorted. "You'll be believing him yourself in a minute.
It's an obvious glandular case, and he's made up this story to fit.
All that talk about not caring whether we believe him or not is just
bluff. Come on, let's get some lunch. Say, did you see the way
Saddler looked at him every time she said 'Clarence'? Wonder what she
thinks she's going to do with him?"
Jeffcott thought. "I can guess. And if he is telling the truth,
I think there's something in Deuteronomy against it"

The great surgeon made a point of looking like a great surgeon,
to pince-nez and Vandyke. He waved the X-ray negatives at the gnarly
man, pointing out this and that.
"We'd better take the leg first," he said. "Suppose we do that
next Tuesday. When you've recovered from that we can tackle the
shoulder."
The gnarly man agreed, and shuffled out of the little private
hospital to where McGannon awaited him in his car. The gnarly man
described the tentative schedule of operations, and mentioned that he
had made arrangements to quit his job at the last minute. "Those two
are the main things," he said. "I'd like to try professional wres
thug again some day, and I can't unless I get this shoulder fixed so
I can raise my left arm over my head."
"What happened to it?" asked McGannon.
The gnarly man closed his eyes, thinking. "Let me see. I get
things mixed up sometimes. People do when they're only fifty years
old, so you can imagine what it's like for me.
"In 42 B.C. I was living with the Bituriges in Gaul. You
remember that Caesar shut up Werkinghetorich-Vercingetorix to you-in
Alesia, and the confederacy raised an army of relief under
Caswallon."
"Caswallon?"
The gnarly man laughed shortly. "I meant Wercaswallon.
Caswahlon was a Briton, wasn't he? I'm always getting those two mixed
up.
"Anyhow, I got drafted. That's all you can call it; I didn't
want to go. It wasn't exactly my war. But they wanted me because I
could pull twice as heavy a bow as anybody else.