"Paul Di Filippo - The Short Ashy Afterlife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Di Filippo Paul)

Gino's father took me in his rough hands. How humiliating, I thought. From Hiram P. Dottle,
bookkeeper, botanist, and husband, to mighty oak to hunk of kindling. The old man turned me over and
over, examining me with a keen eye before finally speaking.
"It's-a not fine Algerian brier, Gino, like-a what--a we had back in Napoli. But the grain, she's a-fine.
Maybe Mario Deodati can make-a one nice pipe out of this scrap."
"Thataboy, Pop! Go to it!"
Thus began my final metamorphosis, under the magically skilled hands of Mario Deodati. Pared away
with patient cunning, the block revealed the shape hiding within it. And amazingly, as Mario lavished
attention and craft and even love on me, I felt my identity taking renewed strength.
Holding my still-chunky form at one point, Mario spoke to me, his creation. "I see a face in-a you, Mister
Pipe. I'm a-make your bowl into a smiling head."
Good as his word, Mario carved facial features into his creation. I had no mirror to observe myself in,
but I could feel from inside that my new visage was perhaps overly jolly and gleeful in the manner of a
Toby jug. Mario's sensitivity as to my true nature extended only so far.
One day in late winter, when the winds rattled the loose, rag-stuffed windows in the apartment, Mario
and Gino had a terse, painful discussion which I observed and listened to from my perch on a shelf.
"It's no use, Pop. I'm going to have to quit school. We don't even have the money for coal and groceries,
never mind my tuition."
Mario banged the table with the hand that had birthed me. "Did me and your sainted Momma teach-a
you to be a quitter! You gonna stay in school, boy!" He struggled to his feet and snatched me down off
the shelf. "Go sell this! And get-a the best price you can!"
Wrapped in an old piece of flannel, I left my latest home.
I surmised that it was now nearly a year since I had been felled, and my fate once more loomed obscure.
Five stores later, a deal was consummated. I changed hands for the princely sum of one hundred dollars,
enough to keep the Deodatis afloat for several months, and I silently bade farewell to Gino.
My new owner was a portly bearded punctilious gentleman in vest and suit. The tip of his tongue
protruding absentmindedly from the corner of his compressed lips, he inked a pricetag in the amount of
two hundred dollars, tied it to my stem with string, and placed me on a velvet cushion in a display case.
That night, when the shop lights clicked off and only stray glints from street lamps illuminated my new
home, I tried to communicate somehow with my new neighbors. But they failed to respond to the most
vigorous of my psychic efforts, and I realized I was the only sensate pipe amongst them. Internally, I shed
a self-pitying tear or two as I contemplated my sad lot.
The next few weeks established a boring routine of shop-opening, commercial traffic, shop-closing and a
long night of despair. I was handled and admired several times, but never purchased.
But one day my salvation arrived, in the form of two famous customers.
The well-dressed and decorously glamorous woman with her twin rolls of blonde hair pinned high atop
her head appeared first in my field of vision. Lowering her half-familiar happy face to the glass separating
us, she spoke. "Oh, Shade, look! Isn't that model with the carved face just darling?"
The masked visage of the Shade manifested next to the woman's. In context, I recognized her now as
Mayor Ellen Nolan. The Shade did not seem to share all of Ellen Nolan's enthusiasm. His manly features
wrinkled in quizzical bemusement.
"Gee, Ellen, I've seen better mugs on plug-uglies from the Gasworks Gang! And two hundred dollars!
Do you realize how many orphans we could feed with that money?"
"Don't be such a wet blanket, Shade. Spending a little extra of my personal money on Daddy's birthday
won't send any orphans to bed hungry."
The Shade lifted his hat and skritched his scalp. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Ellen ? How are you
going to get Nolan to give up his favorite old stinkpot in favor of this one anyhow?"
"Simple. I'll hide it."
A whistle of admiration escaped the Shade's lips. "And the newspapers say I've got guts! Well, I leave it
all up to you."