"Cory Doctorow - A Place So Foreign" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dodd Christina) file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Cor...20Doctorow%20-%20A%20Place%20So%20Foreign.txt (11 of 41) [12/30/2004 2:09:28 PM]
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Cory%20Doctorow%20-%20A%20Place%20So%20Foreign.txt Miss Tannenbaum, a spinster lady with a moustache and a bristling German accent terrorised the little kids in the elementary school -- I'd been stuck in her class for five long years. Mr Adelson, who was raised in San Francisco and who had worked as a roustabout, a telegraph operator and a merchant seaman taught the Academy, and his wild stories were all Oly could talk about. He raised one eyebrow quizzically when I came through the door at 8:00 that morning. He was tall, like my Pa, but Pa had been as big as an ox, and Mr Adelson was thin and wiry. He wore rumpled pants and a shirt with a wilted celluloid collar. He had a skinny little beard that made him look like a gentleman pirate, and used some shiny pomade to grease his hair straight back from his high forehead. I caught him reading, thumbing the hand-written pages of a leatherbound volume. "Mr Adelson?" "Why, James Nicholson! What can I do for you, sonny?" New Jerusalem only had but 2,000 citizens, and only a hundred or so in town proper, so of course he knew who I was, but it surprised me to hear him pronounce my name in his creaky, weatherbeaten voice. "My mother says I have to go to the Academy." "She does, hey? How do you feel about that?" I snuck a look at his face to see if he was putting me on, but I couldn't tell -- he'd raised up his other eyebrow now, and was looking hard at me. There might have been the beginning of a smile on his face, but it was hard to tell with the beard. "I guess it don't matter how I feel." "Oh, I don't know about that. This is a school, not a prison, after all. How old are you?" "Fourteen. Sir." "That would put you in with the seniors. Do you think you can handle their course of study? It's half-way through the semester now, and I don't know how much they taught you when you were over in," he swallowed, "France." I didn't know what to say to that, so I just stared at my hard, uncomfortable shoes. "How are your maths? Have you studied geometry? Basic algebra?" "Yes, sir. They taught us all that." And lots more besides. I had the feeling of icebergs of knowledge floating in my brain, ready to crest the waves and crash against the walls of my skull. |
|
|