"Greg Egan - Worthless (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Egan Greg)

every morning, and the whole bizarre joke -- the illusion of humanity -- still
hadn't worn off. I had no choice but to eat and drink, to breathe, to shit, to
earn money, to go through the motions -- but I always knew that to try to do
anything more would have been ridiculous.
I had as much right to be loved as I had to sprout wings and fly.



I chose a name from the list, almost at random -- although when I saw that he
lived in Adelaide, a twenty-hour bus ride away, I knew that was exactly what I'd
wanted. Not that I'd have needed an excuse to keep my distance, if he'd lived
next door. What would I have said to him? "I stole your name from a database. I
know we have a lot in common. I'm an antisocial emotional cripple, a bisexual



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virgin, a basket case. How about lunch? No? Dinner, then? Fuck that, let's go to
bed."
His name was Ben, and I dreamt about him day and night -- conscious of, but
undeterred by, the ludicrous nature of my obsession. I felt only slightly guilty
for trespassing on his privacy; as long as he remained unaware of the fact, I'd
done him no tangible harm. Besides, I didn't even know what he looked like, so
when I pictured "him," tangled in the sheets beside me, it wasn't him at all. It
was just another fantasy.
And yet. I could never quite forget that he was real -- and that he was, I knew,
every bit as desperate and lonely as I was. I'd imagined a thousand lovers
before, and I'd shamelessly stolen the faces of a thousand strangers -- without
believing for a moment than I ever would meet, ever would speak to, ever would
touch, the flesh-and-blood versions. It was unthinkable.
With Ben, it was not unthinkable.
Not quite.
And you sang:
Meet me on a dark street
Away from their laughter and lies
No, you don't want to see my ugly soul
But my hands can still keep you warm
Meet me on a quiet street
The only stranger in town
And we'll step behind the railway line
And see whose love is blind
Alone in my room, I listened, and dreamed, and told you my dreams. Did I dream
about love because you sang about love, or was it the other way round? Did you
sing to affirm my life, or did I live to affirm your songs?
I don't know. I still don't know.