"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

And, God damn it, I liked him too.
At midnight I was still awake, sitting in number five in my jockey shorts with the light out and the door
open. I listened to the ticking of the Detweiler boy's typewriter and the muffled roar of Los Angeles. And
thought and thought and thought. And got nowhere.
Someone walked by the door, quietly and carefully. I leaned my head out It was Johnny Peacock.
He moved down the line of bungalows silent as a shadow. He turned south when he reached the
sidewalk. Going to Selma or the Boulevard to turn a trick and make a few extra bucks. Lorraine must
keep tight purse strings. Better watch it, kid. If she finds out, you'll be back on the streets again. And you
haven't got too many years left where you can make good money by just gettin' it up.
I dropped in at the office for a while Friday morning and checked the first-of-the-month bills. Miss
Tremaine had a list of new prospective clients. "Tell everyone I can't get to anything till Monday."
She nodded in disapproval. "Mr. Bloomfeld called."
"Did he get my report?"
"Yes. He was very pleased, but he wants the man's name."
"Tell him IтАЩll get back on it Monday."
"Mrs. Bushyager called. Her sister and Mr. Bushyager are still missing."
"Tell her IтАЩll get on it Monday." She opened her mouth. "If you say anything about my bank account,
IтАЩll put Spanish fly in your Ovaltine." She didn't humph, she giggled. I wonder how many points [tfuzf] is?
That afternoon I played gin with the Detweiler boy. He was genuinely glad to see me, like a friendly
puppy. I was beginning to feel like a son of a bitch.
He hadn't mentioned North Carolina except that once the day before, and I was extremely interested
in all subjects he wanted to avoid. "What's it like in the Blue Ridge? Coon huntinтАЩ and moonshine?"
 He grinned and blitzed me. "Yeah, I guess. Most of the things you read about it are pretty nearly true.
It's really a different world back in there, with almost no contact with the outside."
"How far in did you live?"
"About as far as you can get without cominтАЩ out the other side. Did you know most of the people
never heard of television or movies and some of 'em don't even know the name of the President? Most of
'em never been more than thirty miles from the place they were born, never saw an electric light? You
wouldn't believe it. But it's more than just things that're different. People are different, think differentтАФ
like a foreign country." He shrugged. "I guess it'll all be gone before too long though. Things keep creepin'
closer and closer. Did yon know I never went to school?" he said, grinning. "Not a day of my life. I didn't
wear shoes till I was ten. You wouldn't believe it." He shook his head, remembering. "Always kinda
wished I coulda gone to school," he murmured softly.
"Why did you leave?"
"No reason to stay. When I was eight, my parents were killed in a fire. Our house burned down. I
was taken in by a balmy old woman who lived not far away. I had some kin, but they didn't want me."
He looked at me, trusting me. "They're pretty superstitious back in there, you know. Thought I was . . .
marked. Anyway, the old woman took me in. She was a midwife, but she fancied herself a witch or
something. Always making me drink some mess she'd brewed up. She fed me, clothed me, educated me,
after a fashion, tried to teach me all her conjures, but I never could take 'em seriously." He grinned
sheepishly. "I did chores for her and eventually became a sort of assistant, I guess. I helped her birth
babies . . . I mean, deliver babies a couple of times, but that didn't last long. The parents were afraid me
bein' around might mark the baby. She taught me to read and I couldn't stop. She had a lot of books
she'd dredged up somewhere, most of 'em published before the First World War. I read a complete set
of encyclopediasтАФpublished in 1911."
I laughed.
His eyes clouded. "Then she ... died. I was fifteen, so I left I did odd jobs and kept reading. Then I
wrote a story and sent it to a magazine. They bought it; paid me fifty dollars. Thought I was rich, so I
wrote another one. Since then I've been traveling around and writing. I've got an agent who takes care of
everything, and so all I do is just write."