"Jack Finney - Invasion of the Body Snatchers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Finney Jack)

smiling.
We answered, waving back, and got out of the car. Becky went on up the walk to the house, speaking
pleasantly to Uncle Ira as she passed. I strolled across the lawn toward him, casually, hands in pockets,
just passing the time of day. "Evening, Mr. Lentz."
"How's business, Miles? Kill many today?" He grinned as though this were a brandnew joke.
"Bagged the limit." I smiled, stopping beside him. This was the usual routine between us, whenever we
ran into each other around town, and now I stood, looking him in the eyes, his face not two feet from
mine.
It was nice out, temperature around sixtyfive, and the light was good; not full daylight, but still plenty of
sun. I don't know just what I thought I might see, but of course it was Uncle Ira, the same Mr. Lentz I'd
known as a kid, delivering an evening paper to the bank every night. He was head teller then тАУ he's
retired, now тАУ and was always urging me to bank my huge profits from the newspaper route. Now he
looked just about the same, except that it was fifteen years later and his hair was white. He's big, well
over six feet, a little shambling in his gait now, but still a vigorous, shrewdeyed, race old man. And this
was him, no one else, standing there on the lawn in the early evening, and I began to feel scared about
Wilma.
We chatted about nothing much тАУ local politics, the weather, business, the new state highway through
town they'd been surveying for тАУ and I studied every line and pore of his face, listened to each tone and
inflection of his voice, alert to every move and gesture. You can't really do two things at once, though,
and he noticed. "You worried or something, Miles? Seem a little absent-minded tonight."
I smiled and shrugged. "Just taking my work home with me, I guess."
"Mustn't do that, boy; I never did. Forgot all about the bank the minute I put my hat on at night.
Course you don't get to be president that way." He grinned. "But the president's dead now, and I'm still
alive."
Hell, it was Uncle Ira, every hair, every line of his face, each word, movement, and thought, and I felt
like a fool. Becky and Wilma came out of the house and sat down on the porch swing, and I waved to
them, then walked on up to the house.




two


Wilma sat waiting on the swing with Becky, smiling pleasantly till I reached the steps, then she said
quietly, "I'm glad you've come, Miles."
"Hello, Wilma; nice to see you." I sat down, facing them on the wide porch rail, my back against the
white pillar.
Wilma watched me questioningly, then glanced out at her uncle, who'd begun puttering around the lawn
again. "Well?" she said.
I glanced at Ira too, then looked at Wilma. I nodded. "It's him, Wilma. It's your uncle, all right."
She just nodded, as though expecting exactly that answer. "It's not;" she murmured, but she said it
quietly тАУ not arguing, just asserting a fact.
"Well," I said, leaning my head back against the pillar, "let's take this a little at a time. After all, you
could hardly be fooled; you've lived with him for years. How do you know he isn't Uncle Ira, Wilma?
How is he different?"
For a moment her voice shot up, high and panicky. "That's just it!" But she quieted down instantly,
leaning toward me. "Miles, there is no difference you can actually see. I'd hoped you might find one,
when Becky told me you were here тАУ that you'd see some sort of difference. But of course you can't,
because there isn't any to see. Look at him."