"Eliot Fintushel - Izzy and the Father of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fintushel Eliot)

surgeons, masked and gloved, their hands
in my bowels; Shaman shaking and shaking
his head; the Space People, the desert, my
father?Run! "Please let me out," I said,
one of me.

"Shit!" said Izzy. "I forgot this
happens." He stopped the hole with his
finger.

How did you do that? He didnтАЩt hear me.

"Savvy, stop the car," said Izzy One-brow.
Sarvaduhka groaned and pulled onto the
shoulder. "We get no rest until heтАЩs
cauterized."

I felt as if I were being buried alive.
The sudden constriction, even though it
produced a more normal-sized, more
workable mind, was suffocating. Izzy
amputated the world. As soon as the car
stopped, he pushed open the door and
shoved me out. He fell out on top of me,
wrestled me down. "Sarvaduhka!" he
shouted. "Help me."

"Is this legal?" the Indian said. I heard

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his door open, then slam shut. He was
pressing me down. I was scrambling and
wheezing after something like breath or
like my name, or else I was trying to
cough it up. My name, too small for me,
was wedged in my windpipe. Izzy was
butterfly-bandaging ShamanтАЩs hole. Or
plugging it. Or welding it. Or sewing it
closed.

"This is just a temporary," he said.

I coughed up my name. "IтАЩm Mel Bellow!" I
said, astonished, I who had been the sun,
the sky, GaneshaтАЩs shakti, wind-blown
sand.

"We know who the hell you are," Izzy said.