"H. L. Gold - And Three to Get Ready" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gold H. L)

The doctor waited. They always do at times like that; it kind of forces the patients to say things they
maybe didn't want to.
"The first one was Willard Greenwood," said the little guy in a slow, tense voice. "You remember
himтАФthe Undersecretary down in Washington. A healthy man, right? Good career ahead of him. I see
his name in the papers. Willard Greenwood. It has a ... a round sound to it. I find myself saying it. I say it
three times. Right out loud while I'm looking at his picture. So what happens?"
"Greenwood committed suicide last week," Dr. Schatz said. "He'd evidently had psychological
difficulty for some time."
"Yes. I didn't think much about it. A coincidence, like. But then I see a newsreel of this submarine
launching a few days ago. The Barnacle. I say the name out loud three times, same as anybody else
might. You've done that yourself sometimes, haven't you? Haven't you?"
"Of course. Names occasionally have a fascination."
"Sure. So The Barnacle runs into something and sinks. I began to suspect what was going on; so,
like an experiment, you might say, I picked another name out of the papers. I figured it ought to be
somebody who isn't psycho, like Greenwood turned out to be, or old and sick, or a submarine which
might be expected to run into danger. It had to be somebody young and healthy. I picked the name out
of the school news. A girl named Clara Newland. Graduating from Emanuel High. Seventeen."
"She died?"
The little guy gave a kind of sob. "Automobile crash. She was the only one who was killed. The
others all only got hurt. Last Sunday."
"Those could be coincidences, you know," Dr. Schatz said very gently. "Perhaps you said other
names aloud and nothing happened, but you remember those because something did."
The guy kicked his chair back; I could hear it slide. He probably got up and leaned over the desk;
they do that when they're all excited. I put my hand on the knob and got ready.
"As soon as I knew what was going on," he said, "I stopped saying names three times. I didn't dare
say them even once, because that might make me say them again and then againтАФand you know what
the payoff would be. But then last night . . ."
"Yes?" Dr. Schatz said, prompting him when he halted.
"A bar got held up. It was when the customers had left and the bartender was getting ready to lock
the place. Two guys. There was a scuffle and the bartender was killed. The cops came. One of the
crooks was shot; the other got away. The crook who was shot wasтАФ"
I opened the door a slit and looked in. He was showing a clipping to Schatz, with his finger pointing
shakily at one place. "Paul Michaels," said the doctor.
"Don't say it!" the little guy yelled. I was ready to race in, but Dr. Schatz made a warning motion that
the guy wouldn't notice that told me I wasn't needed. "I don't want to say it! If I do, it'll be three times
and he'll die!"
"I think I understand," Schatz said. "You're afraid to mention names three times because of the result,
andтАФwell, what do you want us to do?"
"Keep me here. Stop me from saying names three times. Save God knows how many people from
me. Because I'm deadly!"
Schatz said we'd do our best, and he got the guy committed for observation. It wasn't easy, because
he still wouldn't give his name, and Dr. Merriman, the head of the psychiatric department, almost had
another heart attack fighting about it.
We got together, Dr. Schatz and I, after the little guy had his pajamas and stuff issued and a bed
assigned to him.
"That's a hell of a thing to carry around," I said, "thinking people die when you say their names three
times. It would drive anybody batty."
"A vestige of childhood," he told me, and explained how kids unconsciously believe their wishes can
do anything. I could remember some of that from my own childhoodтАФmy old man was a holy terror with
the strap and many's the time I wished he was deadтАФand then got scared that maybe he would die and it