"Charles L. Grant - Glow of Candles, Unicorn's eye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Charles L)

Nothing more.
So I sat in front of the dressing-room mirror and thought of the tiger and its claws, and
of the tiny director who was forcing me unknowingly to remember.

It was a play within a play within a play within a dream, -
Like a beautiful thing I had seen once, and from which all :I could remember was a tiny,
shattered, fragile glass unicorn.
I pushed away from the table and dressed as best I could with the patches pulling at my
shoulders and ribs. My fingers fumbled as I snapped my shirt closed. My thighs were elastic as I
slipped on my boots. Sooner or later I would have to tell someone what I had done. There had been
nothing on the news and, though I wondered, I kept :1 silent.
But not for long. ra
Helena.
A studio flyer took me to the entrance of my Keyloft and, once inside the lobby, I sagged
against the liftube frame and ~' held on. Looking down. Looking up. Rising free, falling free. No
need to worry, Gordon, old son, the magic of science will give you faith.

2

I had been born, raised, and eventually cast willingly adrift in Thilayork, the largest of the
East Coast cityplexes. My father was the owner/manager of a joyhall which, in addition to the
usual game rooms, gaming rooms, and stunt rooms, had a small cinema arena. None of the major
features played there, but the minor ones were nevertheless sufficient to lure me from spools and
tapes, to spend days and hours drifting through the stories that holoed around me. It wasn't the
technics that ensnared me, enraptured me, but the men and women who portrayed the characters, and
the men and women who paid their small admissions to eavesdrop on the plots_-

("Marts, over here, hurry! Listen to what this guy is saying about the Count." "You listen, Will,



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I'm trying to find out what happened to the Colonel. We'll meet by the Grand Canyon when I'm
done,")

They all knew it was sham and that they could if they wished put their hands through heads
and cannon fire and the rings of Saturn or the domes on the Moon. But naturally they wouldn't.
They listened, compared notes, reconstructed stories, and returned for what they had missed.
By the time I was in University, I succumbed to a tempts-
tion, which was easy enough since I knew most of the plots by rote. I stole time here, sleep
there, and several times managed to last through nearly three quarters of a show before anyone
realized I wasn't part of the action. The idea that I could be something and someone I wasn't
intrigued me. I did research, spent time in regular theaters in the less-visited parts of the
city, and changed my emphasis in University without, telling my father. When he did find out, and
heard my dreams, one of us lost, and I left.
Studied. Learned.
Discovered agents and sold myself to Vivian. Who laughed at my studies. ("My God, Gordy,
nobody needs a script on the stage anymore; who told you you needed to learn how to memorize?")