"EB - Mike Resnick + Martin H. Greenberg - Christmas GhostsUC - Compilation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenberg Martin H)

Oh, yeah, the skinny little kid. A shock of red hair and freckles, a torn sweater and thin face smeared with gravy and flecks of cranberry sauce. There was something sly about his expression. Lyle watched while his younger self coated a piece of turkey with pepper and then surreptitiously held it below the table for the family dog, Barney, who would be sick for the rest of the evening. Now the younger Lyle turned his attention to brother David, talking to his father. When David took his hand off the plate holding his half-eaten pie, young Lyle deftly switched plates with his own now empty one.

David glanced back down at his plate, then shot a withering glance at young Lyle, all innocence while he complimented his smiling mother on the pie.

"Smart kid," Lyle said admiringly.

"You're a real dummy," Marley said sharply. "That was when your older brother first started hating you."

Lyle shrugged. "Where's it written that I had to love my brother?"

The family had finished dinner now and were sitting in the living room. His father had knelt down by the tree and had started doling out the presents. Furry

MERRY CHRISTMAS, NO. 30267

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slippers for his mother, a cable knit sweater for David, a pair of skis for brother Bob, a pair of pants for him....

Lyle sniffed. Nothing he'd ever wanted. But Christmas had always been like that, his brothers got everything, he got the leavings....

"Jesus, Lyle, turn off the tears," Marley interrupted. "This Christmas, you got exactly what you wanted."

The stack of presents dwindled and the pile of discarded wrapping paper grew to mountainous proportions. Now there was only one present leftЧa box that was long and thin which his father handed over to the younger Lyle with a wide smile.

"Merry Christmas, son."

The older Lyle watched with growing interest as his younger self tore off the paper and felt his own heart jump in unison with that of himself as a small boy. The Daisy repeating BB gun. Bright and shiny with a hand-carved stock, or at least one that looked like it was.

The boy ran his hands down the barrel, then held the rifle to his eye and aimed at the star on top of the tree.

"Be careful," his mother warned sharply. She'd never wanted him to have it, Lyle thought. If the old lady had had her way, he would've ended up playing with dolls....

"Okay, freeze frame," Marley said. The tableau in the living room obligingly froze with young Lyle still aiming at the star. "This is where it all began."

"All what began?" the older Lyle asked suspiciously.

Marley threw up his hands. "You know what I mean, Scrooge. Do I have to remind you that in five and a half hours you'll be toast?"

The gun, Lyle thought. The beautiful gun that was the first of so many beautiful guns....

"I guess they shouldn't have given me the gun," he said reluctantly.

Marley was exasperated.

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Frank M. Robinso*

"A little more contrition would help, Lyle."