"James E. Gunn - The Listeners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gunn James E)

awful effort to make themselves heard and understood.
But they all insisted on speaking at once. MacDonald wanted to shout at
them. "Silence, everybody! All but you -- there, with the purple antenna. One
at a time and we'll listen to all of you if it takes a hundred years or a
hundred lifetimes."
"Sometimes," Adams said, "I think it was a mistake to put in the
speaker system. You begin to anthropomorphize. After a while you begin to hear
things. Sometimes you even get messages. I don't listen to the voices any
more. I used to wake up in the night with someone whispering to me. I was just
on the verge of getting the message that would solve everything, and I would
wake up." He flicked off the switch.
"Maybe somebody will get the message," MacDonald said. "That's what the
audio frequency translation is intended to do. To keep the attention focused.
It can mesmerize and it can torment, but these are the conditions out of which
spring inspiration"
"Also madness," Adams said. "You've got to be able to continue."
"Yes." MacDonald picked up the earphones Adams had put down and held
one of them to his ear.
"Tico-tico, tico-tico," it sang. "They're listening in Puerto Rico.
Listening for words that never come. Tico-tico, tico-tico. They're listening
in Puerto Rico. Can it be the stars are stricken dumb?"
MacDonald put the earphones down and smiled. "Maybe there's inspiration
in that, too."
"At least it takes my mind off the futility."
"Maybe off the job, too? Do you really want to find anyone out there?"
"Why else would I be here? But there are times when I wonder if we
would be better off not knowing."
"We all think that sometimes," MacDonald said.
In his office he attacked the stack of papers and letters again. When
he had worked his way to the bottom, he sighed and got up, stretching. He
wondered if he would feel better, less frustrated, less uncertain, if he were
working on the Problem instead of just working so somebody else could work on
the Problem. But somebody had to do it. Somebody had to keep the Project
going, personnel coming in, funds in the bank, bills paid, feathers smoothed.
Maybe it was more important that he do all the dirty little work in the
office. Of course it was routine. Of course Lily could do it as well as he.
But it was important that he do it, that there be somebody in charge who
believed in the Project -- or who never let his doubts be known.
Like the Little Ear, he was a symbol -- and it is by symbols men live
-- or refuse to let their despair overwhelm them.
The janitor was waiting for him in the outer office.
"Can I see you, Mr. MacDonald?" the janitor said.
"Of course, Joe," MacDonald said, locking the door of his office
carefully behind him. "What is it?"
"It's my teeth, sir." The old man got to his feet and with a deft
movement of his tongue and mouth dropped his teeth into his hand.
MacDonald stared at them with a twinge of revulsion. There was nothing
wrong with them. They were a carefully constructed pair of false teeth, but
they looked too real. MacDonald always had shuddered away from those things
which seemed to be what they were not, as if there were some treachery in