"Charles L. Harness - The Rose" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

interval separating the repetition of the same word was inversely proportional to its frequency. He
provided a mathematical formula for something previously known only qualitatively: that a too-soon
repetition of the same or similar sound is distracting and grating to the cultured mind. If we must say the
same thing in the next paragraph, we avoid repetition with an appropriate synonym. But not the
schizophrenic. His disease disrupts his higher centers of association, and certain discriminating neural
networks are no longer available for his writing and speech. He has no compunction against immediate
and continuous tonal repetition."

"A rose is a rose is a rose..." murmured Anna.

"Eh? How did you know what this transcription was about? Oh, you were just quoting Gertrude Stein?
Well, I've read about her, and she proves my point. She admitted that she wrote under autohypnosis,
which we'd call a light case of schizo. But she could be normal, too. My husband never is. He goes on
like this all the time. This was transcribed from one of his monologues. Just listen:



" 'Behold, Willie, through yonder window the symbol of your mistress's defeat: The Rose! The rose, my
dear Willie, grows not in murky air. The smoky metropolis of yester-year drove it to the country. But
now, with the unsullied skyline of your atomic age, the red rose returns. How mysterious, Willie, that the
rose continues to offer herself to us dull, plodding humans. We see nothing in her but a pretty flower. Her
regretful thorns forever declare our inept clumsiness, and her lack of honey chides our gross sensuality.
Ah, Willie, let us become as birds! For only the winged can eat the fruit of the rose and spread her
pollen...' "



Mrs. Jacques looked up at Anna. "Did you keep count? He used the word 'rose' no less than five times,
when once or twice was sufficient. He certainly had no lack of mellifluous synonyms at his disposal, such
as 'red flower', 'thorned plant', and so on. And instead of saying 'the red rose returns' he should have said
something like 'it comes back'."

"And lose the triple alliteration?" said Anna, smiling. "No, Mrs. Jacques, I'd re-examine that diagnosis
very critically. Everyone who talks like a poet isn't necessarily insane."

A tiny bell began to jangle on a massive metal door the right-hand wall.

"A message for me," growled Grade. "Let it wait."

"We don't mind," said Anna, "if you want to have it sent in."

"It isn't that. That's my private door, and I'm the only one who knows the combination. But I told them
not to interrupt us, unless it dealt with this specific interview."

Anna thought of the eyes of Willie the Cork, hard and glistening. Suddenly she knew that Ruy Jacques
had not been joking about the identity of the man. Was the Cork's report just now getting on her dossier?
Mrs. Jacques wasn't going to like it. Suppose they turned her down. Would she dare seek out Ruy
Jacques under the noses of Grade's trigger men?

"Damn that fool," muttered Grade. "I left strict orders about being disturbed. Excuse me."