"Zenna Henderson - Holding Wonder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Zenna)

"Here-" I found, after two abortive attempts, that I still had a voice. I
slithered cautiously to my knees on the bare floor-no luxury liner, this-and
sat back. "Peanut butter." The jar clicked down. "And crackers." The carton
thumped -and my elbow creaked almost audibly as I straightened it out from its
spasmed clutch.

"Gollee! Real deal!" Vincent plumped down beside me and began working on the
lid of the jar. "What'll we spread it with?"

"Oh!" I blankly considered the problem. "Oh, I have a nail file here in my
purse." I was fishing for it amid the usual clutter when I caught Mrs.
Kroginold's surprised look. I grinned sheepishly. "I thought I was hungry. But
I guess that wasn't what was wrong with my stomach."

Shortly after the jar was opened and the roasty smell of peanuts spread, Mr.
Kroginold and another fellow drifted casually over to us. I preferred to
ignore the fact that they actually drifted-no steps on the floor. The other
fellow was introduced as Jemmy. The Old One? Not so old, it seemed me. But
then "old" might mean "wise" to these people. And on that score he could
qualify. He had none of the loose ends that I can often sense in people. He
was-whole..

"Ron is lifting," said Mr. Kroginold through a mouthful of peanut butter and
crackers. He nodded at the center of the room where another fellow sat looking
intently at a square, boxy-looking thing.

"That's the amplifier," Jemmy said, as though that explained anything. "It
makes it possible for one man to manage the craft."

Something buzzed on a panel across the room. "There!" Mr. Kroginold was at the
window, staring intently. "There it is! Good work, Ron!"

At that moment Vincent cried out, his arms going up in their protesting
posture. Mrs. Kroginold pushed him over to his father who drew him in the
curve of his shoulder to the window, coaxing down the tense arms.

"See? There's the craft! It looks odd. Something's not right about it."

"Can--can we take off the unlight now?" asked Vincent, jerkily. "So he can see
us? Then maybe he won't feel so bad-

"Jemmy?" Mr. Kroginold called across the craft. "What do you think? Would the
shock of our appearance be too much?"

"It could hardly be worse than the hell he's in now," said Jemmy, "So-"

"Oh!" cried Vincent. "He thinks he just now died. He thinks we're the Golden
Gates!"

"Rather a loose translation." Jemmy flung a smiling glance at us. "But he is