"Frank Herbert - Soul Catcher" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

An irritant whine edged his mother's voice as David sat down across from her in the
sunny breakfast room that overlooked their back lawn and private stream. The scowl which
accompanied the whine drew sharp lines down her forehead toward her nose. A vein on her
left hand had taken on the hue of rusty iron. She wore something pink and lacy, her yellow
hair fluffed up. Her lavender perfume enveloped the table.
She said: 'I wish you wouldn't take that awful knife to camp, Davey. What in heaven's
name will you do with such a thing? I think your father was quite mad to give you such a
dangerous instrument.'
Her left hand jingled the little bell to summon the cook with David's cereal.
David stared down at the table while cook's pink hand put a bowl there. The cream in the
bowl was almost the same yellow as the tablecloth. The bowl gave off the odor of the fresh
strawberries sliced into the cereal. David adjusted his napkin.
His mother said: 'Well?'
Sometimes her questions were not meant to be answered, but 'Well?' signaled pressure.
He sighed. 'Mother, everyone at camp has a knife.'
'Why?'
'To cut things, carve wood, stuff like that.'
He began eating. One hour. That could be endured.
'To cut your fingers off!' she said. 'I simply refuse to let you take such a dangerous thing.'
He swallowed a mouthful of cereal while he studied her the way he had seen his father do
it, letting his mind sort out the possible countermoves. A breeze shook the trees bordering
the lawn behind her.
'Well?' she insisted.
'What do I do?' he asked. 'Every time I need a knife I'll have to borrow one from one of
the other guys.'
He took another mouthful of cereal, savoring the acid of the strawberries while he waited
for her to assess the impossibility of keeping him knifeless at camp. David knew how her
mind worked. She had been Prosper Morgenstern before she had married Dad. The
Morgensterns always had the best. If he was going to have a knife anyway ...
She put flame to a cigarette, her hand jerking. The smoke emerged from her mouth in
spurts.
David went on eating.
She put the cigarette aside, said: 'Oh, very well. But you must be extremely careful.'
'Just like Dad showed me,' he said.
She stared at him, a finger of her left hand tapping a soft drumbeat on the table. The
movement set the diamonds on her wristwatch clasp aflame. She said: 'I don't know what
I'll do with both of my men gone.'
'Dad'll be halfway to Washington by now.'
'And you in that awful camp.'
'It's the best camp there is.'
'I guess so. You know, Davey, we all may have to move to the East.'
David nodded. His father had moved them to the Carmel Valley and gone back into
private practice after the last election. He commuted up the Peninsula to the city three days
a week. Sometimes Prosper joined him there for a weekend. They kept an apartment in the
city and a maid-caretaker.
But yesterday his father had received a telephone call from someone important in the
government. There had been other calls and a sense of excitement in the house. Howard
Marshall had been offered an important position in the State Department.
David said: 'It's funny, y'know?'
'What is, dear?'