"Alexander Jablokov - Market Report" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jablokov Alexander)

Alexander Jablokov


MARKET REPORT
Information on our buying habits is constantly collected and used by
companies intent on selling us more of the some material. It may not be
long before that data is used for other, more sinister, reasons as well,
Alexander JablokovтАЩs latest novel, Deepdrive, is just out from Avion Eos.




Islid out of the rental carтАЩs AC, and the heat of the midwestern night wrapped itself
around my face like a wet iguana. Lightning bugs blinked in the unmown grass of my
parentsтАЩ lawn, and cicadas rasped tenaciously at the sub-divisionтАЩs silence. Old Oak
Orchard was so new it wasnтАЩt even on my most recent DeLorme map CDROM, and
it had taken me a while to find the place.
My father pulled the door open before I could ring the bell.
тАЬBert.тАЭ He peered past me. тАЬAh. And where isтАФтАЭ
тАЬStacyтАЩs not with me.тАЭ IтАЩd practiced what to say on the drive from the
air-port, but still hadnтАЩt come up with anything coherent. тАЬWeтАжwell, letтАЩs just say
there have been problems.тАЭ
тАЬSo many marriages are ended in the passive voice.тАЭ His voice was careful-ly
neutral. тАЬCome along back, then. IтАЩll set you up a tent.тАЭ
Dad wore a pair of oncefashionable pleated linen shorts and a floppy Tshirt
with the name of an Internet provider on it. His skin was all dark and leath-ery, the
color of retirement. He looked like heтАЩd just woken up.
тАЬI told Mom when I was comingтАжтАЭ
тАЬSure.тАЭ He grabbed my suitcase and wrestled it down the hall. тАЬShe must
have nailed the note to a tree, and I didnтАЩt see it.тАЭ
I didnтАЩt know why I always waited a mom6nt for him to explain things. He
never did. I was just supposed to catch on. I had spent my whole life trying to catch
on.
тАЬLulu!тАЭ he called out the back slider. тАЬBertтАЩs home.тАЭ
I winced as he dragged my leather suitcase over the sliding door tracks into
the backyard. A glowing blue North Face tent sat on the grass. A Coleman lantern
pooled yellow on a picnic table stolen from a roadside rest area. The snapped
security chain dangled down underneath:
тАЬLulu!тАЭ he yelled, then managed a grin for me. тАЬShe must be checking the
garden. We getтАжyou knowтАжslugs. Eat the tomatoes.тАЭ
The yard didnтАЩt end in a garden. Beyond the grass was a dense growth of
trees. Now and then, headlights from the highway beyond paled the under-sides of
the maple leaves, but they didnтАЩt let me see anything.
тАЬSure.тАЭ I sat down at the picnic table. тАЬSo how are you, Dad?тАЭ
He squinted at me, as if unsure whether I was joking. тАЬMe? Oh, IтАЩm fine.
Never better. Life out here agrees with me. Should have done it a long time ago.
Clich├йs were my fatherтАЩs front defensive line. He was fortifying quickly,
building walls in front of questions I hadnтАЩt even asked yet.
тАЬTrouble?тАЭ I said. тАЬWith Mom?тАЭ Being subtle is a nonstarter in my family.
тАЬAnd how is your fastpaced urban lifestyle?тАЭ he asked