"Alexander Jablokov - Fragments Of A Painted Eggshell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jablokov Alexander)

image of the round candy across its back like a show-off basketball player. The candy glowed ruby red.
Despite the fact that it was just sugar and a weird red-berry flavor nature had not had the wit to create,
Paula found herself wanting to eat one.

"Hey, Mom, can Demoizle and I have a Sookie?"

"I was just setting out our lunch. How about --"

But Rue had already dug into the picnic basket, grabbed a handful, and was off, giggling. Perfect
imaginary playmate or not, a lot of advertising came along with Demoizle's programming. Acquiescing to
that was the only way Paula could afford the high- end connection. The system-end that was Demoizle
monitored Rue, and could even call an emergency response team if necessary. It was the perfect
companion. A lot of working parents depended on them. Plus, since the advertising was so powerful and
relentless, Paula never had to worry about what Rue would want. She was able to supply all her
daughter's needs by subscribing to the quick-purchase program the advertisers provided free.

Perhaps Demoizle was the form that the house computer took when it gave Rue legal advice. It had been
a long time since Paula had checked the interface parameters. She sat down to eat. The fish was perfect,
the sauce thick and rich. She wanted to throw her plate against the wall.

"Mom?" Rue's voice drifted tentatively into the kitchen. "Could you come in here?"

Rue lay already in bed, under her covers. Her leather coat, her gloves, her boots, all her armor was now
neatly arranged on a chair, ready to be put on the next morning.

With her freshly brushed shining hair, which Paula now recognized as an ineffective gesture of peace, Rue
looked impossibly young. Looked her age, in other words, a girl not yet a woman with her covers pulled
demurely up to her neck. She had even pulled stuffed animals out of whatever cabinets they had been
stored in, presents from some now-forgotten relatives of Mark's. Rue had never played with them, at
least not since Demoizle's appearance. They didn't talk or move. They were just dumb lumps of stuffing
and fake fur. The teddy bear's limbs stuck out stiffly, and he was as clean and fresh as if just that moment
pulled from his box, and thus utterly unloved. Rue had put one arm around him, but she didn't really care
about him. He had no name, for no imagination had ever been exerted to give him life.

"Could you tell me a story, Mom? It's been a long time...I'm kind of sleepy, it would be nice."

That was absurd. Fourteen was much too old for bedtime stories, and Paula was in no way used to
telling them. Rue had always had her own entertainment to put her to sleep. The sound of it had always
whispered under the door. Paula sat down on the edge of the bed. Rue was just giving her something to
do, something that made her feel like a mother.

"A long time ago, there was a young woman named Sara. She lived in...Persia, and she wanted to get
married. But every time she found a husband, an evil demon named Asmodeus killed her bridegroom on
their wedding night."

It was odd, how that had floated up. Paula's grandmother had told her the story of Tobit when Paula had
been just a little girl. She remembered the lingering almond-and-chocolate smell of the cocoa and the
crispness of the overstarched sheets. It was an odd Bible story, but Paula could remember it, and that
was the important thing. She described how Tobias, whom she called Toby, came across the country
with the archangel Raphael, married Sara, and drove off Asmodeus.