"James Patrick Kelly - 10 16 to 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

So I didn't have any real friends. Instead, I had science fiction. Mom
used to complain that I was obsessed. I watched Superman reruns every day
after school. On Friday nights Dad used to let me stay up for Twilight Zone,
but that fall CBS had temporarily cancelled it. It came back in January after
everything happened, but was never quite the same. On Saturdays, I watched old
sci-fi movies on Adventure Theater. My favorites were Forbidden Planet and The
Day The Earth Stood Still. I think it was because of the robots. I decided
that when I grew up and it was the future, I was going to buy one, so I
wouldn't have to be alone anymore.
On Monday mornings I'd get my weekly allowance -- a quarter. Usually
I'd get off the bus that same afternoon down in Ward's Hollow so I could go to
Village Variety. Twenty five cents bought two comics and a pack of red
licorice. I especially loved DC's Green Lantern, Marvel's Fantastic Four and
Incredible Hulk, but I'd buy almost any superhero. I read all the science
fiction books in the library twice, even though Mom kept nagging me to try
different things. But what I loved best of all was Galaxy magazine. Dad had a
subscription and when he was done reading them he would slip them to me. Mom
didn't approve. I always used to read them up in the attic or out in the
lean-to I'd lashed together in the woods. Afterwards I'd store them under my
bunk in the bomb shelter. I knew that after the nuclear war, there would be no
TV or radio or anything and I'd need something to keep me busy when I wasn't
fighting mutants.
I was too young in 1962 to understand about Mom's drinking. I could see
that she got bright and wobbly at night, but she was always up in the morning
to make me a hot breakfast before school. And she would have graham crackers
and peanut butter waiting when I came home -- sometimes cinnamon toast. Dad
said I shouldn't ask Mom for rides after five because she got so tired keeping
house for us. He sold Andersen windows and was away a lot, so I was pretty
much stranded most of the time. But he always made a point of being home on
the first Tuesday of the month, so he could take me to the Scout meeting at
7:30.
No, looking back on it, I can't really say that I had an unhappy
childhood -- until I met Cross.
****
I remember it was a warm Saturday afternoon in October. The leaves covering
the ground were still crisp and their scent spiced the air. I was in the
lean-to I'd built that spring, mostly to practice the square and diagonal
lashings I needed for Scouts. I was reading Galaxy. I even remember the story:
"The Ballad of Lost C'Mell" by Cordwainer Smith. The squirrels must have been
chittering for some time, but I was too engrossed by Lord Jestocost's problems
to notice. Then I heard a faint crunch, not ten feet away. I froze, listening.
Crunch, crunch ... then silence. It could've been a dog, except that dogs
didn't usually slink through the woods. I was hoping it might be a deer --
I'd never seen deer in Willoughby before, although I'd heard hunters shooting.
I scooted silently across the dirt floor and peered between the dead saplings.
At first I couldn't see anything, which was odd. The woods weren't all
that thick and the leaves had long since dropped from the understory brush. I
wondered if I had imagined the sounds; it wouldn't have been the first time.
Then I heard a twig snap, maybe a foot away. The wall shivered as if something
had brushed against it, but there was nothing there. Nothing. I might have