"Damon Knight - The Handler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Knight Damon)

George, I love ya." He hugged the blushing little bald man.

"Next my real sweetheart, Ruthie, where are ya. Honey, you were the greatest, really perfect-I mean it,
baby-" He kissed a dark girl in a red dress who cried a little and hid her face on his broad shoulder. "And
Frank-" He reached down and grabbed the skinny pop-eyed guy by the sleeve. "What can I tell you? A
sweetheart?" The skinny guy was blinking, all choked up; the big man thumped him on the back. "Sol
and Ernie and Mack, my writers, Shakespeare should have been so lucky-" One by one, they came up to
shake the big man's hand as he called their names; the women kissed him and cried. "My stand-in," the
big man was calling out, and "my caddy," and "now," he said, as the room quieted a little, people flushed
and sore-throated with enthusiasm, "I want you to meet my handler."
The room fell silent. The big man looked thoughtful and startled, as if he had had a sudden pain. Then he
stopped moving. He sat without breathing or blinking his eyes. After a moment there was a jerky motion
behind him. The girl who was sitting on the arm of the chair got up and moved away. The big man's
dinner jacket split open in the back, and a little man climbed out. He had a perspiring brown face under a
shock of black hair. He was a very small man, almost a dwarf, stoop-shouldered and round-backed in a
sweaty brown singlet and shorts. He climbed out of the cavity in the big man's body, and closed the
dinner jacket carefully. The big man sat motionless and his face was doughy.

The little man got down, wetting his lips nervously. Hello, Fred, a few people said. "Hello," Fred called,
waving his hand. He was about forty, with a big nose and big soft brown eyes. His voice was cracked and
uncertain. "Well, we sure put on a show, didn't we?"

Sure did, Fred, they said politely. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Hot in there," he
explained, with an apologetic grin. Yes, I guess it must be Fred, they said. People around the outskirts of
the crowd were beginning to turn away, form conversational groups; the hum of talk rose higher. "Say,
Tim, I wonder if I could have something to drink," the little man said. "I don't like to leave him-you
know-" He gestured toward the silent big man.

"Sure, Fred, what'll it be?"

"Oh-you know-a glass of beer?"

Tim brought him a beer in a pilsener glass and he drank it thirstily, his brown eyes darting nervously
from side to side. A lot of people were sitting down now; one or two were at the door leaving.

"Well," the little man said to a passing girl, "Ruthie, that was quite a moment there, when the fishbowl

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Damon%20Knight%20-%20The%20Handler.htm (3 of 5) [10/31/2004 11:07:13 PM]
 THE HANDLER

busted, wasn't it?"

"Huh? Excuse me, honey. I didn't hear you." She bent nearer.

"Oh-well, it don't matter. Nothing."

She patted him on the shoulder once, and took her hand away. "Well, excuse me, sweetie, I have to catch
Robbins before he leaves." She went on toward the door.

The little man put his beer glass down and sat, twisting his knobby hands together. The bald man and the