"Henry Kuttner & C. L. Moore - Prisoner In The Skull" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

Fowler snorted. "I didn't ask you to wash it," he remarked.

"It was the shuttersтАФ"

Norman laid a nearly empty basin on a table and smiled expectantly. Fowler suffered a slight reorientation.
"Time-traveling, ha," he said. "You probably crashed out of some booby hatch. The sooner I can get you back there
the better I'll like it. If it'd only stop raining ... I wonder if you could rig up the televisor? No, I forgot. We don't even
have one yet. And I suspect you couldn't do it. That light switch business was a fluke."

He looked out at the rain and thought of Veronica. Then she was there before him, dark and slender, smiling a little.
"WhaтАФ" Fowler said throatily.

He blinked. Hallucinations? He looked again, and she was still there, three-dimensionally, outside the windowтАФ
Norman smiled and nodded. He pointed to the apparition. "Do you see it too?" Fowler asked madly. "It can't be. She's
outside. She'll get wet. What in the name ofтАФ"

But it was only Fowler who got wet, dashing out bareheaded in the drenching rain. There was no one outside. He
looked through the window and saw the familiar room, and Norman.

He came back. "Did you paint her on the window?" he asked. "But you've never seen Veronica. Besides, she's
movingтАФthree-dimensional. Oh, it can't be. My mind's snapping. I need peace and quiet. A green thought in a green
shade." He focused on a green thought, and Veronica faded out slowly. A cool, quiet, woodland glade was visible
through the window. After a while Fowler figured it out. His window made thoughts

visible.

It wasn't as simple as that, naturally. He had to experiment and brood for quite some time. Norman was no help. But the
fact finally emerged that whenever Fowler looked at the window and visualized something with strong emphasis, an
image of that thought appearedтАФa protective screen, so to speak.

It was like throwing a stone into calm water. The ripples moved out for a while, and then slowly quieted. The woodland
scene wasn't static; there was a breeze there, and the leaves glittered and the branches swayed. Clouds moved softly
across a blue sky. It was a scene Fowler finally recognized, a Vermont

woodland he had seen years ago. Yet when did sequoias ever grow in Vermont?

A composite, then. And the original impetus of his thoughts set the scene into action along normal lines. When he
visualized the forest, he had known that there would be a wind, and that the branches would move. So they moved.
But slower and slowerтАФ though it took a long while for the action to run down.

He tried again. This time Chicago's lake shore. Cars rushed along the drive. He tried to make them run backwards, but
got a sharp headache and a sense of watching a jerky film. Possibly he could reverse the normal course of events, but
his mind wasn't geared to handle film running backward. Then he thought hard and watched a seascape appear
through the glass. This time he waited to see how long it would take the image to vanish. The action stopped in an
hour, but the picture did not face completely for another hour.

Only then did the possibilities strike him with an impact as violent as lightning.

Considerable poetry has been written about what happens when love rejected turns to hate. Psychology could explain