"Henry Kuttner - The Best of Henry Kuttner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

"Television set?"
Scott produced the crystal cube. "It isn't really that. See?"
Paradline examined the gadget, startled by the magnification. All he could see, though, was a maze of meaningless colored designs.
"Uncle Harry-"
Paradine reached for the telephone. Scott gulped. "Is-is Uncle Harry back in town?"
"Yeah."
'Well, I gotta take a bath." Scott headed for the door. Paradine met Jane's gaze and nodded significantly.
Harry was home, but disclaimed all knowledge of the peculiar toys. Rather grimly, Paradine requested Scott to bring down from his room all of the playthings. Finally they lay in a row on the table-cube, abacus, doll, helmet-like cap, several other mysterious contraptions. Scott was cross-examined. He lied valiantly for a time, but broke down at last and bawled, hiccuping his confession.
"Get the box these things came in," Paradine ordered. "Then head for bed."


"Are you-hup!-gonna punish me, Daddy?"
"For playing hooky and lying, yes. You know the rules. No more shows for two weeks. No sodas for the same period."
Scott gulped. "You gonna keep my things?"
"I don't know yet."
"Well-g'night, Daddy. G'night, Mom."

After the small figure had gone upstairs, Paradine dragged a chair to the table and carefully scrutinized the box. He poked thoughtfully at the focused gadgetry. Jane watched.
"What is it, Denny?"
"Dunno. Who'd leave a box of toys down by the creek?"
"It might have fallen out of a car."
"Not at that point. The road doesn't hit the creek north of the railroad trestle. Empty lots-nothing else." Paradine lit a cigarette. "Drink, honey?"
"I'll fix it." Jane went to work, her eyes troubled. She brought Paradine a glass and stood behind him, ruffling his hair with her fingers. "Is anything wrong?"
"Of course not. Only-where did these toys come from?"
"Johnson's didn't know, and they get their stock from New York."
"I've been checking up, too," Paradine admitted. "That doll"-he poked it-"rather worried me. Custom jobs, maybe, but I wish I knew who'd made 'em."
"A psychologist? That abacus-don't they give people tests with such things?"
Paradine snapped his fingers. "Bight! And say, there's a guy going to speak at the university next week, fellow named Holloway, who's a child psychologist. He's a big shot, with quite a reputation. He might know something about it."
"Holloway? I don't-"
"Rex Holloway. He's-hm-m-m! He doesn't live far from here. Do you suppose he might have had these things made himself?"
Jane was examining the abacus. She grimaced and drew back. "If he did, I don't like him. But see if you can find out, Denny."
Paradine nodded. "1 shall."
He drank his highball, frowning. He was vaguely worried. But he wasn't scared-yet.

Rex Holloway was a fat, shiny man, with a bald head and thick spectacles, above which his thick, black brows lay like bushy caterpillars. Paradine brought him home to dinner one night a week later. Holloway


did not appear to watch the children, but nothing they did or said was lost on him. His gray eyes, shrewd and bright, missed little.
The toys fascinated him. In the living room the three adults gathered around the table, where the playthings had been placed. Holloway studied them carefully as he listened to what Jane and Paradine had to say. At last he broke his silence.
"I'm glad I came here tonight. But not completely. This is very disturbing, you know."
"Eh?" Paradine stared, and Jane's face showed her consternation. Holloway's next words did not calm them.
"We are dealing with madness."
He smiled at the shocked looks they gave him. "All children are mad, from an adult viewpoint. Ever read Hughes' High Wind in Jamaica?"
"I've got it." Paradine secured the little book from its shelf. Holloway extended a hand, took the book and flipped the pages till he had found the place he wanted. He read aloud:

Babies, of course, are not human-they are animals, and have a very ancient and ramified culture, as cats have, and fishes, and even snakes; the same in kind as these, but much more complicated and vivid, since babies are, after all, one of the most developed species of the lower vertebrates. In short, babies have minds which work in terms and categories of their own, which cannot be translated into the terms and categories of the human mind.

Jane tried to take that calmly, but couldn't. "You don't mean that Emma-"
"Could you think like your daughter?" Holloway asked. "Listen: 'One can no more think like a baby than one can think like a bee."
Paradine mixed drinks. Over his shoulder he said, "You're theorizing quite a bit, aren't you? As I get it, you're implying that babies have a culture of their own, even a high standard of intelligence."