"Henry Kuttner - The Portal in the Picture " - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

roaring that might have been the lion except that the lion had entirely vanished and I seemed to be seeing a
dome of shining rosy-red light that moved like water.
I squeezed my eyes shut. This was crazy.
Uncle Jim had left me the apartment in his will. It was one of those deals where you pay a fabulous sum
down and a high rental for life and call the apartment yours. I wouldn't have
got into it myself, but Uncle Jim did and it was nice to have a place the landlord couldn't throw me out of
when somebody offered him a higher bribe.
This is probably the place for a word about Uncle Jim Burton. He was a Character. He had red hair,
freckles and a way of losing himself in foreign parts for months at a stretch. Sometimes for years.
He used to visit us between trips when I was a kid,'and of all the people I knew in those days he was my
favorite because he took me in on a secret.
It started out as bedtime stories. All about a marvelous land called Malesco that followed the pattern for
all marvelous lands. There was a beautiful princess and a wicked high priest and a dashing young hero
whose adventures kept me awake for all of fifteen minutes sometimes after the lights were put out.
Those were the pre-Superman days, so I didn't picture myself soaring through Malesco in a red union suit.
But sometimes I wore a lion skin like Tarzan and sometimes the harness of an intrepid Martian warrior
who looked like John Carter.
I even learned to speak Malescan. Uncle Jim made it up, of course. He had a restless mind, and he was
recovering from some sort of illness during those months he stayed with us when the Malesco stories
began. He made up a vocabulary of the language. We worked out a sort of primer together and jabbered
away to each other in Malescan with a good deal of fluency before the episode came to an end and he
went away again.
I sat there, watching the wall flicker, looking at the blurred rose-red globe on the wall and something like
roofs beyond it, lit with a brilliant sunset. I knew I was imagining most of it. What I saw was the red blur
you get when you rub your eyes hard and my imagination was making it into something very much like
the tales of Malesco Uncle Jim used to tell.
The whole thing had sunk far back into my mind in the many years since. But when I groped I seemed to
dredge up a memory of a city lit with crimson sunsets. In the center of the city was a great dome from
which reflected the light from a surface ofтАФhad it been water? Had it beenтАФ
The doorbell rang.
"Eddie!" Lorna's voice called loudly. "Eddie, let me in a minute."
I knew if I didn't she'd rouse the neighbors with her knocking and shouting. I heaved myself out of the
chair and sidled cautiously around that blur which was pure imagination between me and the wall where
the Rousseau hung. It was odd, I thought, that the hall wasn't blurred, or the front door, or even Lorna's
pretty, cheap little face when I let her in.
"I waited for you, Eddie," she said reproachfully, slipping in fast before I could change my mind. "What
kept you? Eddie, I had to see you. I've got a new idea. Look, how would it be if I could dance a little too?
Would that help? I've worked out a sort of routine I wish you'dтАФ"
"Have a drink," I said wearily. "Let's not talk about it now, Lorna. My head aches. I think I've got eye
trouble. Things keep blurring."
"тАФlook while I just run through it," she went right on as soon as I finished speaking. It was one of her less
endearing tricks.
I shut my ears and followed her back into the living room, hoping she'd go away soon. The Rousseau
Gypsy had come back anyhow. That was a comfort. The red blur which my imagination made into a
vision of Malesco was entirely gone. I sat down in the same chair, sipped my Scotch and looked morosely
at Lorna.
It doesn't matter what she was saying. I heard about every tenth word. She fixed herself a drink and
perched girlishly on the arm of a chair, making graceful gestures with her glass, telling me all about how I
was going to help her become a great dancer if I'd only say the right word to the right man.
I'd heard it all before. I yawned, looked crosseyed at the ice in my glass, drained the last of the Scotch and