"R. A. Lafferty - Stories 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lafferty R A)

the window had just flipped one and it hung in the air. Then it floated over
as though caught by a slight breeze, and sank slowly down as if settling in
water.
The early morning breakfasters, like the people in the street, were
all dead in this new way, moving with almost imperceptible motion. And all
had apparently died in the act of drinking coffee, eating eggs, or munching
toast. And if there was only time enough, there was an even chance that they
would get the drinking, eating, and munching done with, for there was a
shadow of movement in them all.
The cashier had the register drawer open and money in her hand, and
the hand of the customer was out-stretched for it. In time, somewhere in the
new leisurely time, the hands would come together and the change be given.
And so it happened. It may have been a minute and a half, or two minutes, or
two and a half. It is always hard to judge time, and now it had become all
but impossible.
"I am still hungry," said Charles Vincent, "but it would be
foolhardy to wait on the service here. Should I help myself? They would not
mind if they are dead. And, if they are not dead, in any case it seems that
I am invisible to them."
He wolfed several rolls. He opened a bottle of milk and held it
upside-down over his glass while he ate another roll. Liquids had all become
so perversely slow.
But he felt better for his erratic breakfast. He would have paid for
it, but how?
He left the cafeteria and walked about the town as it seemed still
to be quite early, though one could depend on neither sun nor clock for the
time any more. The traffic lights were unchanging. He sat for a long time in
a 1ittle park and watched the town and the big clock in the Commerce
Building tower; but like all the clocks it was either stopped or the hand
would creep too slowly to be seen.
It must have been just about an hour till the traffic lights
changed, but change they did at last. By picking a point on the building
across the street and watching what moved by it, he found that the traffic
did indeed move. In a minute or so, the entire length of a car would pass a
given point.
He had, he recalled, been very far behind in his work, and it had
been worrying him. He decided to go to the office, early as it was or seemed
to be.
He let himself in. Nobody else was there. He resolved not to look at
the clock and to be very careful of the way he handled all objects because
of his new propensity for breaking things. This considered, all seemed
normal here. He had said the day before that he could hardly catch up on his
work if he worked for two days solid. He now resolved at least to work
steadily until something happened, whatever it was.
For hour after hour he worked on his tabulations and reports. Nobody
else had arrived. Could something be wrong? Certainly something was wrong.
But today was not a holiday. That was not it.
Just how long can a stubborn and mystified man work away at his
task? It was hour after hour after hour. He did not become hungry nor
particularly tired. And he did get through a lot of work.