"Ian R. MacLeod - Papa" - читать интересную книгу автора (Macleod Ian R)

I watch the woman with grey hair. Eyes that arenтАЩt HannahтАЩs color, a disappointing droop to her nose
that she probably keeps that way out of inverted vanity. I try to follow her and SaulтАЩs conversation as the
music starts up again, waiting for her to turn back toward me, waiting for the point where I can butt in. It
doesnтАЩt come, and I drink my wine.
Somewhere there seems to be a mirrorтАФor perhaps itтАЩs just a possible mirror in some other world,
or my own blurred imaginationтАФand I see the woman whose name I didnтАЩt catch sitting there, and I can
see me, Papa. Propped at an off-center angle against the arms of a chair. Fat belly and long thin limbs,
disturbingly pale eyes and a slack mouth surrounded by drapes of ancient skin. A face you can see right
through to the skull beneath.
Not-Hannah laughs at something Saul says. Their lips move, their hands touch, but I canтАЩt hear any
longer. IтАЩve been blinking too muchтАФI may even have been cryingтАФand IтАЩve somehow turned my
eardrums off. In silence, Not-Hannah catches SaulтАЩs strong young arms and pulls him up to dance. They
settle easily into the beat and the sway. His hand nestles in the small of her back. She twirls in his arms,
easy as thistledown. I blink, and drink more wine, and the sound crashes in again. I blink again. ItтАЩs there.
ItтАЩs gone. Breaking like the tide. What am I doing here anyway, spoiling the fun of the able, the happy,
the young?
This party will go on, all the dancing and the laughing, until a doomsday thatтАЩll never come. These
people, theyтАЩll live forever. TheyтАЩll warm up the sun, theyтАЩll stop the universe from final collapse, or
maybe theyтАЩll simply relive each glorious moment as the universe turns back on itself and time reverses,
party with the dinosaurs, resurrect the dead, dance until everything ends with the biggest of all possible
bangs.
тАЬAre you all right, Papa?тАЭ
 тАЬIтАЩm fine.тАЭ
I pour out more of the wine.
It slops over the table.
SaulтАЩs sitting at the table again with Not-Hannah, and the spillage dribbles over Not-HannahтАЩs dress.
I say fuck it, never mind, spilling more as I try to catch the flow, and IтАЩve really given the two of them the
perfect excuse to go off together so he can help her to clean up. Yes, help to lift off her dress even
though sheтАЩs old enough to be hisтАФ
But then, who cares? Fun is fun is fun is fun. Or maybe itтАЩs Agatha she was after. Or both, or neither.
It doesnтАЩt matter, does it? After all, my grandchildren have got each other. Call me old-fashioned, but
look at them. My own bloody grandchildren. Look at them. Creatures from another fucking planetтАФ
But Not-HannahтАЩs gone off on her own anyway. Maybe it was something I said, but my eardrums are
offтАФI canтАЩt even hear my own words, which is probably a good thing. Saul and Agatha are staring at
me. Looking worried. Their lips are saying something about Papa and Bed and Home, and thereтАЩs a huge
red firework flashing over the moon. Or perhaps itтАЩs a warning cursor, which was one of things Doc
Fanian told me to look out for if there was ever a problem. My body is fitted with all sorts of systems and
alarms, which my flesh and veins happily embrace. ItтАЩs just this brain thatтАЩs become a little wild, a little
estranged, swimming like a pale fish in its bowl of liquid and bone. So why not fit a few new extra pieces,
get rid of the last of the old grey meat? And IтАЩd be new, IтАЩd be perfectтАФ


Whiteness. Whiteness. No light. No darkness.
тАЬAre you in there, Papa?тАЭ
Doc FanianтАЩs voice.
тАЬWhere else would I be?тАЭ
I open my eyes. Everything becomes clear. Tiger-stripes of sunlight across the walls of my bedroom.
The silver mantis limbs of my bedhelper. The smell of my own skin like sour ancient leather. Memories of
the night before. тАЬWhat have you done to me?тАЭ
тАЬNothing at all.тАЭ