"Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matheson Richard)

unseen among these wraiths, scalpels might be probing at my brain, surgeons working to restore its
function.

It didn't help. Despite the logic of it, I began to feel a sense of resentment. All these people
totally ignoring me. I stopped in front of someone; faceless, nameless. "Damn it, even in a dream,
people talk to you," I said. I tried to grab him by the arms. My fingers moved into his flesh as
though it were water. I looked around and saw the family-room table. Moving there, I tried to pick
up someone's glass to hurl it against the wall. It was like trying to grip at air. Anger mounted
suddenly. I shouted at them. "Damn it, this is my dream! Listen to me!"

My laughter was involuntary, strained. Listen to yourself, I thought. You're acting as though this
is really happening. Get things straight, Nielsen. This is a dream.

I left them all behind, starting down the back hall. Ann's Uncle John was standing in front of me,
looking at some photographs on the wall. I walked right through him, feeling nothing. Forget it, I
ordered myself. It doesn't matter.

Our bedroom door was closed. I walked through it. "This is insane," I muttered. Even in dreams,
I'd never walked through doors before.

My aggravation vanished as I moved to the bed and looked at Ann. She was lying on her left side,
staring toward the glass door. She still had on the black dress I had seen her wearing in the
church but her shoes were off. Her eyes were red from crying.

Ian sat beside her, holding her hand. Tears ran slowly down his cheeks. I felt a rush of love for
him. He's such a sweet and gentle boy, Robert. I reached forward to stroke his hair.

He looked around and, for a moment which seemed to stop my heart, I thought he was looking at me,
seeing me. "Ian,'' I murmured.

He looked back at Ann. "Mom?" he said.

She didn't respond.

He spoke again and her eyes moved slowly to his face.

"I know it sounds insane," he said, "but... I feel as if Dad is with us."

I looked at Ann quickly. She was staring at Ian, her expression unchanged.

"I mean right here," he told her. "Now."

Her smile was one of straining tenderness. "I know you want to help," she said.

"I really feel it, Mom."

She couldn't go on, a great sob racking her. "Oh, God," she whispered, "Chris ..." Tears filled
her eyes.

I dropped beside the bed and tried to touch her face. "Ann, don'tтАФ" I started. Breaking off, I