"Walter M. Miller - The Best of Walter M. Miller" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Walter M)

younger thenтАФyounger and wilder, and not afraid of shame. He'd van-ished as quickly as he'd come.
When he had gone, it almost felt like he'd been there to accomplish an errand, some piece of business
that had to be handled hastily and efficiently.
"Why'd he want a son?" she scoffed. "If what you say is trueтАФwhich it ain't."
The boy stirred restlessly. "Maybe I shouldn't tell."
"You tell Mama."
"You won't believe it anyway," he said listlessly. "He fixed it so I'd look human. He fixed it so he
could talk to me. I tell him things. Things he could find out himself if he wanted to."
"What does he want to know?"
"How humans work inside."
"Livers and lungs and such? Sssssst! Silliest I everтАФ"
"And brains. Now they know."
"They?"

"Pa's people. You'll see. Now they know, and they're corning to run things. Things will be different,
lots dif-ferent."
"When?"
Soon. Only pa's coming sooner. He's their тАж their . . ." The boy groped for a word. "He's like a
"


detective."
Lucey took the corn bread out of the oven and sank despairingly into a chair. "Doodie, Doodie ..."
"What, Mama?"
"Oh, Sweet Jesus! What did I do, what did I do? He's a child of the devil. Fits an' lies and puny ways.
Lord, have mercy on me."
With an effort, the boy sat up to stare at her weakly. "He's no devil, Mama. He's no man, but he's
better than a man. You'll see."
"You're not right in the mind, Doodie."
"It's all right. He wouldn't want you to believe. Then you'd be warned. They'd be warned too."
"They?"
"HumansтАФwhite and black and yellow. He picked poor people to have his sons, so nobody would
believe."
"Sons? You mean you ain't the only one?"
Doodie shook his head. "I got brothers, MamaтАФhalf- brothers. I talk to them sometimes too."
She was silent a long time. "Doodie, you better go to sleep," she said wearily at last.
"Nobody'll believe . . . until he comes, and the rest of them come after him."
"He ain't comin', Doodie. You ain't seed himтАФnever."
"Not with my eyes," he said.
She shook her head slowly, peering at him with brim-ming eyes. "Poor little boy. Cain't I do somethin'
to make you see?"
Doodie sighed. He was tired, and didn't answer. He fell back on the pillow and lay motionless. The
water that crawled down the pane rippled the rain-light over his sallow face. He might have been a pretty
child, if it had not been for the tightness in his face, and the tumor-shape on his forehead.
He said it was the tumor-shape that let him talk to his father. After a few moments, Lucey arose, and
took their supper off the stove. Doodie sat propped up on pillows, but he only nibbled at his food.
"Take it away," he told her suddenly. "I can feel it starting again."
There was nothing she could do. While he shrieked and tossed again on the bed, she went out on the
rain-swept porch to pray. She prayed softly that her sin be upon herself, not upon her boy. She prayed
for understanding, and when she was done she cried until Doodie was silent again inside.