"Thomas F. Monteleone - The Secret Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monteleone Thomas F)

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The Secret Sea

by Thomas F. Monteleone

CHAPTER ONE
THE LETTER was from a lawyer in Brattleboro, Vermont.

Now just about at that time, I was particularly leery of letters from
lawyersтАФa natural, inevitable conditioning which stemmed from Judy's
divorce proceedings (but that's another story)тАФand I was not excited
about reading more legal obfuscation. So I threw it on the desk and
worked through the remainder of that morning's mail before considering
it.

I like to get mail, however, because it has always seemed to me to be a
more civilized way of communicating with your fellows. And it is fast
becoming a vanishing art, letter writing, mainly because of the
proliferation of the telephoneтАФthat squat, toadlike thing which lurks in
the corners of our homes, which invades our thoughts, and interrupts our
sleep with its senseless bleatings. I hate telephones. They have made us
less human, robbed us of our chance for intimacy or posterity or sincerity.

Fortunately, a few of my friendsтАФmy real friendsтАФ share my views on
this, and we enjoy lively, revealing, soul-searched correspondence. As I sat
at the breakfast table of my now-solitudinous split-level, I read a letter
from Jay. Before a single "I" appeared in his letter, he had spent a page
and one half describing the change of seasons on his farm, the
peacefulness of the early-autumn days, the starry brilliance of crisp
October nights. Beautiful. We need more Jays in this gadget culture of
ours.

Checking my watch after two more letters and one more cup of coffee, I
discovered that time had ambushed me yet again. I slipped the unopened
lawyer's letter into my attach├й case, wolfed the rest of the coffee, and ran
out the door. It was Tuesday, and I had posted office hours from 10:00
until 12:00 that day each week. Since I was late, I knew there would be a
small knot of students waiting at my door, their seminar papers dangling
from angry hands.

I ended up being only fifteen minutes late, and to my surprise, there
was no one waiting for me. Unlocking the door, picking up some
interdepartmental memos slipped under the sill, I collapsed behind the