"Moorcock, Michael - Breakfast in the Ruins (v2.5)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

He intended to offer them his services.
- And why do you dislike Americans?
- I don't like the way some of them think they own the world.
- But didn't your people think that for centuries? Don't they still?
- It's different.
- And why do you collect model soldiers?
- I just do. It's relaxing. A hobby.
- Because you can't manipulate real people so easily?
- Think what you like. Karl turns over on the bed and immediately regrets it. But he lies there.
He feels the expected touch on his spine. Now you are feeling altogether more yourself, aren't you, Karl?
Karl's face is pressed into the pillow. He cannot speak.
The man's body presses down on his and for a moment he smiles. Is this what they mean by the White Man's Burden?
- Sssssshhhhh, says the black man.

What Would You Do? (5)
You have three children.
One is eight years old. A girl.
One is six years old. A girl.
One is a few months old. A boy.
You are told that you can save any two of them from death, but not all three. You are given five minutes to choose.
Which one would you sacrifice?

6

London Sewing Circle: 1905: A Message One would have thought that the meaning of the word "sweating" as applied to work was sufficiently obvious. But when "the Sweating System" was inquired into by the Committee of the House of Lords, the meaning became suddenly involved. As a matter of fact the sweater was originally a man who kept his people at work for long hours. A schoolboy who "sweats" for his examination studies for many hours beyond his usual working day. The schoolboy meaning of the word was originally the trade meaning.
But of late years the sweating system has come to mean an unhappy combination of long hours and low pay. "The sweater's den" is a workshop - often a dwelling room as well - in which, under the most unhealthy conditions, men and women toil for from sixteen to eighteen hours a day for a wage barely sufficient to keep body and soul together.
The sweating system, as far as London is concerned, exists chiefly at the East End, but it flourishes also in the West, notably in Soho, where the principal "sweating trade", tailoring, is now largely carried on. Let us visit the East End first, for here we can see the class which has largely contributed to the evil - the destitute foreign Jew - place his alien foot for the first time upon the free soil of England.
LIVING LONDON, by George R. Sims Cassell & Co. Ltd., 1902.

Karl turns onto his side. He is aching. He is weeping.
- Did I promise you pleasure? asks the tall, black man as he wipes his hands on a hotel towel and then stretches and then yawns. - Did I?
- No. Karl's voice is muffled and small.
- You can leave whenever you wish.
- Like this?
- You'll get used to it. After all, millions of others have...
- Have you known them all?
The black man parts the curtain. It is now pitch dark outside and it is silent. - Now that's a leading question, he says. - The fact is, Karl, you are intrigued by all these new experiences. You welcome them. Why be a hypocrite?
- I'm not the hypocrite.
The black man grins and wags a chiding finger. Don't take it out on me, man. That wouldn't be very liberal, would it?
- I never was very liberal.
- You've been very liberal to me. The black man rolls his eyes in a comic grimace. Karl has seen the expression earlier. He begins to tremble again. He looks at his own brown hands and he tries to make his brain see all this in a proper, normal light.
He is eleven. A dark, filthy room. Many little sounds.
The black man says from beside the window:. Come here, Karl.
Automatically Karl hauls himself from the bed and begins to make his way across the floor.
He remembers his mother and the tin of paint she threw at him which missed and ruined her wallpaper. You don't love me, he had said. Why should I? she had replied. He had been fourteen, perhaps, and ashamed of the question once he had asked it.
He is eleven. Many little regular sounds.
He approaches the black man. - That will do, Karl, says the black man.
Karl stops.
The black man approaches him. Under his breath he is humming "Old Folks At Home". Kneeling on the carpet, Karl begins to sing the words in an exaggerated minstrel accent.