"No Woman Born" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore C. L)

Maltzer shook his head. УNobody could believe it. No two people were ever in quite the same relationship before as Deirdre and I have been. I helped her come back out of completeЧoblivion. I knew her before she had voice or hearing. She was only a frantic mind when I first made contact with her, half insane with all that had happened and fear of what would happen next. In a very literal sense she was reborn out of that condition, and I had to guide her through every step of the way. I came to know her thoughts before she thought them. And once youТve been that close to another mind, you donТt lose the contact easily.Ф He put the glasses back on and looked blurrily at Harris through the heavy lenses. УDeirdre is worried,Ф he said. УI know it. You wonТt believe me, but I canЧwell, sense it. I tell you, IТve been too close to her very mind itself to make any mistake. You donТt see it, maybe. Maybe even she doesnТt know it yet. But the worryТs there. When IТm with her, I feel it. And I donТt want it to
come any nearer the surface of her mind than itТs come already. IТm going to put a stop to this before itТs too late.Ф
Harris had no comment for that. It was too entirely outside his own experience. He said nothing for a moment. Then he asked simply, УHow?Ф
УIТm not sure yet. IТve got to decide before she comes back. And I want to see her alone.Ф
УI think youТre wrong,Ф Harris told him quietly. УI think youТre imagining things. I donТt think you can stop her.Ф
Maltzer gave him a slanted glance. УI can stop her,Ф he said, in a curious voice. He went on quickly, УShe has enough alreadyЧsheТs nearly human. She can live normally as other people live, without going back on the screen. Maybe this taste of it will be enough. IТve got to convince her it is. If she retires now, sheТll never guess how cruel her own audiences could be, and maybe that deep sense ofЧ distress, uneasiness, whatever it isЧwonТt come to the surface. It mustnТt. SheТs too fragile to stand that.Ф He slapped his hands together sharply. УIТve got to stop her. For her own sake IТve got to do it!Ф He swung round again to face Harris. УWill you go now?Ф
Never in his life had Harris wanted less to leave a place. Briefly he thought of saying simply, УNo I wonТt.Ф But he had to admit in his own mind that Maltzer was at least partly right. This was a matter between Deirdre and her creator, the culmination, perhaps, of that yearТs long intimacy so like marriage that this final trial for supremacy was a need he recognized.
He would not, he thought, forbid the showdown if he could. Perhaps the whole year had been building up to this one moment between them in which one or the other must prove himself victor. Neither was very well stable just now, after the long strain of the year past. It might very well be that the mental salvation of one or both hinged upon the outcome of the clash. But because each was so strongly motivated not by selfish concern but by solicitude for the other in this strange combat, Harris knew he must leave them to settle the thing alone.
He was in the street and hailing a taxi before the full significance of something Maltzer had said came to him. УI can stop her,Ф he had declared, with an odd inflection in his voice.
Suddenly Harris felt cold. Maltzer had made herЧof course he could stop her if he chose. Was there some key in that supple golden body that could immobilize it at its makerТs will? Could she be imprisoned in the cage of her own body? No body before in all history, he thought, could have been designed more truly to be a prison
for its mind than DeirdreТs, if Maltzer chose to turn the key that locked her in. There must be many ways to do it. He could simply withhold whatever source of nourishment kept her brain alive, if that were the way he chose.
But Harris could not believe he would do it. The man wasnТt insane. He would not defeat his own purpose. His determination rose from his solicitude for Deirdre; he would not even in the last extremity try to save her by imprisoning her in the jail of her own skull.
For a moment Harris hesitated on the curb, almost turning back. But what could he do? Even granting that Maltzer would resort to such tactics, self-defeating in their very nature, how could any man on earth prevent him if he did it subtly enough? But he never would. Harris knew he never would. He got into his cab slowly, frowning. He would see them both tomorrow.


He did not. Harris was swamped with excited calls about yesterdayТs performance, but the message he was awaiting did not come. The day went by very slowly. Toward evening he surrendered and called MaltzerТs apartment.
It was DeirdreТs face that answered, and for once he saw no remembered features superimposed upon the blankness of her helmet. Masked and faceless, she looked at him inscrutably.
УIs everything all right?Ф he asked, a little uncomfortable.
УYes, of course,Ф she said, and her voice was a bit metallic for the first time, as if she were thinking so deeply of some other matter that she did not trouble to pitch it properly. УI had a long talk with Maltzer last night, if thatТs what you mean. You know what he wants. But nothingТs been decided yet.Ф
Harris felt oddly rebuffed by the sudden realization of the metal of her. It was impossible to read anything from face or voice. Each had its mask.
УWhat are you going to do?Ф he asked.
УExactly as IТd planned,Ф she told him, without inflection.
Harris floundered a little. Then, with an effort at practicality, he said, УDo you want me to go to work on bookings, then?Ф
She shook the delicately modeled skull. УNot yet. You saw the reviews today, of course. TheyЧdid like me.Ф It was an understatement, and for the first time a note of warmth sounded in her voice. But the preoccupation was still there, too. УIТd already planned to make them wait awhile after my first performance,Ф she went on. УA couple of weeks, anyhow. You remember that little farm of mine in
Jersey, John? IТm going over today. I wonТt see anyone except the servants there. Not even Maltzer. Not even you. IТve got a lot to think about. Maltzer has agreed to let everything go until weТve both thought things over. HeТs taking a rest, too. IТll see you the moment I get back, John. Is that all right?Ф
She blanked out almost before he had time to nod and while the beginning of a stammered argument was still on his lips. He sat there staring at the screen.
The two weeks that went by before Maltzer called him again were the longest Harris had ever spent. He thought of many things in the interval. He believed he could sense in that last talk with Deirdre something of the inner unrest that Maltzer had spoken ofЧmore an abstraction than a distress, but some thought had occupied her mind which she would notЧor was it that she could not?Чshare even with her closest confidants. He even wondered whether, if her mind was as delicately poised as Maltzer feared, one would ever know whether or not it had slipped. There was so little evidence one way or the other in the unchanging outward form of her.
Most of all he wondered what two weeks in a new environment would do to her untried body and newly patterned brain. If Maltzer were right, then there might be some perceptibleЧdrainageЧby the time they met again. He tried not to think of that.
Maltzer televised him on the morning set for her return. He looked very bad. The rest must have been no rest at all. His face was almost a skull now, and the blurred eyes behind their lenses burned. But he seemed curiously at peace, in spite of his appearance. Harris thought he had reached some decision, but whatever it was had not stopped his hands from shaking or the nervous tic that drew his face sidewise into a grimace at intervals.
УCome over,Ф he said briefly, without preamble. УSheТll be here in half an hour.Ф And he blanked out without waiting for an answer.
When Harris arrived, he was standing by the window looking down and steadying his trembling hands on the sill.
УI canТt stop her,Ф he said in a monotone, and again without preamble. Harris had the impression that for the two weeks his thoughts must have run over and over the same track, until any spoken word was simply a vocal interlude in the circling of his mind. УI couldnТt do it. I even tried threats, but she knew I didnТt mean them. ThereТs only one way out, Harris.Ф He glanced up briefly, hollow-eyed behind the lenses. УNever mind. IТll tell you later.Ф
УDid you explain everything to her that you did to me?Ф
УNearly all. I even taxed her with that . - - that sense of distress I
know she feels. She denied it. She was lying. We both knew. It was worse after the performance than before. When I saw her that night, I tell you I knewЧshe senses something wrong, but she wonТt admit it.Ф He shrugged. УWellЧФ
Faintly in the silence they heard the humming of the elevator descending from the helicopter platform on the roof. Both men turned to the door.
She had not changed at all. Foolishly, Harris was a little surprised. Then he caught himself and remembered that she would never changeЧnever, until she died. He himself might grow white-haired and senile; she would move before him then as she moved now, supple, golden, enigmatic.
Still, he thought she caught her breath a little when she saw Maltzer and the depths of his swift degeneration. She had no breath to catch, but her voice was shaken as she greeted them.
УIТm glad youТre both here,Ф she said, a slight hesitation in her speech. УItТs a wonderful day outside. Jersey was glorious. IТd forgotten how lovely it is in summer. Was the sanitarium any good, Maltzer?Ф
He jerked his head irritably and did not answer. She went on talking in a light voice, skimming the surface, saying nothing important.
This time Harris saw her as he supposed her audiences would, eventually, when the surprise had worn off and the image Of the living Deirdre faded from memory. She was all metal now, the Deirdre they would know from today on. And she was not less lovely. She was not even less humanЧyet. Her motion was a miracle of flexible grace, a pouring of suppleness along every limb. (From now on, Harris realized suddenly, it was her body and not her face that would have mobility to express emotion; she must act with her limbs and her lithe, robed torso.)
But there was something wrong. Harris sensed it almost tangibly in her inflections, her elusiveness, the way she fenced with words. This was what Maltzer had meant, this was what Harris himself had felt just before she left for the country. Only now it was strongЧcertain. Between them and the old Deirdre whose voice still spoke to them a veil ofЧdetachmentЧhad been drawn. Behind it she was in distress. Somehow, somewhere, she had made some discovery that affected her profoundly. And Harris was terribly afraid that he knew what the discovery must be. Maltzer was right.
He was still leaning against the window, staring out unseeingly over the vast panorama of New York, webbed with traffic bridges, winking with sunlit glass, its vertiginous distances plunging downward into the
blue shadows of Earth-level. He said now, breaking into the light-voiced chatter, УAre you all right, Deirdre?Ф
She laughed. It was lovely laughter. She moved lithely across the room, sunlight glinting on her musical mailed robe, and stooped to a cigarette box on a table. Her fingers were deft.
УHave one?Ф she said, and carried the box to Maltzer. He let her put the brown cylinder between his lips and hold a light to it, but he did not seem to be noticing what he did. She replaced the box and then crossed to a mirror on the far wall and began experimenting with a series of gliding ripples that wove patterns of pale gold in the glass. УOf course IТm all right,Ф she said.
УYouТre lying.Ф
Deirdre did not turn. She was watching him in the mirror, but the ripple of her motion went on slowly, languorously, undisturbed.
УNo,Ф she told them both.
Maltzer drew deeply on his cigarette. Then with a hard pull he unsealed the window and tossed the smoking stub far out over the gulfs below. He said,