"Frederik Pohl - Wapshot's Demon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

a hall where all the doors seemed to be ajar and the
guests peeping impassively out at us, and we went into a
room with an unmade bed and a marble-topped bureau
and a dripping shower in the pint-sized bath, and a lug-
gage rack andon the luggage rack, a washing machine.
Or anyway, it looked like a washing machine.
Wapshot put his hand on it with simple pride.
"My Semantic Polarizer," he explained.
I followed him into the room, holding my breath. There
was a fine, greasy film of grit on the gadgetWapshot had
not been clever enough to close the window to the air-
shaft, which appeared to double as a garbage chute for the
guests on the upper stories. Under the gritas I say, a
washing machine. One of the small light-housekeeping
kinds: a drawn aluminum pail, a head with some sort of
electric business inside. And a couple of things that didn't
seem connected with washing clothestwo traps, one on
either side of the pail. The traps were covered with wire
mesh, and both of them were filled with white cards.
"Here," said Wapshot, and picked one of the cards out
of the nearest trap. It was a tiny snapshot, like the V-mail
letters, photographically diminished, soldiers overseas used
to send. I read it without difficulty:
Dear Mr. Wapshat,
My Husband was always a good Husband to me, not
counting the Drink, but when his Cousin moved in up-
stairs he cooled off to me. He is always buying her Candy
and Flowers because he promised her Mother he would
take care of her after the Mother, who was my Husband's
Aunt, died. Her Television is always getting broken and
he has to go up to fix it, sometimes until four o'clock in
the Morning. Also, he never told me he had an Aunt until
she moved in. I enclose $1 Dollar and .98 Cents as it says
in your ad. in SHUT UP!, please tell me, is she really
his Cousin?
I looked up from the letter. Wapshot took it from me,
glanced at it, shrugged. "I get a lot of that kind," he said.
"Mr. Wapshot, are you confessing that you are telling
fortunes by mail?"
"No!" He looked upset. "Didn't I make you under-
stand? It hasn't got anything to do with fortunes. Ques-
tions that have a yes or no answer, that's allif I can
give them a definite yes or a definite no, I do it and keep
the dollar ninety-eight. If I can't I give back the money."
I stared at him, trying to tell if he was joking. He didn't
look as though he was joking. In the airshaft something
went whiz-pop; a fine spray of grit blew in off the window
sill.
Wapshot shook his head reproachfully. "Throwing their
trash down again. Mr. Barclay, I've told the desk clerk a