"Pohl, Frederik - The Richest Man in Levittown (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

"Mine," he said proudly. "My hormone. It's a synapse-relaxer. One of these and the blocks between adjoining cells in your brain are weakened for an hour. Three of them, for every twenty pounds of body weight, and you're a super-genius for life. You'll never forget! You'll remember things you think have passed out of your recollection years ago! You'll recall the post-partum slap that started you breathing, you'll remember the name of the nurse who carried you to the door of your father's Maxwell. Oh, Harlan, there is simply no limit to-"
"Go away," I said, and pushed him.

Patrolman Gamelsfelder appeared like a genie from a lamp.
"Thought so," he said somberly, advancing on Winnie McGhee. "Extortion's your game, is it? Can't say I blame you, brother, but it's a trip to the station house and a talk with the sergeant for you."
"Just get rid of him," I said, and closed the door as Winnie was challenging the cop to name an opera by Krenek, other than Johnny Spielt Auf.
Margery put the baby down, breathing hard.
She said: "Scuffling and pushing people around and bad manners. You weren't like this when we were married, Harlan. There's something come over you since you inherited that money!"
I said, "Help me pick these things up, will you?" I hadn't pushed him hard, but all the same those pills had gone flying.
Margery stamped her foot and burst into tears. "I know how you feel about poor Winnie," she sobbed, "but it's just that I'm sorry for him. "Couldn't you at least be polite? Couldn't you at least have given him a couple of lousy hundred thousand dollars?"
"Watch the baby," I warned her. At the head of the stairs Gwennie appeared, attracted by the noise, rubbing her eyes with her fists and beginning to cry.
Margery glared at me, started to speak, was speechless, turned her back and hurried up to comfort Gwennie.
I began to feel the least little bit ashamed of myself.
I stood up, patting the baby absent-mindedly on the head, looking up the stairs at the female half of our household. I had been, when you stopped to think of it, something of a clunk.
Item: I had been rough on poor old Winnie. Suppose it had been I who discovered the hormone, and needed a few lousy hundred thousand, as Margery put it so well, as a stake in order to grasp undreamed-of wealth and power? Well, why not? Why shouldn't I have given it to him? The poor fellow was evidently suffering the effects of the hormone wearing off as much as from any hangover. I could have been more kind, yes.
And, item: Margery did have a tough time with the kids and all, and on this day of all days she was likely to be excited.
And, item: I had just inherited a bloody mint!
Why wasn't I-the thought came to me with sudden appalling clarity-using some of Uncle Otto's money to make life easier for all of us?
I galloped up the steps two at a time. "Margery," I cried. "Margery, I'm sorry!"
"I think you should-" she began and then looked up from Gwennie and saw my face.
I said: "Look, honey. Let's start over. I'm sorry about poor Winnie, but forget him, huh? We're rich. Let's start living as though we were rich! Let's go out, just the two of us-it's early yet! We'll grab a cab and go into New York-all the way by cab, why not? We'll eat at the Colony, and see My Fair Lady from the fifth row on the aisle-you can get quite good seats, they tell me, for a hundred bucks or so. Why not?"
Margery looked up at me, and suddenly smiled. "But-" she patted Gwennie's head. "The kids. What about them?"
"Get a baby-sitter," I cried. "Mrs. Schroop'll be glad of the work."
"But it's such short notice-"
"Margery," I said, "we don't inherit a fortune every night. Call her up."
Margery stood up, holding Gwennie, beginning to smile. "Why," she said, "that sounds like fun, Harlan! Why not, as you say? Only-do you remember Mrs. Schroop's number?"
"It's written down," I told her.
"No, that was on the old directory." She frowned. "You've told it to me a thousand times. It isn't listed in her own name-it's her son-in-law. Oh, what is that number. . ."
A thin voice from down the stairs said: "Ovington Eight Zero Zero Fourteen. It's listed under Sturgis, Arthur R., number Forty-one Universe Avenue."
Margery looked at me, and I looked at Margery.
I said sharply: "Who the devil said that?"
"I did, Daddy," said the owner of the voice, all of twenty-eight inches tall, appearing at the foot of the steps. He had to use one hand to steady himself, because he didn't walk so very well; in the other hand he held the squat glass bottle that Winnie McGhee had dropped.
The bottle was empty.

Well, we don't live in Levittown any more-of course.
Margery and Gwennie and I have tried everything-changing our name, dyeing our hair, even plastic surgery once. It didn't work, so we had the same surgeon change us back.
People keep recognizing us.
What we mostly do now is cruise up and down the coast of the U.S.J.I. in our yacht, inside the twelve-mile limit. When we need supplies we send some of the crew in with the motor launch. That's risky, yes. But it isn't as risky as landing in any other country would be; and we just don't want to go back to J.I.-as they've taken to calling it these days. You can't blame us. How would you like it?
I wish he'd leave us alone.
The way it goes, we just cruise up and down, and every once in a while he remembers us and calls up on the ship-to-shore. He called yesterday, matter of fact. He said: "You can't stay out there forever, Daddy. Your main engines are due for a refit after eleven months, seven days of running and you've been gone ten months, six. What are you using for dairy products? The load you shipped in Jacksonville must have run out last Thursday week. There isn't any point in your starving yourself. Besides, it's not fair to Gwennie and Mom. Come home. We'll make a place for you in the government."
"Thanks," I said. "But no thanks."
"You'll be sorry," he warned, pleasantly enough. And he hung up.
Well, we should have kept him out of those pills.
I guess it was my fault. I should have listened when old Winnie- heaven rest his soul, wherever he is-said that the lifetime dose was three tablets for every twenty pounds of body weight. The baby only weighed twenty-four pounds then-last time we'd taken him to the pediatrician; naturally, we couldn't take him again after he swallowed the pills. And he must've swallowed at least a dozen.
But I guess Winnie was right.
At the very least, the world is well on its way to being conquered now. The United States fell to Juvens Imperator, as he calls himself (and I blame Margery for that-I never used Latin in front of the kid) in eighteen months, after his sensational coup on the $256,000 Question, and his later success in cornering soybean futures and the common stock of United States Steel. The rest of the world is just a matter of time. And not very much time, at that. And don't they just know it, though; that's why we daren't land abroad.
But who would have thought it?
I mean, I watched his inauguration last October, on the television. The country has had some pretty peculiar people running it, no doubt. But did you ever think you'd live to see the oath of office administered to my little boy, with one hand upraised and the thumb of the other in his mouth?