"Robert Rankin - The Fandom of the Operator" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robert Rankin)

had a name for it back then. All thatwas Uncle Tony had died before his body did. His personality, along
with his understanding, his memories, his recognition, gone. Sowhat of Uncle Tony was going to the
afterlife? In my opinion, nothing. The way I saw it, when you were dead, you were dead. Gone, finished,
goodbye.

But I was torn, you see, because I could understand the point of being alive (I thought) but I couldn't
understand the point of being dead. And I felt sure that there had to be a point. That's been my problem
all along, I suppose, thinking that therehas to be a point. It's been tricky for me.

Difficult.

Difficult times. Difficult thoughts.

But I was young then, so I can forgive myself



`Wotchadoin'?'

I opened my eyes and beheld my bestest friend. His name was David Rodway. Answering to Dave.
Dave was short and dark and dodgy. A born criminal. I know there are lots of arguments, the
nature-versus-nurture stuff I know all that and I don't know the answer. But Dave was dodgy, dodgy
from young, from the very first day I met him back in the infant school. But dodgy is compelling, dodgy is
glamorous -- don't ask me why, but it is. I liked Dave, liked him a lot. I was his bestest friend.

`Hello, Dave,' said I.

`I've just been round your house,' said Dave. `Your daddy was fighting with your Uncle Jon.'

`Was he winning?' I asked.

`No. Your uncle had him down and was belabouring him with his blind--man's stick.'

`Good,' saidI.`My daddy clicked my jaw out once again.'

`Never mind,' said Dave. `One day you will be big and your daddy will be old and frail and then you
can bash him about at your leisure. You could even lock him in a trunk in the cellar, feeding him dead
mice through a hole and giving him no toilet paper at all.'

`That's a comforting thought,' saidI.`And offers some happy prospects for the future.'

`Glad to be of assistance.' Dave climbed onto the Doveston marble bed and lay down next to me. `I
figured you'd be here,' he said. `You being so morbid and everything. You always come here when
there's fighting in your house.'

`There's usually fighting in my house,' I said. `If it's not my dad and my uncle, then it's my dad and my
mum.

`What about your brother?'