"Mike Resnick - Hothouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

I don't have any Bernards, she says. It's not the kind of name they give to
flowers.

It doesn't matter.

Suddenly her face brightens. I do have a gold flower, thoughaMesembryanthemum
criniflorum. I can call it Goldie, or even Goldmeier.

It's not important.

But it is, she insists. For years it's been how we compare our days. She
smiles. It makes me feel closer to you, caring for flowers with the same
names.

Fine, I say. Call it whatever you want.

You seemshe searches for the wordupset.

He troubles me.

Oh? Why?

I love my work, I begin.

I know you do.

And it's meaningful work, I continue, trying to keep the resentment from my
voice. Maybe I'm not a doctor, but I stand guard over them and hold Death at
bay. That's important, isn't it?

Of course it is, she says soothingly.

He belittles it.

That doesn't mean a thing, says Felicia, reaching across the table and taking
my hand. You know how they get when they're that old.

Yes, I know how they get. But he's not like them. He soundsI don't knownormal,
like me; that's the upsetting part.

He doesn't seem irrational, I say aloud. Just bitter.

Enough bitterness will make anyone irrational.

I know, I say. But...

But what?

Well, it's going to sound juvenile and selfish...