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

I don't understand you at all, I say.

That's because you're a fool! he snaps. Look at me! I have no money and no
family. I can't feed myself or even sit up.

That's no reason to be so hostile, I say placatingly. I am about to tell him
that his condition is no different from most of my charges, but he speaks
first.

All I have left is my rage. I won't let you take it away; it's all that
separates me from the vegetables here.

I look at him and shake my head sadly. I don't know what made you like this.

153 years made me like this, he says.

I continue staring at him, at the atrophied legs that will never walk again,
at the shriveled arms and skeletal fingers, at the deathmask skull with its
burning, sunken eyes, and I think:Maybejust maybesenility is Nature's way of
making life in such a body tolerable. Maybe you're not as lucky as I thought.

The Major's chin is wet with drool, and I walk over to him and wipe it off.

There, I say. Clean as a whistle.




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Okay,I think, staring down at him.You're not grateful, but at least you don't
hate me for doing what you can no longer do for yourself. Why can't they all
be like you? * * * *

Why don't you ask for a transfer to another ward if he's bothering you that
much? asks Felicia.

What would I say? I reply. That this old man who can't even roll over without
help is driving me away?

Just tell them you want a change.

I shake my head. My work is important to me. Mycharges are inportant to me. I
can't turn my back on them just because he makes my life miserable.

Maybe you should sit down and figure outwhy he upsets you.

He makes me think uncomfortable thoughts.

What kind of uncomfortable thoughts?