"Kim Stanley Robinson - A History Of The Twentieth Century2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

effort to stay to the left rather than the right where his instincts shrieked he should be. Right and left had
to be reversed on that level, but kept the same at foot level - reversed concerning which hand went on
the gearshift, but not reversed for what the gearshift did - and it all began to blur and mix, until finally a
huge lorry rushed head first at him and he veered left, but hit the gas rather than the brakes. At the
unexpected lurch forward he swerved farther left to be safe, and that ran his left wheels off the asphalt
and into a muddy gutter, causing the car to bounce back onto the road. He hit the brakes hard and the
lorry roared by his ear. The car skidded over the wet asphalt to a halt. He pulled over and turned on the
emergency blinker. As he got out of the car he saw that the driver's side mirror was gone. There was
nothing there but a rectangular depression in the metal, four rivet holes slightly flared to the rear, and one
larger hole for the mirror adjustment mechanism, missing as well. He went to the other side of the car to
remind himself what the Sierra's side mirrors looked like. A solid metal and plastic mounting. He walked
a hundred yards back down the road, looking through the dusk for the missing one, but he couldn't find it
anywhere. The mirror was gone.
Outside Edinburgh he stopped and called Alec, a friend from years past. "What? Frank Churchill? Hello!
You're here? Come on by, then." Frank followed his directions into the city center, past the train station
to a neighborhood of narrow streets. Reversed parallel parking was almost too much for him; it took four
tries to get the car next to the curb. The Sierra bumped over paving stones to a halt. He killed the engine
and got out of the car, but his whole body continued to vibrate, a big tuning fork humming in the twilight.
Shops threw their illumination over passing cars. Butcher, baker, Indian deli. Alec lived on the third floor.
"Come in, man, come in." He looked harried. "I thought you were in America! What brings you here?" "I
don't know." Alec glanced sharply at him, then led him into the flat's kitchen and living area. The window
had a view across rooftops to the castle. Alec stood in the kitchen, uncharacteristically silent. Frank put
down his backpack and walked over to look out at the castle, feeling awkward. In the old days he and
Andrea had trained up several times to visit Alec and Suzanne, a primatologist. At that time those two
had lived in a huge three-storied flat in the New Town, and when Frank and Andrea had arrived the four
of them would stay up late into the night, drinking brandy and talking in a high-ceilinged Georgian living
room. During one stay they had all driven into the Highlands, and another time Frank and Andrea had
stayed through a festival week, the four attending as many plays as they could. But now Suzanne and
Alec had gone their ways, and Frank and Andrea were divorced, and Alec lived in a different flat; and
that whole life had disappeared. "Did I come at a bad time?" "No, actually." A clatter of dishes as Alec
worked at the sink. "I'm off to dinner with some friends, you'll join us - you haven't eaten?" "No. I won't
be-" "No. You've met Peg and Rog before, I think. And we can use the distraction, I'm sure. We've all
been to a funeral this morning. Friends of ours, their kid died. Crib death, you know." "Jesus. You mean
it just... "Sudden infant death syndrome, yeah. Dropped him off at day care and he went off during his
nap. Five months old." "Jesus." "Yeah." Alec went to the kitchen table and filled a glass from a bottle of
Laphroaig. "Want a whisky?" "Yes, please." Alec poured another glass, drank his down. "I suppose the
idea these days is that a proper funeral helps the parents deal with it. So Tom and Elyse came in carrying
the coffin, and it was about this big." He held his hands a foot apart. "No." "Yeah. Never seen anything
like it." They drank in silence.
The restaurant was a fashionably bohemian seafood place, set above a pub. There Frank and Alec
joined Peg and Rog, another couple, and a woman named Karen. All animal behaviorists, and all headed
out to Africa in the next couple of weeks - Rog and Peg to Tanzania, the rest to Rwanda. Despite their
morning's event the talk was quick, spirited, wide-ranging; Frank drank wine and listened as they
discussed African politics, the problems of filming primates, rock music. Only once did the subject of the
funeral come up, and then they shook their heads; there wasn't much to say. Stiff upper lip. Frank said, "I
suppose it's better it happened now than when the kid was three or four." They stared at him. "Oh no,"
Peg said. "I don't think so." Acutely aware that he had said something stupid, Frank tried to recover: "I
mean, you know, they've more time to...." He shook his head, foundering. "It's rather comparing
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