"Matt Ruff - Set This House in Order" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ruff Matt)

as a second as far as I knew, and had cut back to one clock per room. We'd fought about that decision,
and about my failure to keep the remaining clocks perfectly synchronized. My casual attitude towards the
VCR clock in particular drove my father crazy: after a power outage or an accidental unplugging, it might
flash 12:00:00 for days before I bothered to reset it.
"It's really not that important," I said, more harshly than I intended to. I was still disappointed
about the shirt. "I'll get around to it."
 My father didn't answer, but I could tell he was frustrated: when I wouldn't look directly at the
VCR, I could feel him trying to use the body's peripheral vision.
"I will get around to it," I insisted, and left the bedroom. I passed through the sitting room --
whose own clock was a scandalous minute ahead of the one on the nightstand -- and went down the side
hallway to the kitchen, where Mrs. Winslow had breakfast waiting.
"Good morning, Andrew," Mrs. Winslow said, before I'd spoken a word. She always knew.
Most mornings it was me at first, but even if I'd given the body to someone else, Mrs. Winslow would
have known, without being told. She was like Adam in that sense, an almost magical reader of persons.
"Did you sleep well?"
"I did, thank you." Ordinarily it's polite to repeat the question back, but Mrs. Winslow was a
chronic insomniac. She slept less well than anyone I knew, except for Seferis, who doesn't sleep at all.
She'd been up since five at least, and had started cooking when she'd heard the shower. It was a
measure of both her kindness and her affection for us that she was willing to do this; like everything else
in the morning, breakfast is a shared activity, and no small effort to prepare. I sat down not to one meal
but to a hybrid of several, each serving carefully proportioned, starting with half a plate of scrambled eggs
and a mug of coffee for me. I ate my fill, then let the others take the body, each soul greeting Mrs.
Winslow in turn.
"Good morning, my dear," Aunt Sam said grandly. Aunt Sam's breakfast portion consisted of a
cup of herbal tea and a slice of wheat toast with mint jelly; she used to smoke half a cigarette, too, but my
father made her give it up in exchange for a little extra time outside. She sipped at the tea and nibbled
daintily at her toast until Adam got impatient and started clearing his throat from the pulpit.
"Good morning, gorgeous," said Adam with mock flirtatiousness. Adam likes to pretend he is a
great ladies' man. In reality, women between the ages of twelve and sixty make him nervous, and if Mrs.
Winslow's hair hadn't been gray, I doubt he'd have had the courage to be so fresh with her. As he
devoured his breakfast -- half an English muffin and a bacon strip -- he gave her his idea of a seductive
wink; but when Mrs. Winslow winked back, Adam startled, sucked bacon down the wrong pipe, and
ended in a fit of coughing.
"Good morning, Mrs. Winslow," Jake said, his high voice raspy from Adam's choking fit. He dug
awkwardly into the little bowl of Cheerios she set out for him. She poured him a tiny glass of orange
juice, too, and he reached too quickly for it. The glass (which was really made of plastic; this had
happened before) went flying.
Jake froze. If he'd been with anyone but Mrs. Winslow, he would have fled the body altogether.
As it was, he hunched up, fists clenched and muscles tense, bracing for a smash across the knuckles or a
punch in the face. Mrs. Winslow was careful not to react too suddenly; she pretended not to even notice
at first, then said, very casually: "Oh dear, I must have put that too close to the edge of the table." She got
up slowly, crossed to the sink, and wet a rag to mop up the spill.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Winslow!" Jake blurted. "I --"
"Jake dear," Mrs. Winslow said, wiping the tabletop, "you do know that Florida is a huge state,
don't you? They have lots of orange juice there; plenty more where this came from." She refilled his
glass, handing it directly to him this time; he took it gingerly in both hands. "There," Mrs. Winslow said.
"No harm done. It only looks like gold." Jake giggled, but he didn't really relax until he was back inside
the house.
Seferis only nodded good morning. His breakfast was the simplest of all: a small plate of salted
radishes, which he popped into his mouth one at a time and crunched like candy. Mrs. Winslow had