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

body.
There was a family portrait that hung in the Victorian's entrance foyer: a younger, darker-haired
Mrs. Winslow with her late husband and her two sons, all of them standing on the front lawn of the
Victorian back before it was renovated. I always slowed down a little going past that photo, ever since
my father had told me the story of what happened; today I actually stopped, until Mrs. Winslow came up
behind me and steered me forward out the front door.
Outside, the sky was unseasonably clear, the only visible clouds huddled in a group around
Mount Winter to the east. Mrs. Winslow handed me a bag lunch (one complete meal; lunch isn't shared).
She wished me a good day, then took a seat in the swing chair on the porch to wait for the morning mail.
The postman wasn't due for another few hours yet, but she'd wait just the same, just as she always
waited, bundling up in an old quilt if it got too cold.
"Will you be all right, Mrs. Winslow?" I asked before leaving. "Do you need anything?"
"I'll be fine, Andrew. Just come home safe, that's all I need."
"Don't worry," I told her. "If anyone tries anything, I'll have them outnumbered." This is an old
multiple's joke, usually good for a polite smile at least, but today Mrs. Winslow only patted my arm and
said: "Go on, then. Don't make yourselves late."
I started down the front walk. At the sidewalk I turned back to look; Mrs. Winslow had picked
up a magazine and was reading, or pretending to read. She looked very small against the side of the
Victorian, very small and very alone -- really alone, in a way I could only imagine. I wondered what that
must be like, and whether it was easier or harder than always having other souls for company.
"Don't worry about her," Adam said from the pulpit. "She'll be fine."
"I think the newscast really bothered her."
"It didn't bother her," Adam mocked me. "It pissed her off. And it should. You want to worry,
worry about people who don't get mad, hearing about a thing like that."
I waved to Mrs. Winslow one last time and made myself start walking. When we were down the
block and the Victorian was out of sight behind us, I said: "Do you think they'll catch him? Warren
Lodge, I mean."
"I hope so," said Adam. "I hope he gets punished, whether they catch him or not."
"What do you mean?"
"It's just a thing that happens sometimes. Sometimes people think they've gotten away with
something, think they've fooled everybody, only it turns out they haven't. They get punished after all."
"How?" I asked. "By who?"
But Adam didn't want to talk about it anymore. "We'll just hope a policeman gets him," he said.
Then he went back in the house, and didn't come out again until we were almost at the Factory.



2

I worked at the Reality Factory on East Bridge Street. My boss there, Julie Sivik, was also the
first real friend I ever made on my own.
When my father first called me out, he was working as a restocker for Bit Warehouse, a big
computer outlet store just off Interstate 90 between Autumn Creek and Seattle. The original plan was
that I would take over for him there, just as I took over all the other aspects of running the body, but it
didn't work out. Being an effective restocker means knowing where things go, knowing where to find
them again after they've gone, and -- because of Bit Warehouse's "Ask Anybody" customer service
policy -- knowing what they're actually used for once they're found. After three years on the job, my
father had all that knowledge, but I didn't.
This is one of those metaphysical issues that people who aren't multiple have a hard time
grasping. Obviously, in creating me, my father had given me a great deal of practical knowledge. I came