"Geoff Ryman - Home" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ryman Geoff)

Brunnhilde explains the rationale for me. "They're killing themselves with all
that booze and fags." I remembered the yellow tips of that boy's fingers.
"Then let them do it in peace, you don't have to help them."
Oh dear. I'm shocked again. I can't accept that nice young people on a date
will kill someone as part of the evening's entertainment. In my day, you felt
racy if you fell down in the gutter. Stoned was lying on your back upside down
and realizing you were trying to crawl across the sky.
"They're just using up resources," says Brunnhilde, and she stands up, and
starts to case the joint. Her upper lip is working as her tongue runs back and
forth over her teeth. It looks as though she has a mouthful of weasels. "You
live here all alone, then?" she asks.
"I was married," I say.
"Nice place. Aren't you a bit scared living here all alone? With all this
stuff9" She is fingering my Yemeni dagger. A souvenir of a very different time
and place.
"Some of it must be worth a packet. Don't you feel unprotected?"
"Yes," I say. "All the time."
"Yeah. You could be here all alone and someone come in." She's taken the
dagger out of its decorated sheath. It's curved and it gleams. It's not very
sharp. It would hurt.
"In the end, it's all just things," I say.
"Oh, can I have some of them, then?" she asks, and giggles. I'm rather pleased
to report that I was not frightened, simply aware of what was going on.
"Look at the poor old geezer," said Brunnhilde. "Using up space. Using up
food." She looked at Gertrude. "Let's put him out of his misery."
"Honestly, Brum, you're such a wanker!" Gertrude said, and threw a pillow at
her. "I mean, your idea of sport is to pitch into my old Grumps? Well, you do
like a pulse-pounder, don't you?"
Brunnhilde looked downcast, as though she had failed to be elected Head Girl.
Gertrude was on her feet. "Come on, let's get you out before Grumps does you
some collateral. Honestly. You can be so naff sometimes."
"All right then!" said Brunnhilde, biting back rather ineffectively. "Social
work is not my forte anyway." She took a final slurp of my fruit juice. As she
held the glass, she curled her little finger delicately away from it. Then
Gertrude bundled her towards the door.
"See you later, Grumps. I'll take this wild woman off your hands."
"I wasn't frightened, you know." I said. I wanted her to know that.
"Course not. You're the hard type that goes to Waterloo." They both laughed,
and the door closed. I heard Gertrude say outside. "S'all right. I'll get it
all when he dies anyway."

I'm reasonably certain that Gertrude saved my life, but I don't think she
thought that was very important. She did it rather as one might stop someone
putting his greasy head on the anti-macassars. I am so grateful for small
favors.

But at least I understood what was happening
I miss Amy, of course. I sometimes wonder if things would be any different if
we'd had children, grandchildren. They would have turned out like Gertrude, I
expect. Strangers, complete strangers, no matter how often I talked to them.