"Christopher Stasheff - A Wizard In Rhyme 03 - The Witch Doctor (fa)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

Didn't work. The other kids could tell. All I succeeded in doing
was acting phony.
Why bother?
Of course, things picked up a little in high school, because there
was a literary magazine, and a drama club, so I got back onto civil
terms with some of the other kids. Not the "in" crowd, of course, but
they bored me, so I didn't care. Much.
So all in all, I wasn't really prepared for college.
Academically, sure-but socially? I mean, I hadn't had a real friend in
ten yearsand all of a sudden, I had a dozen. Not close friends, of
course, but people who smiled and sat down in my booth at the coffee
shop.
Who can blame me if I didn't do any homework?
My profs, that's who. And the registrar, who sent me the little
pink slip with the word probation worked in there. And my academic
counselor, who pointed out that I was earning a quick exit visa from
the Land of Friendship. So I declared an English major, where at least
half of the homework was reading the books I'd already read for
recreation-Twain, and Dickens, and Melville. I discovered Fielding,
and Chaucer, and Joyce, and had more fun. Of course ' I had to take a
grammar course and write term papers, so I learned how to sneak in a
few hours at the library. I didn't take any honors, but I stayed in.
Then I discovered philosophy, and found out that I actually wanted
to go to the library. I started studying without realizing it-it was
so much fun, such a colossal, idiotic, senseless puzzle. Nobody had
any good answers to the big questions, but at least they were asking.
My answers? I was looking for them. That was enough.
So I studied for fun, and almost learned how to party. Never got
very good at it, but I tried-and by my senior year, I even had a couple
of friends who trusted me enough to tell me their troubles.
Not that I ever told them mine, of course. I tried once or twice,
but stopped when I saw the eyes glaze. I figured out that most people
want to talk, but they don't want to listen. It followed from that,
logically, that what they liked about me was that I listened, but
didn't talk. So I didn't. I got a reputation for being the strong and
silent type, just by keeping my mouth shut. I also found out, by
overhearing at a party, that they thought I was the Angry Young Man.
I thought that one over and decided they were right. I was angry
about people. Even the ones I liked, mostly. They wanted to take, but
they didn't want to give. They cared about fighting, but they didn't

care about brains. They spent their time trying to get from one
another, and they didn't care about why they were here.
Oh, don't get me wrong-they were good people. But they didn't
care about me, really. I was a convenience.

Except for Matt.
Matt was already working on his M.A. when I met him, and by the
time I graduated, he was making good progress on his PhD.
So what was I going to do when I got my degree? Leave town, and