"Charles Stross - A Boy And His God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

A Boy and his God




A Boy and his God
(Length: 4500 words approximately)




Once upon a time Howie had a god. It lived in the kennel where Juniper the mongrel had stayed until he
died the winter before. Howie's mom Sophie was of the opinion that a pet god represented better value
for money. After all, it didn't wake you up barking whenever the postwoman came by. And you didn't
have to have a licence for one, either.

Howie was inconsolable when Juniper died. They'd grown up together, been playmates for all of
Howie's twelve years, and though Howie never did learn to wag his tail -- or Juniper to to do his sums --
they understood one another perfectly. He sobbed and wailed and wept rivers when Juniper was run
over, and sulked all March until Fred Phillips said to his wife, "Don't you think it's about time we got
something to replace Juniper?"

Sophie Phillips rolled her eyes. "Pooper-scooper, she muttered; flea powder, bath time, walks in the rain.
Are you crazy?"

Do not be decieved; it wasn't that Sophie didn't like animals. She loved them; she'd been so crazy about
Juniper that having to take him to the vet had broken her heart. It wasn't the worming and the whining
that worried her, but the thought of going through the trauma of the accident again. Her husband realised
this, and being who he was he waited impatiently until she pushed her reading glasses up the bridge of
her nose with one finger, and -- knowing that at such a moment she would be distracted enough to pay
full attention -- he asked the fateful question; "Yes, but why don't we get him something else? A god, for
instance?"

Sophie looked at him questioningly, and in that moment of locked gazes they thought with one mind:
and their thought was this. Hounds die on you, hounds need toilet training, hounds mean hassle; but
household gods are trouble-free. What could go wrong with a minor deity?

She nodded significantly. "I think it's time we went for a little drive," she said, looking at Howie.
Howie's eyes were downcast as he dug his spoon into his shreddies with a desultory action perfected
long ages ago in the salt mines; Fred cleared his throat loudly, and Howie looked up.

"Your mother was speaking to you, said Fred. What do you say?"

"Aw ... what?" Howie spooned another mouthful of cereal, playing for time. Sophie smiled tenderly at
him. Fred was of the opinion that she spoiled Howie silly but he kept his mouth shut. Sophie had a

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 A Boy and his God

degree in child psychology and Fred was in awe of it.