"Theodore Sturgeon - The Dreaming Jewels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sturgeon Theodore)

cords were more gently shaped than her husband's. Her face showed the same
implacable cold.
"Well, I -- just felt like it, I guess." Horty put his books and catcher's mitt down on
the footstool.
Tonta turned her face away from him and made an unspellable, retching syllable.
Armand strode back in, bearing a tinkling glass.
"Never heard anything like it in my life," he said scornfully. "I suppose it's all over
the school?"
"I guess so."
"The children? The teachers too, no doubt. But of course. Anyone say anything to
you?"
"Just Dr. Pell." He was the principal. "He said -- said they could ... "
"Speak up!"
Horty had been through it once. Why, why go through it all again? "He said the
school could get along without f-filthy savages."
"I can understand how he felt," Tonta put in, smugly.
"And what about the other kids? They say anything?"
"Hecky brought me some worms. And Jimmy called me Sticky-tongue." And Kay
Hallowell had laughed, but he didn't mention that.
"Sticky-tongue. Not bad, that, for a kid. Ant-eater." Again the hand clapped
against the brow. "My God, what am I going to do if Mr. Anderson greets me with 'Hi
Sticky-tongue!' Monday morning? This will be all over town, sure as God made little
apples." He fixed Horty with the sharp wet points of his gaze. "And do you plan to
take up bug-eating as a profession?"
"They weren't bugs," Horty said diffidently and with accuracy. "They were ants.
The little brown kind."
Tonta choked on her highball. "Spare us the details."
"My God," Armand said again, "what'll he grow up as?" He mentioned two
possibilities. Horty understood one of them. The other made even the knowledgeable
Tonta jump. "Get out of here."
Horty went to the stairs while Armand thumped down exasperatedly beside Tonta.
"I've had mine," he said. "I'm full up to here. That brat's been the symbol of failure
to me ever since I laid eyes on his dirty face. This place isn't big enough -- Horton!"
"Huh."
"Come back here and take your garbage with you. I don't want to be reminded
that you're in the house."
Horty came back slowly, staying out of Armand Bluett's reach, picked up his books
and the catcher's mitt, dropped a pencil-box -- at which Armand my-Godded again --
picked it up, almost dropped the mitt, and finally fled up the stairs.
"The sins of the stepfathers," said Armand, "are visited on the stepfathers, even
unto the thirty-fourth irritation. What have I done to deserve this?"
Tonta swirled her drink, keeping her eyes on it and her lips pursed appreciatively
as she did so. There had been a time when she disagreed with Armand. Later, there
was a time when she disagreed and said nothing. All that had been too wearing. Now
she kept an appreciative exterior and let it soak in as deeply as it would. Life was so
much less trouble that way.
Once in his room, Horty sank down on the edge of the bed with his arms still full
of his books. He did not close the door because there was none, due to Armand's
conviction that privacy was harmful for youngsters. He did not turn on the light
because he knew everything in the room, knew it with his eyes closed. There was