"Theodore Sturgeon - The Perfect Host" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sturgeon Theodore)

couldn't see any more.
After a time dad said, "What happened there just as I came up?"
I said, "What happened? Nothing. There was a squirrel."
"I mean, uh, up at the window."
"Oh, I saw a nurse up there."
"Yes, the nurse." He thought for a minute. "Anything else?"
"No. What are you going to call the baby?"
He looked at me strangely. I had to ask him again about the baby's name.
"I don't know yet," he said distantly. "Any ideas?"
"No, dad."
We rode along for quite a while without saying anything. A little frown came and went between
dad's eyes, the way it did when he was figuring something out, whether it was a definition at
charades, or an income tax report, or a problem of my school algebra.
"Dad. You know Homeland pretty well, don't you?"
"I should. Our outfit agented most of those sites. Why?"
"Is there a Homeland Street, or a Homeland Avenue out there?"
"Not a one. The north and south ones are streets, and are named after trees. The east and west
ones are avenues, and are named after flowers. All alphabetical. Why?"
"I just wondered. Is there a number as high as twenty sixty-five?"
"Not yet, though I hope there will be some day ... unless it's a telephone number. Why, Ron?
Where did you get that number?"
"I dunno. Just thought of it. Just wondered. Where are we going to eat?"
We went to the Bluebird.
I suppose I knew then what had gotten into me when the woman jumped; but I didn't think of it,
any more than a redhead goes around thinking to himself "I have red hair" or a taxi-driver says to
himself "I drive a cab."
I knew, that's all. I just knew. I knew the purpose, too, but didn't think of it, any more
than a man thinks and thinks of the place where he works, when he's on his way to work in the
morning.



file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Theodore%20Sturgeon%20-%20The%20Perfect%20Host.txt (2 of 23) [1/5/2005 11:16:11 PM]
 file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Theodore%20Sturgeon%20-%20The%20Perfect%20Host.txt




II

As Told By
BENTON DANIELS


RONNIE'S not an unusual boy. Oh, maybe a little quieter than most, but it takes all kinds. He's
good in school, but not brilliant; averages in the low eighties, good in music and English and
history, weak in math, worse in science than he could be if he cared a little bit more about it.
That day when we left the hospital grounds, though, there was something unusual going on. Yes,
sir. I couldn't make head nor tail of it, and I must say I still can't.
Sometimes I think it's Ronnie, and sometimes I think it was something temporarily wrong with