"William Tenn - The Human Angle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tenn William)

"
I can 't be as unique as I feel I am, " he was saying now. "Other people must be
born with the potential of such great talent, but it's destroyed in them before they can
reach artistic maturity. Why? How? Well, let's examine the role that societyтАФ"
And that's exactly when I first saw it. Just as he got to the word "society," I saw
this purplish ripple in the wall opposite me, the strange, shimmering outline of a box
with a strange, shimmering outline of a man inside the hole.
It was about five feet off the floor and it looked like colored heat waves. Then
there was nothing on the wall.
But it was too late in the year for heat waves. And I've never had optical illusions.
It could be, I decided, that I had seen the beginnings of a new crack in Morniel's
wall. The place wasn 't really a studio, just a drafty cold-water flat that some old
occupant had cleared so as to make one long room. It was on the top floor and the
roof leaked occasionally; the walls were covered with thick, wavy lines in memory of
the paths followed by the trickling water.
But why purple? And why the outline of a man inside a box? That was pretty
tricky, for a simple crack in the wall. And where had it gone?
"
тАФthe eternal conflict with the individual who insists on his individuality," 141orniel
pointed out. "Not to men-tionтАФ "
A series of high musical notes sounded, one after the other, rapidly. And then, in
the center of the room, about two feet above the floor this time, the purple lines
reap-pearedтАФstill hazy, still transparent and still with the outline of a man inside.
Morniel swung his feet off the bed and stared up at it. "What theтАФ" he began.
Once more, the outfit disappeared.
"
W-whatтАФ " Morniel stuttered. "What 's going on?"
"
I don 't know, " I told him. "But whatever it is, I'd say they're slowly zeroing in."
Again those high musical notes. And the purple box came into view with its
bottom resting on the floor. It got darker, darker and more substantial. The notes
kept climbing up the scale and getting fainter and fainter until, when the box was no
longer transparent, they faded away altogether.
A door slid back in the box. A man stepped out, wear-ing clothing that seemed to
end everywhere in curlicues. He looked first at me, then at Morniel.
"Morniel Mathaway? " he inquired.
"Ye-es," Morniel said, backing away toward his re-frigerator.
"
Morniel Mathaway," the man from the box said, "my name is Glescu. I bring you
greetings from 2487 A.D."
Neither of us could think of a topper for that one, so we let it lie there. I got up
and stood beside Morniel, feeling obscurely that I wanted to get as close as possible
to something I was familiar with.
And we all held that position for a while. Tableau.
I thought to myself, 2487 A.D. I'd never seen anyone dressed like that. Even
more, I'd never imagined anyone dressed like that and my imagination can run pretty
wild. The clothing was not exactly transparent and yet not quite opaque. Prismatic is
the word for it, different colors that constantly chased themselves in and out and
around the curlicues. There seemed to be a pattern to it, but nothing that my eyes
could hold down and identify.