"Jack Vance - Green Magic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

observing the singing joy of an improvised manifestation by one of the sprites, and contrasting it to his
own labored constructions, he felt futility and shame.

The longer he remained in the green realm, the stronger grew the sense of his own maladroitness, and he
began to long for the easy environment of Earth, where each of his acts would not shout aloud of
vulgarity and crassness. At times he would watch the sprites (in the gossamer forms natural to them) at
play among the pearl-petals, or twining like quick flashes of music through the forest of pink spirals.
The contrast between their verve and his brutish fumbling could not be borne and he would turn away.
His self-respect dwindled with each passing hour, and instead of pride in his learning, he felt a sullen
ache for what he was not and could never become. The first few hundred years he worked with the
enthusiasm of ignorance, for the next few he was buoyed by hope. During the last part of his time, only
dogged obstinacy kept him plodding through what now he knew for infantile exercises.



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 Green Magic

In one terrible bittersweet spasm, he gave up. He found Jaadian weaving tinkling fragments of various
magics into a warp of shining long splines. With grave courtesy, Jaadian gave Fair his attention, and Fair
laboriously set forth his meaning.

Jaadian returned a message. "I recognize your discomfort, and extend my sympathy. It is best that you
now return to your native home."

He put aside his weaving and conveyed Fair down through the requisite vortices. Along the way they
passed Misthemar. No flicker of meaning was expressed or exchanged, but Howard Fair thought to feel
a tinge of faintly malicious amusement.



Howard Fair sat in his apartment. His perceptions, augmented and sharpened by his sojourn in the green
realm, took note of the surroundings. Only two hours before, by the clocks of Earth, he had found them
both restful and stimulating; now they were neither. His books: superstition, spuriousness, earnest
nonsense. His private journals and workbooks: a pathetic scrawl of infantilisms. Gravity tugged at his
feet, held him rigid. The shoddy construction of the house, which heretofore he never had noticed,
oppressed him. Everywhere he looked he saw slipshod disorder, primitive filth. The thought of the food
he must now eat revolted him.

He went out on his little balcony which overlooked the street. The air was impregnated with organic
smells. Across the street he could look into windows where his fellow humans lived in stupid squalor.

Fair smiled sadly. He had tried to prepare himself for these reactions, but now was surprised by their
intensity. He returned into his apartment. He must accustom himself to the old environment. And after
all there were compensations. The most desirable commodities of the world were now his to enjoy.



Howard Fair plunged into the enjoyment of these pleasures. He forced himself to drink quantities of
expensive wines, brandies, liqueurs, even though they offended his palate. Hunger overcame his nausea,