"Richard Wadholm - Orange Groves Out to the Horizon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wadholm Richard)

 ORANGE GROVES OUT TO THE HORIZON


She handed me a vial through the door, brown glass with a cork
stopper. Did she know what was in it? I tried to ask her, the door closed in
my face.
I dumped the ricin at an oil reclamation center, behind an auto parts
store. Not an ideal solution, I admit it. But better than dumping it in the
ocean. Anybody messing with used oil is already dressed for hazardous
waste. Besides, what did it matter? We were all going to die anyway.
The talk radio going home was all about a new particle collider being
built in Switzerland, which might liberate enough energy to create an
тАЬexotic vacuum state,тАЭ which would spread at the speed of light to engulf
the entire universe, eliminating all life as we know it.
Why anyone would do something like this was a topic on all the call-in
shows. Much hysteria. EveryoneтАЩs having a hell of a good time.
I mean, letтАЩs be honest. So long as weтАЩre all dying together, it seems like
a game, doesnтАЩt it?
And then thereтАЩs the message waiting on my answering machine. The
results of my prostate exam are in, my doctor wants to talk. Nothing to
worry about, Mr. Hostettler. But weтАЩd like to run a few follow-ups just to
see what weтАЩve got here.
I got a cold clutch in the pit of my stomach, that no exotic vacuum state
could touch.
You are supposed to sit down and have a drink at a time like this. A stiff
Scotch, thatтАЩs the traditional sacrament for mortal news. I looked in the
refrigerator, and came up with a Red Bull. For comfort, I put on the Crosby
Stills & Nash album.
ItтАЩs amazing how nostalgic you can get about the future, especially at
the moment it drains away. All the apocalyptic vision of Wooden Ships
seemed suddenly quaint. Old enemies escaping together to where the wind
is fair and the wine is sweet, and the world can start over. ItтАЩs nice, isnтАЩt it?
Let me tell you my vision of the future. One of them, anyway. The one
that sticks with me now, as IтАЩm sitting at my breakfast nook, amid the junk
mail from last week and a half-empty box of Frosted Shredded Wheat.
I think I must have been fifteen, and just thinking about heading off to
college, and what my life as a young man would be like.
Katy Grossman is with me. She has that college girl look. You knowтАФ
not beautiful, but good looking. We share an apartment in Alhambra, or


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RICHARD WADHOLM


Westwood, overlooking an urban park. Our walls are a gallery of black light
posters. The coffee table shows off our тАЬdisplay bong,тАЭ though we keep an
everyday water pipe in the closet. We listen to space rock operas on the
stereo and discuss тАЬseriousтАЭ science fiction.
All the talk about children is still a couple of years away. Just the same,