"Ian Watson - Early, In The Evening" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

television.
And so many more people too! What had been a large village would have
grown into a town. The Lucases would be able to invite their closest
friends Paul and Sally Devizes over.
Closest friends, nearest neighbours -- though only later in the day. Paul
and Sally did not share the earlier hours with the Lucases. A science
programme on television had hypothesised that small disconnected bubbles
of existence progressively combined into bigger bubbles which all finally
merged. The past had frothed; the past had foamed. All of those earlier
micro-bubbles were synchronous in some higher dimension. They shared the
same historical past. Yet in ordinary dimensionality the occupants simply
did not interact.
Thus there was no contradiction in shared experience: of strip-fields and
hovels, of common meadow and cattle, of work and woodland, of the rutted
muddy tracks. Nonetheless, each bubble remained a world unto itself until
the bubbles joined and people were reunited with one another -- as well as
with their real homes and their cars and their electronics.
While the Lucases and the Devizes had been watching that science show
about time-bubbles in Richard and Elisabeth's lounge, Jonathon and
Margaret were horsing around upstairs with Paul and Sally's lad Philip.
The kids were out of the way.
Paul Devizes joked to Richard, "Suppose I was to stay here tonight?
Suppose you were to sleep at our place, Rich! Tomorrow morning would I be
in your bubble, and would you be in mine? Until the evening came!"
"That reminds me of some Dylan song," said Sally.
Elisabeth frowned. "Father Hopkins wouldn't approve."
"From what you say," hinted Paul, "your Father Hopkins is getting into
paganism."
"He's probably at that history club in town right now," said Sally -- as
though maybe they should all drive into the centre to consult the priest
on the etiquette of Paul's suggestion. She raised an eyebrow teasingly,
but Elisabeth burst into tears. Richard's wife shook with sobs.
She whimpered. "I can't stand it much longer."
Richard hastened to comfort her with hugs.
"Can anyone? We pretend that life can be normal. At least in the evenings!
Of course it isn't. What else can we do?"
"Evenings are for enjoyment," Sally said briskly. "They have to be, or
else we'd go crazy. Don't go crazy on us, Liz. It'll be bad for the kids."

Paul grimaced. "We oughtn't to have watched that wretched programme. What
can those experts tell us?"
What indeed?
Newspapers appeared when the technology and appropriate buildings and
delivery vans emerged. Radio began to broadcast as civilisation advanced
-- followed by television stations and aerials and sets... The media never
offered any really new enlightenment. With minor variations, today was
always the same ultimate day. Editorials and broadcasts spoke of the Flux,
the Collapse of the Continuum. In spite of a definite pressure to conform
to one's surroundings, the present day wasn't merely a repeat of the
previous day. Else, how would anyone be aware of a succession of days?