"Gene Wolfe - Paul's Treehouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

said. The Scotch was lying like a pool of mercury in his empty stomach.

"You mean he's up there now?"

Neither of them had heard Shelia come out. "He's been up there since Thursday." She
sounded unconcerned.

Morris turned to face her and saw that she was wearing a quilted pink housecoat. Her hair
was still in curlers. He said, "You didn't have to get up so early."

"I wanted to." She yawned. "I set the clock-radio for six. It's going to be hot in town, and
I want to be right there when the stores open."

"I wouldn't go today," Russell said.

"I'm not going down there--I'm going to the good stores." Shelia yawned again. Without
makeup, Morris thought, she looked too old to have a son as young as Paul. He did
himself, he knew, but Sheila usually looked younger to him; especially when he had had
something to drink. "Did you hear about the National Guard, though," she added when
she had finished the yawn.

Russell shook his head.

"You know how somebody said they were shooting at everything and doing more
damage than the rioters? Well, they're going to protest that. I heard it on the radio.
They're going to hold a march of their own today."

Russell was no longer listening. He leaned back to look at Paul's treehouse again.

"Ever since Thursday," Sheila said. "Isn't that a scream?"

Morris surprised himself by saying, "I don't think so, and I'm going to make him come
down today." Sheila looked at him coolly.

"How does he live up there?" Russell asked.
"Oh, he's got a blanket and things," Shelia said.

Morris said slowly, "While I was at the office Thursday he took blankets out of the linen
closet and a lot of canned food and fruit juice out of the pantry and carried it all up there."

"It's good for him," Sheila said. "He's got his radio and scout knife and whatnot, too. He
wants to get away and be on his own. So let him. He'll come down when he's hungry,
that's what I tell Morris, and meanwhile we know where he is."

"I'm going to make him come down today," Morris repeated, but neither of them heard
him.

When they went away--Sheila to start breakfast, Russell, presumably, to finish clipping
his side of the hedge--Morris remained where he was, staring up at the treehouse. After
two or three minutes he walked over to the trunk and laid a hand on the rough bark. He