"Robert F. Young - Darkspace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

I am not going to try to get out of the valley by walking in the other direction. I know that if I do I will
merely come back to where I set out from. An odd term has come into my mind. "Mobius strip." Yes, a
curvature of space; That is what the valley isтАФa curvature of space. A tri-dimensional MObius strip. A
cruel cul-de-sac which it is impossible for me to escape from and to which only the girl has the key.

I have remembered food. People eat food in order to survive. I am a person. Why do I not need
food?
Why do I not need water? One also needs water to survive. Why am I never cold or hot?

I have remembered my name. It came to me while I was chasing the girl through the woods.
Wishman. Charles Wishman.
The name brings other names to mind. John Ranch. Carl Jung.
Immanuel Kant. Paul Cuiran. Janice Rowlin. Cheryl Wishman... Is Cheryl the name of the girl?
She has my last name. Can she be . . . my wife?
I concentrate on the word "wife." It is a while before I can graspтАФrememberтАФits meaning. When I
do I am bewildered. If Cheryl Wishman is my wife, why do I want to kill her?

Today, in my eagerness to catch the girl, I tackle her. I cling tightly to her legs as she falls, but
somehow she manages to kick free. Her feet are bare, and one of them strikes me in the throat. But I do
not even feel the blow.
After she gains her feet she glances at me over her shoulder. Her face is masked with fear, but I can
see beyond the mask to the familiar features, and now I know definitely that she was my wife. Was?
Why do I say "was?" She must still be my wife. But if she is my wife, why do I want to kill her? At length
the answer comes: Because she killed you.
But it is the wrong answer. I know now that she killed me, although I do not remember how or why;
but that is not why I want to kill her. I want to kill her because she expects me to want to.
I am up on my feet now, and running after her through the woods. But as always she reaches the
stream before I can catch her, crosses it and disappears.

I sit on the floor of my cave, thinking. My awareness periods are growing longer and longer.
Why did my wife kill me?
Why am I not dead?
A new word comes into my mind. Endo-analyst.
It is a key word, and it unlocks much of what I am trying to remember.
I was an endo-analyst. I studied Cuiranism at the John Ranch School of Endo-psychology. I opened
a practice on Beech Street in the subcity of Forestview, N.A. I bought a hillhouse on the outskirts and
settled down there with my wife, Cheryl. We had many friends. We threw parties and went to parties our
friends threw. My practice thrived. During deer season Cheryl and I often went hunting.
But I cannot grasp/remember what Cuiranism means.

Today the girlтАФno, I will call her Cheryl, for Cheryl is who she isтАФtoday Cheryl falls while running
down the hill. But she twists aside when I try to leap upon her, and I can find no purchase, and roll
halfway down the slope. She beats me to the valley floor, and as I plunge into the woods after her I hear
myself screaming the word "murderess" over and over. It is as though she put the word into my mouth.

I have it! Cuiranism is Paul Cuiran's theory of the nature of dreams.
Of the nature of reality.
But it is more than just a theory. Long ago, he turned it into fact. But Freudian analysts have refused
to accept it as such. They keep trying to laugh Cuiran away.
They have been unable to do so.