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

uniforms, the boys in blue. Each has a large golden cross hanging from a golden chain around his or her
neck. There is no sunlight, but the crosses glitter as though the sun were high and bright. "Phalanx!" cries
the Leader, and the second, fourth, and six lines take one-half-step to the right. "Close lines, lower
spears and advance!"
The phalanx now approaches the woman, its spearheads glittering in the nonexistent sunlight.
Terrified, she tries to back away from the solid line of spears, but comes immediately into contact with
the fa├зade of a building. Then she tries to run up the street, but the phalanx curves inward, blocking her. I
am standing in a nearby doorway. I knew what the children are before I entered the dream. They are
those she would have given birth to if she had not defied the Church and taken birth-control pills. I know
she will awake before they reach her, but I must stop her from dreaming of them again. I remove my belt,
walk over to her, kneel on one knee and pull her down across the other. I raise her dress, pull down her
panties and begin beating her with my belt across her bare buttocks. She screams in pain. The phalanx
halts, and the children lower their spears and begin laughing. A moment later the dream ends. It will never
recur.
A young man is climbing a cliff. He is not a mountain climber and he is terrified. He has reached a
part of the cliff above which he cannot find a handhold. His present position is precarious, and shortly he
will fall. He will then awake. I have deduced from his description of the recurrent dream that the cliff is
the university at which he is taking a pre-med course, and I have concluded that he does not have the
right qualifications to become a doctor. He cannot climb higher because he does not want to climb
higher, and it is this that he must admit to himself.
I have positioned myself a considerable distance above him, and now I drop him a rope. "You must
swing 'way to the right," I shout down. "There is a ledge there." Desperately he seizes the rope, kicks out
and makes a pendulum pitch to the ledge. It is a good-sized ledge, and there is a wide fissure leading up
from it to the top of the cliff. So now, instead of awakening, he climbs up the fissure. It is such an easy
climb that he realizes it is the logical way for him to climb the cliff and that he should abandon the
previous route altogether, even though the new route will take him to a different eminence. When he
reaches the eminence, he is enchanted by the view and freed from his impasse.
Such dreams!

I used to enter many of my wife's dreams.
I have chased her again, and have returned to my cave. It seems that this time when I awoke I had
slept for ages.
I entered her dreams out of curiosity at first. I merely wanted to know what she dreamed of. I would
take a cuiranum before going to bed, and then, lying beside her in the darkness, I would slip my
dream-self into her mind.
Her dreams were simple affairs, and they bored me. But I was already bored. With her. And it irked
me to find that she was as innocent as she seemed.
Her simplicity had always been an affront to my intelligence. She embarrassed me at parties, saying
the wrong thing, laughing the wrong time at a joke, or not laughing when she should. And then there was
this thing I had going with Janice Rowlin. All of my patients were richтАФthey had to be to afford meтАФbut
Janice was filthy rich. Her parents had built a castle on the Hudson. Like many of my female patients, she
had fallen in love with me. She was an only child, and would someday inherit her parents' fortune. But
money did not comprise her sole fascination. She was sophisticated, cultured, intelligentтАФeverything
Cheryl was not. I wanted to marry her, but Cheryl was old-fashioned, and I knew I would have to fight
for a divorce and feared that the publicity would hurt my practice.
There are two diametrically different ways an endo-analyst can set about killing someone. He can do
so from withoutтАФor from within.
Cheryl often dreamt of water. She would dream she was standing on a seashore and she would see a
huge wave approaching the beach. A tsunami. She would turn and begin to run. I began tripping her,
adding to the agony of the experience. She would go sprawling, roll over and see the great wave almost