"Robert F. Young - On the River" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

On the River
Farrell was beginning to think that he had the River all to himself when he saw the girl. He had been
traveling downstream for nearly two days nowтАФRiver days, that is. He had no way of knowing for
certain, but he was convinced that River time had very little to do with real time. There were days and
nights here, yes, and twenty-four hours elapsed between each dawn. But there was a subtle difference
between time as he had known it once and time as he knew it now.
The girl was standing at the water's edge, waving a diminutive handkerchief. It was obvious that she
wanted him to pole over to the bank. He did so, forcing the raft out of the sluggish current and into the
shallows. Several yards from shore it nudged bottom, and he leaned on the pole, holding the raft in
position and looking questioningly at the girl. It surprised him to discover that she was young and
attractive, although it shouldn't have, he supposed. Assuming that he had created her, it was only logical
that he would have made her pleasing to the eye; and assuming that he had not, it was illogical to
conclude that merely because he had reached the age of thirty, it was necessary for someone else to
reach the age of thirty in order not to want to go on living. Her hair was only a shade less bright than the
splash of afternoon sunlight in which she stood, and she wore it very short. A scattering of freckles lightly
dappled the bridge of her delicate nose and the immediate areas on either side. She was willowy, and
rather tall, and she had blue eyes.
"I'd like to share your raft," she said across the several yards of water that separated her from him.
"My own broke loose during the night and drifted downstream, and I've been walking ever since dawn."
Her yellow dress was torn in a dozen places, Farrell noticed, and the slender slippers that encased
her feet had already reached the point of no return. "Sure," he said. "You'll have to wade to get on board,
though. This is as far in as I can get."
"I don't mind."
The water came to her knees. He helped her up beside him; then, with a strong thrust of the pole, he
sent the raft back into the current. The girl shook her head as though her hair had once been long and she
had forgotten that it had been cut, and wanted the wind to blow it. "I'm Jill Nichols," she said. "Not that it
matters very much."
"Clifford," Farrell said. "Clifford Farrell."
She sat down on the raft and removed her shoes and stockings. After laying the pole aside, he sat
down a few feet from her. "I was beginning to think I was the only one making the journey," he said.
The wind was moderate but brisk and was blowing upstream, and she faced into it as though
expecting it to send her hair streaming behind her. The wind did its best, but succeeded only in ruffling the
almost-curls that fringed her pale forehead. "I thought I was all alone, too."
"The way I had it figured," Farrell said, "the River was the product of my imagination. Now I see that
it can't beтАФunless you're a product of my imagination also."
She smiled at him sideways. "Don't say that. I thought you were a product of mine."
He smiled back at her. It was the first time he had smiled in ages. "Maybe the River's an allegorical
product of both our imaginations. Maybe this is the way you thought it would be, too. Drifting down a
dark-brown stream, I mean, with trees on either hand and the blue sky above. Did you?"
"Yes," she said. "I've always thought that when the time came, it would be like this."
A thought struck him. "I took it for granted that because I'm here voluntarily, you are too. Are you?"
"Yes."
"Maybe," he went on, "two people visualizing an abstract idea by means of the same allegory can
make that allegory come to life. Maybe, down through the years and without our being aware of it, we
brought the River into existence."
"And then, when the time came, cast ourselves adrift on it? But where is the River? Surely, we can't
still be on earth."
He shrugged. "Who knows? Reality probably has a thousand phases mankind knows nothing about.
Maybe we're in one of them ... How long have you been on the River?"
"A little over two days. I lost time today because I had to go on foot."