"Elizabeth Moon. The Speed of Dark " - читать интересную книгу автора

Today on the way to work I wait at a red light, where the street
crosses the interstate. The car in front of me is a midnight-blue minivan
with out-of-state plates, Georgia. It has a fuzzy bear with little rubber
suckers stuck to the back window. The bear grins at me with a foolish
expression. I'm glad it's a toy; I hate it when there's a dog in the back
of a car, looking at me. Usually they bark at me.
The light changes, and the minivan shoots ahead. Before I can think,
No, don't! two cars running a red light speed through, a beige pickup with
a brown stripe and an orange watercooler in the back and a brown sedan, and
the truck hits the van broadside. The noise is appalling,
shriek/crash/squeal/crunch all together, and the van and truck spin,
spraying arcs of glittering glass... I want to vanish inside myself as the
grotesque shapes spin nearer. I shut my eyes.
Silence comes back slowly, punctuated by the honking horns of those
who don't know why traffic stopped. I open my eyes. The light is green.
People have gotten out of their cars; the drivers of the wrecked cars are
moving, talking.
The driving code says that any person involved in an accident should
not leave the scene. The driving code says stop and render assistance. But
I was not involved, because nothing but a few bits of broken glass touched
my car. And there are lots of other people to give assistance. I am not
trained to give assistance.
I look carefully behind me and slowly, carefully, edge past the wreck.
People look at me angrily. But I didn't do anything wrong; I wasn't in the
accident. If I stayed, I would be late for work. And I would have to talk
to policemen. I am afraid of policemen.
I feel shaky when I get to work, so instead of going into my office I
go to the gym first. I put on the "Polka and Fugue" from Schwanda the
Bagpiper , because I need to do big bounces and big swinging movements. I
am a little calmer with bouncing by the time Mr. Crenshaw shows up, his
face glistening an ugly shade of reddish beige.
"Well now, Lou," he says. The tone is clouded, as if he wanted to
sound jovial but was really angry. Coach Jerry used to sound like that. "Do
you like the gym a lot, then?"
The long answer is always more interesting than the short one. I know
that most people want the short uninteresting answer rather than the long
interesting one, so I try to remember that when they ask me questions that
could have long answers if they only understood them. Mr. Crenshaw only
wants to know if I like the gym room. He doesn't want to know how much.
"It's fine," I tell him.
"Do you need anything that isn't here?"
"No." I need many things that aren't here, including food, water, and
a place to sleep, but he means do I need anything in this room for the
purpose it is designed for that isn't in this room.
"Do you need that music?"
That music. Laura taught me that when people say "that" in front of a
noun it implies an attitude about the content of the noun. I am trying to
think what attitude Mr. Crenshaw has about that music when he goes on, as
people often do, before I can answer.
"It's so difficult," he says. "Trying to keep all that music on hand.