"Asimov, Isaac - Izzy and the Father of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

feeble candlelight unsealed the night
between us, loud with cicadas and dead
souls crying. There was a votive candle in
a shot glass on the dirt floor. Rococo
shadows angled and sprawled across chairs,
long table, canvas, and ourselves.

"You’ve broken me." The words jumped where
my bones should be. Something in me arched
and bristled like a frightened cat. Were
the words mine?

Shaman took them for mine. "I’m you," he
said. Incomprehensible. "Relax."

I left that place. I left the Space People
sleeping. I left Shaman with his kit of
tropes that killed or cured or pricked
your mind and left you to bleed to death
or to drown in the world’s blood, bleeding
into you through a tiny hole. The last
thing I saw there was the candle flame
reflected in Shaman’s eyes, two little
flames dwindling as I stumbled out into
the desert, out into stars and the cries
of cicadas and dead souls, which might
have been my tongue, my voice, my limbs,
or my self, since Shaman had pricked a
hole in my mind.



2. Talk with a Joshua Tree

I had a talk in the dark with a Joshua
tree. I said, "Everything’s okay. I have a
mother in New York. I have brothers and a
sister. My father left us, but he’s still
in my mind. In there, I can see the faces
of all the people in my life, I know the
names of everything, and no one on Earth
would disbelieve me." The Joshua tree was
unconvinced. I couldn’t remember my
mother’s face. I stood there, out of sight
of any highway, lost to the Space People,
stars in my skin. Someone had just spoken.
It might have been the Joshua tree. It
might have been the sand.