"Jack Dann - The Dybbuk Dolls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

THE DYBBUK DOLLS
Jack Dann



JACK DANN’S stories have been appearing in science-fiction
magazines and anthologies since the early 1970s; one of the best known
is the 1973 novella “Junction”, deemed worthy of a Hugo or Nebula
trophy by many readers. He edited an anthology of science fiction on
Jewish themes, Wandering Stars, and, with George Zebrowski, has
co-edited the collection Faster Than Light. Dann is currently at work on
an elaborate cycle of novels spanning a vast segment of the future. His
work is marked by vivid narrative energy and—often—a concern for
traditional Judaism and its metamorphoses in times to come.



Chaim Lewis had opened the store early. He did not especially mind
Undercity, even though Levi Lewis, his half-brother, told him he would
become sterile from radiation (which was nonsense) and lose his eyesight.
So after two children, why did he need to be potent, and what eyesight? If
he went blind—which couldn’t happen; Dr. Synder-Langer, his eye doctor,
was a state affiliate and went to seminars—what did he care? He could get
a cheap unit in Friedman City (Slung City they called it)—or if he had
saved enough, he could plug a room into the self-contained grid built into
Manhattan City. A bright façade of metal would be much better than the
Castigon Complex. Shtetlfive, located in the qualified section of the
complex, was a very nice upside ghetto, very rich, semi psycho-segregated,
and sensor-protected. But Chaim would only move into a shtetlsection; he
needed the protection of familiar thoughts and culture. That wouldn’t be
so bad. He could still visit Shtetlfive—it would not move for a while, maybe
never. Business, unfortunately, was too good.
Above Shtetlfive was the tiny Chardin Ghetto, poor in material wealth
but high in spirit. They gave all their money (which was considerable) to
their colony on Omega-Ariadne. Koper Chardin ran one of the best
pleasure houses in Undercity with impunity. He even advertised organ
gambling, “for those who want to experience the ultimate gamblers’
thrill.” In fact, it was located on Chelm Street—which was rented by the
Shtetl-Castigon Corporation at an exorbitant exchange—and had been
built on mutual contract to better serve all business interests. Its overflow
(and the poor that could not afford it) provided a moderate part of Chaim
Levi’s business. But most of his money was made on collectors.
“Collectors they call themselves,” Chaim said to no one in particular as
he studied the afternoon trade sheet on the fax hidden behind his
waist-high counter. The small room was dusty and badly lit, but it was
expensively soundproofed so that only a low level of thoughtnoise could
penetrate and influence his customers.
A young woman, dressed in a balloon suit, turned from a display of
magazines on the wall and said, “Those ‘Stud’ magazines. The price?”
She’s got to be upside, very much upside, he thought as he closed his