"Charles de Lint - Spirits in the Wires" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

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SPIRITS IN THE WIRES by Charles de Lint


“Anyplace and everyplace.”
She pauses for a moment and has a sip of her tea, sets the cup down on the low table
between us. Later I realize she was just deciding whether to go on and tell me what she now
does.
“You know, we’re like words,” she says. “You and me. We’re like ghost words.”
I have to smile. I’m beginning to understand why Christy cares about her the way he does.
She’s a sweet, pretty blonde, but she doesn’t fit into any sort of a tidy descriptive package.
Her thinking’s all over the place, from serious to whimsical, or even some combination of
the two. I think I just might have a poke through her journals the next time I’m in their
apartment and they’re both asleep. I’d like to know more about her—not just what she has
to say, but what she thinks when there’s nobody supposed to be listening.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll bite. What are ghost words?”
“They’re words that don’t really exist. They come about through the mistakes of editors and
printers and bad proofreaders, and while they seem like they should mean something, they
don’t. Like ‘cablin’ for ‘cabin,’ say.”
I see what she means.
“I like that word,” I tell her. “Cablin. Maybe I should appropriate it and give it a meaning.”
Saskia gives a slow nod. “You see? That’s how we’re like ghost words. People can
appropriate us and give us meanings, too.”
I know she’s talking about our anomalous origins—how because of them, we could be
victim to that sort of thing—but I don’t agree.
“That happens to everybody,” I tell her. “It happens whenever someone decides what
someone is like instead of finding out for real.”
“I suppose.”
“You’re thinking about all of this too much.”
“I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.”
I study her for a long moment. It’s worrying her, this whole idea of what’s real and what
isn’t, like how you came into this world is more important than what you do once you’re
here.
“What’s the first thing you remember?” I ask.




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SPIRITS IN THE WIRES by Charles de Lint




HOW WE WERE
BORN


Words are like a corridor;