"Ellison, Harlan - Objects Of Desire (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ellison Harlan)

apartment, before dawn of the next day when I had to go back to death and
gristle and puzzles that could only be solved by apprehending monsters. And we
went away, yes, we did.

I am very old now. Soon I will no doubt close my eyes in a sleep even more
profound than the one in which I lay when she came to release me from a life
that was barely worth living. I have been in this cinnamon-scented place for a
very long time. I suppose time is herniated in this venue, otherwise she would
not have been able to live as long as she did, nor would she have been able to
move forward and backward with such alacrity and ease. Nor would the twisted
eugenics that formed her have borne such elegant fruit.

I could have sustained any indignity. The other women, the deterioration of our
love, the going-away and the coming back, knowing that she...or he,
sometimes...had lived whole lives in other times and other lands. With other
women. With other men.

But what I could not bear was knowing the child was not mine. I gave her the
best eternity of my life, yet she carried that damned thing inside her with more
love than ever she had shown me. As it grew, as it became the inevitable
love-object, I withered.

Let her travel with them, whatever love-objects she could satisfy, with whatever
was in that dirty paper bag, and let them wail if they choose...but from this
dream neither he nor she will ever rise. I am in the green light now, with the
machete. It may rain, but I won't be there to see it.

Not this time.