"David Gerrold - [SS] The Equally Strange Reappearance of David Gerrold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)

dependable and he was thorough in a brusque, military way. His motivations and
opinions might be scattered all over the landscape, but he produced results.
Ernie, on the other hand, was here for the adventure. He didn’t really believe in
the green people, but maybe he did. Because if they really existed, wouldn’t it be
cool to turn green and just live in total cosmic harmony with all the other plants in the
forest, stretching your leaves up to the sun and soaking in the life-giving warmth
and—
Yeah, Ernie just wanted to be green. Maybe he thought it would be easier than
being black. I dunno. Oh, I should also mention that Ernie had a doctorate in
biology, believe it or don’t. He’d worked on the genome project and now he was a
seed-gatherer for the Genetic Bank—you know, the one that the Benford Foundation
set up to preserve the world’s genetic diversity. It was a perfect job for him, because
he could take off into the hills almost any time he felt like it and someone else would
pay for the trip. As long as he brought back seeds.
And me? I’m just this fading science fiction writer wondering where his next
Hugo is coming from. (And no, I’m not going to adopt another child just to win
another award. One was enough, thanks. It was good advice when Connie Willis
first suggested it to me in 1991, but not now. In gratitude, I’m organizing a write-in
campaign to elect her the next president of the Science Fiction Writers of America.)
But I knew why I was here. If I could prove to myself that I hadn’t
hallucinated the whole thing, I’d be happy. I don’t mind going senile, I just want to
know that I’m going senile.
We didn’t do a lot of talking that first evening. We were too tired. And cold.
So as soon as we could, we settled in for the night. Except for the exquisitely
well-placed rocks, the ground was almost soft enough to be comfortable. I slept
between Bert and Ernie. Ernie farts and Bert snores, but I was warm, so I didn’t
complain—although I did wake up with a splitting headache and still exhausted. Who
ever said camping was fun? I’ve had fun, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t even on the
same page as fun. Instead of breakfast, we had energy drinks and granola bars. I will
never insult an Egg McMuffin again.
We spent the first three or four hours walking some warmth back into our
bones. Mine made noises like tap-dancing pixies every time I moved. The ground
was less rocky up here, but it was still uphill, and the elevation was enough that I
spent most of the day either moving slowly or simply trying to catch my breath. Bert
and Ernie didn’t say anything, but we all knew they could have made a lot better time
without me.
At some point in the morning, while staring up at the pines—everything
smelled of pine, real pine, not the kind of smell you get from those little cardboard
trees that hang from the rearview mirror—at some point, I realized I didn’t really
have to be here. Once I’d shown them where I cut through the wire, I was done. I
could have stayed in the van and driven down to Red Bluff with Emmett Grogan. I
think that was when I began having that inevitable internal conversation about
commitment, obsession, and damned foolishness. In the cold clear light of morning
my head felt cold, clear, and light. And the whole business of little naked boys, green
or otherwise, being hunted by guys in cowboy hats and sunglasses, guys who
smelled of cigars and sweat, suddenly started to feel ... well, stupid.
And then I started thinking how stupid Bert and Ernie must be to come out
here just because I’d said I’d seen a green person—well, that and a bloodstained
blanket and a couple of bloody bandages. Either I was awfully convincing, and yeah,
I can be awfully convincing, or they were awfully gullible—or worse, they were true