"Stephen Goldin - Herds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen)

Force of habit made Carl Polaski look at his left wrist. Then he
gave himself a mental kick. Even after thr-e months at the
commune, he still could not get used to the fact that timepieces
were not used here. He missed his watch very much. All part of
the grand sacrifices in getting back to Nature, he thought
sarcastically. He tried to roll over on the cot and ignore the dog's
breathing, but it was no use. He was one of those people who,
when they are awake, are awake completely, with no possibility
of falling back to sleep. He stretched with his bare feet dangling
over the edge of the short cot, then rolled out of bed and stood up
to get dressed.

As he changed into a fresh pair of undershorts, he sneaked a
peek out the window of his cabin. The sun was well up above the
horizon, nearly to the top of the big cypress tree. That meant it
was probably between eight and nine o'clock. Everyone else in
the camp would be up and busy by this time but, by virtue of
being the commune's senior citizen—and also, in the words of
one member, a cool head—he was allowed to sleep later than the
rest. It was a privilege he felt slightly guilty about, but only
slightly. He'd woken up several times with the rest of the camp at
sun-up, and as far as he was concerned there was no conflict
between living a natural life and sleeping until a decent hour of
the morning.

He slipped some dirty dungarees over his shorts and stuck his
feet into a battered pair of sandals. He ran a comb quickly
through his hair and admired his beard in the cracked mirror on
the wall. His cabin—the administration building when the
commune had been a camp— was the only one with a private
bathroom, and after he'd used it he felt ready to face the world
once more. He opened the cabin door, walked down the two
steps to the ground and moved towards the cabin that served as
the communal kitchen and dining room.

He thought at first that he had the place all to himself, but
then he heard the sound of running water and the tinkle of
dishes. Moving towards the back of the room, he saw Deborah
Bauer washing the breakfast plates. Polaski scowled. He
wondered whether she had purposely volunteered for the
wash-up duty so that she could be alone with him when he came
in. That would be just like her.

"Good morning, Carl," she said cheerfully when she saw him.
"We'd almost given up on you for breakfast this morning."

" 'Morning, Debby," he acknowledged, returning her smile. "I
hope I'm still entitled to eat. I know it's a crime to sleep late
around here."