"Joe Haldeman - Guardian" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Joe)

arrived at the station.
No time for supper, so I bought two "box meals" from a merchant at the station,
along with bottles of chilled root beer, wrapped up in sheets of old newspapers to stay
cool for the trip.
 I didn't have too much appetite, as it turned out. The car was crowded and Daniel
had to stand most of the way. My sex earned me a hard padded seat, covered with straw
weaving that had decayed beyond function. Breathing was difficult, the air blue with
cigar and pipe smoke. Even less appetizing were the men who took their tobacco in oral
form, spitting wherever they pleased.
It was faster than the boat, something we had been looking forward to, but there
was little else to recommend it for five hours. A blur of dense forest became a blur of
cornfields. Just before St. Paul, we stopped at two beautiful lakes, resort areas, and
enough people got off so that Daniel could find a seat. He was worn out and immediately
fell asleep with his head on my shoulder.
There was an unpleasant surprise waiting at the St. Paul station. Leaving Daniel
with the bags, I went toward the information desk, and stopped dead at a corkboard that
said MESSAGES FOR TRANSIENTS. There were columns of envelopes in alphabetical
order, and one of them had my name on it.
I was paralyzed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He couldn't know where
we were—or could he? Most likely, he had sent messages to be posted at every major
railway station.
Would he be notified if I took the envelope? Even if he were, how could he know
it was me, rather than some idler intent on other people's business? No one was
overseeing the message board.
Nothing he could say would make any difference. I should have just left it there—
but then I would have been obsessed by it for weeks or months. Finally, I strode over and
snatched it. It might reveal whether he knew anything about our progress.
The envelope was sealed, unfortunately; otherwise I might have taken a peek and
returned it. I slit the top of the envelope with a penknife, and found a short note in a
stranger's hand:

Rec'd by telegraph 8:05 P.M. June 24th: You must know by now
that what you have done is both irrational and illegal. Return at once, and
nothing will be said about it. If you force me to take action, it will be hard
on both you and the boy,
There is no place you can go where I won't find you. Do not delude
yourself about that. "The longer you try to hide, the harder it will be on
you. Edward.

I glanced over at Daniel and saw he was fast asleep, draped protectively over our
luggage. Nobody seemed to be looking at me. I slipped the note into my purse and
returned the envelope to its place. You couldn't tell from the front that it had been
opened.
We found a comfortable room in the Ryan, not far from the station, which I took
under yet another assumed name. Daniel accepted the change without question. I didn't
tell him about the note from his father. I copied it into my diary while he slept, and then
threw it away, which was improvident. It would have been interesting evidence if we
came to legal proceedings.
The next sailing for St. Louis was two days away, which was all right for me. I
didn't want to immediately board the boat that we'd be stuck on for seven hundred miles.