"James Patrick Kelly - Fruitcake Theory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

He glances at it, but I don’t think he sees anything.
"It’s not him," he says uncertainly. "It’s all the
presents. I have to finish my list." Now I’m just
guessing at his story, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got it
right. He’s old and broke and stuck in Social Security
shock -- just trying to earn a few extra bucks over the
holidays. Only he hasn’t actually moved to a night
schedule, so he’s trying to tough this shift out with
chemicals. That’s why he’s just south of coherent and
has cephadrine eyes. "If I go, they’ll replace me with a
Santabot." He lowers his voice. "They don’t take
bathroom breaks."
"Excuse me." I sidestep him. "I have to see a rooster
about a fruitcake."
"Wait! I’ll put you on my list." He clutches at me.
"What do you want for Christmas?"
"How about someone else’s life?" He considers this and I
slip by.
"You can have mine!" he calls after me. "Hey!"
As I enter the Sears & Penny, I notice an odd, stinging,
flowery smell, something like the scent of a rose, only
with thorns. I follow it to the men’s underwear section,
where it is so strong my eyes water. A mundane sales
clerk is tapping, "Silent Night,"on the keypad of his
cashcard reader,
Bjorn and the rooster are sitting on the floor on a red
and white checked plastic tablecloth, having a picnic.
The rooster’s Santa cap is cocked at a rakish angle. He
has opened a plastic bag containing three white Fruit of
the Loom undershirts.
He is eating them.
Somehow he has also obtained a four pack of Murray’s
Chocolate Mint Wine, two of which are now empties.
=Hungry?= He holds a wine-stained rag out to me.
"No," I say, "thank you." I try to catch Bjorn’s eye but
he is staring between his legs as if counting the red
checks on the tablecloth.
=One hundred percent cotton.= The rooster pulls a new
undershirt from the bag and turns it this way and that,
as if admiring it. =Tasty cellulose.= He opens another
can of Murray’s and pours some on it. =Not starchy like
french fries.= He takes a bite.
The smell is clearly coming from the rooster. This is
new behavior; I have to know what caused it. "Uh, Bjorn,
could I speak to you?"
He finally looks up, his eyes red and watery from
rooster smell. "You think I’m fat." He shivers like a
barrel of Jell-O, then laughs out loud.
"What?"
"Everybody thinks I’m fat. I am fat!" He spreads his