"James Patrick Kelly - The Edge of Nowhere" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

Spectator, the Prynne Building, and the drunks at the outdoor tables in front of the Sunspot. She noticed
with annoyance that the Drew Barrymore version of The Wizard of Oz was playing for another week at
the Ziegfowl Feelies. At Uncle Buddy's she took a right, then a left onto Fairview which dead ended in
the grassy bulk of the Barrow.

Everything in Nowhere had come out of the Barrow: Rain's fountain pen, the books in the Very
Memorial Library, Will's endless packs of blank, looseleaf paper, Fast Eddie's crystal trays and Mrs.
Snopes's yoga mats. And of course, all the people.

The last thing Rain remembered about the world was falling asleep in her husband Roger's arms. It had
been a warm night in May, 2009. Roger had worked late so they had ordered a sausage and green
pepper pizza and had watched the last half hour of The African Queen before they went to bed.. It was
so romantic, even if Nicholson and Garbo were old. She could remember Roger doing his atrocious
Nicholson imitation while he brushed his teeth. They had cuddled briefly in the dark but he said he was
too tired to make love. They must have kissed good night -- yes, no doubt a long and tender last kiss.
One of the things she hated most about Nowhere was that she couldn't remember any of Roger's kisses
or his face or what he looked like naked. He was just a warm, pale, friendly blur. Some people in
Nowhere said it was a mercy that nobody could remember the ones they had loved in the world. Rain
was not one of those people.

Will said that the last thing he remembered was falling asleep in his Nintendo and American Culture
class at Northern Arizona University in the fall of 2023. He could recall everything about the two sexual
conquests he had managed in his brief time in the world - Talley Lotterhand and Paula Herbst -- but then
by his own admission he had never really been in love.

The Barrow was a warehouse buried under the mesa. Rain climbed down to the loading dock and
knocked on the sectional steel door. After a few moments she heard the whine of an electric motor as the
door clattered up on its tracks. Chance Conrad stood just inside, blinking in the afternoon sunlight. He
was a handsome, graying man, who balanced a receding hairline with a delicate beard. Although he had a
light step and an easy manner, the skin under his eyes was dark and pouchy. Some said this was because
Chance didn't sleep much since he was so busy managing the Barrow. Others maintained that he didn't
sleep at all, because he hadn't been revived like the rest of the residents of Nowhere. He was a construct
of the cognisphere. It stood to reason, people said. How could anyone with a name like Chance Conrad
be real?

"Lorraine!" he said. "And here I was about to write this day off as a total loss." He put his hand on her
shoulder and urged her through the entrance. "Come, come in." Chance had no use for daylight; that was
another strike against his being real. Once the Barrow was safely locked down again he relaxed. "So," he
said, "here we are, just the two of us. I'm hoping this means you've finally dumped the boy genius?"

Rain had long since learned that the best way to deflect Chance's relentless flirting was just to ignore it.
As far as she knew, he had never taken a lover. She took a deep breath and counted to five. Unu, du,
tri, kvar, kvin. The air in the Barrow had the familiar damp weight she remembered from when she first
woke up at Nowhere; it settled into Rain's lungs like a cold. Before her were crates and jars and barrels
and boxes of goods that the people of Nowhere had asked the cognisphere to recreate. Later that night
Ferdie Raskolnikov and his crew would load the lot onto trucks for delivery around town tomorrow.

"What's this?" Rain bent to examine a wide-bladed shovel cast with a solid steel handle. It was so heavy
that she could barely lift it.