"David Marusek - The Wedding Album" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marusek David)

The Wedding Album by David Marusek
Anne and Benjamin stood stock still, as instructed, close but not touching, while the simographer
adjusted her apparatus, set its timer, and ducked out of the room. It would take only a moment,
she said. They were to think only happy happy thoughts.

For once in her life, Anne was unconditionally happy, and everything around her made her
happier: her gown, which had been her grandmother’s; the wedding ring (how cold it had felt
when Benjamin first slipped it on her finger!); her clutch bouquet of forget-me-nots and
buttercups; Benjamin himself, close beside her in his charcoal grey tux and pink carnation. He
who so despised ritual but was a good sport. His cheeks were pink, too, and his eyes sparkled
with some wolfish fantasy. "Come here," he whispered. Anne shushed him; you weren’t supposed
to talk or touch during a casting; it could spoil the sims. "I can’t wait," he whispered, "this is taking
too long." And it did seem longer than usual, but this was a professional simulacrum, not some
homemade snapshot.

They were posed at the street end of the living room, next to the table piled with brightly
wrapped gifts. This was Benjamin’s townhouse; she had barely moved in. All her treasures were
still in shipping shells in the basement, except for the few pieces she’d managed to have
unpacked: the oak refectory table and chairs, the sixteenth-century French armoire, the cherry
wood chifforobe, the tea table with inlaid top, the silvered mirror over the fire surround. Of
course, her antiques clashed with Benjamin’s contemporary-and rather common-decor, but he
had promised her the whole house to redo as she saw fit. A whole house!

"How about a kiss?" whispered Benjamin.

Anne smiled but shook her head; there’d be plenty of time later for that sort of thing.

Suddenly, a head wearing wraparound goggles poked through the wall and quickly surveyed the
room. "Hey, you," it said to them.

"Is that our simographer?" Benjamin said.

The head spoke into a cheek mike, "This one’s the keeper," and withdrew as suddenly as it had
appeared.

"Did the simographer just pop her head in through the wall?" said Benjamin.

"I think so," said Anne, though it made no sense.

"I’ll just see what’s up," said Benjamin, breaking his pose. He went to the door but could not grasp
its handle.

Music began to play outside, and Anne went to the window. Her view of the garden below was
blocked by the blue-and-white-striped canopy they had rented, but she could clearly hear the
clink of flatware on china, laughter, and the musicians playing a waltz. "They’re starting without
us," she said, happily amazed.

"They’re just warming up," said Benjamin.

"No, they’re not. That’s the first waltz. I picked it myself."