"Twilla by Tom Reamy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nebula Award Stories 10)

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TOM REAMY

Twilla

Tom Reamy began writing science fiction only a few years ago after a career in Dallas as a technical writer for the aerospace industry. Laid off there, he went to Los Angeles and tried his talents on film, screenwriting and acting as property manager on Flesh Gordon. Although many science-fiction writers came out of fandom and many still keep up their fan activities, Tom may be the first to have a story nominated for a Nebula Award and to publish a fanzine (Nickelodeon), that has been nominated for a Hugo. He has not yet had a novel published, but if he can find time from his graphic design studio and his labors as editor and designer of the publications for the 1976 World Science Fiction Convention to be held in Kansas City, readers may find more such stories as this deceptively commonplace story where incredible events lie in wait for a simple Kansas town.
Twilla Gilbreath blew into Miss Mahan's life like a pink butterfly wing that same day in early December that the blue norther dropped the temperature forty degrees in two hours. Mr. Choate, the principal, ushered Twilla and her parents into Miss Mahan's ninth grade homeroom shortly after the tardy bell rang. She had just checked the roll: all seventeen ninth-graders were present except for Sammy Stocker, who was in the Liberal hospital having his appendix removed. She was telling the class how nice it would be if they sent a get-well card when the door opened.

"Goooood morning, Miss Mahan." Mr. Choate smiled cheerfully. He always smiled cheerfully first thing in the morning, but soured as the day wore on. You could practically tell time by Mr. Choate's mouth. "We have a new ninth-grader for you this morning, Miss Mahan. This is Mr. and Mrs. Gilbreath and their daughter, Twilla. "

Several things happened at once. Miss Mahan shook hands with the parents; she threw a severe glance at the class when she heard a snigger-but it was only Alice May Turner, who would probably giggle if she were being devoured by a bear; and she had to forcibly keep her eyebrows from rising when she got a good look at Twilla. Good Lord, she thought, and felt her smile falter.

Miss Mahan had never in her life, even when it was fashionable for a child to look like that, seen anyone so perfectly . . . pink and . . . doll-like. She wasn't sure why she got

such an impression of pinkness, because the child was dressed in: yellow and had golden hair (that's the color they mean when they say golden hair, she thought with wonder) done in, of all, things, drop curls, with a big yellow bow in back. Twilla looked up at her with a sweet radiant sunny smile and clear periwinkle-, blue eyes.

Miss Mahan detested her on sight.

She thought she saw, when Alice May giggled, the smile; freeze and the lovely eyes dart toward the class, but she wasn't: sure. It all happened in an instant, and then Mr. Choate continued his Cheerful Charlie routine.

"Mr. Gilbreath has bought the old Peacock place."

"Really?" she said, tearing her eyes from Twilla. "I didn't know it was for sale."

Mr. Gilbreath chuckled. "Not the entire farm, of course. I'm no farmer. Only the house and grounds. Such a charming old place. The owner lives in Wichita and had no use for them."

"I would think the house is pretty run-down," Miss Mahan said, glancing at Twilla, still radiating at the world. "No one's lived in it since Wash and Grace Elizabeth died ten years ago. "

"It is a little," Mrs. Gilbreath said pleasantly.

"But structurally sound," interjected Mr. Gilbreath pleasantly.

"We'll enjoy fixing it up," Mrs. Gilbreath continued pleasantly.

`Miss Mahan teaches English to the four upper grades," said .: Mr. Choate, bringing them back to the subject, "as well as speech and drama. Miss Mahan has been with the Hawley school system for thirty-one years."

The Gilbreaths smiled pleasantly. "My . . . ah . . . Twilla seems very young to be in the ninth grade. " That get-up makes her look about eleven, Miss Mahan thought.

The Gilbreaths beamed at their daughter. "Twilla is only thirteen," Mrs. Gilbreath crooned, pride swelling her like yeast. "She's such an intelligent child. She was able to skip the second grade."

"I see. From where have you moved?"

"Boston," replied Mr. Gilbreath.

"Boston. I hope . . . ah . . . Twilla doesn't find it difficult to adjust to a small-town school. I'm sure Hawley, Kansas, is quite unlike Boston."
Mr. Gilbreath touched Twilla lovingly on the shoulder. "I'm sure she'll have no trouble."