"Rudy Rucker - Hieronymus Bosch's Apprentice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rucker Rudy)

“I’ll leave you to paint a third version alone,” said Bosch, rubbing off the panel once more. He tossed the
thistle into a corner. “Just dream this one. I’ll be upstairs, giving Saint Anthony another tormentor. A head
walking on two feet: a man who’s lost his core.”

Jayjay’s third mound of vegetation turned out well. He liked painting. Somehow the work connected into
him all the way down. When he pretended to be a scientist, he was always striving, always playing
catch-up ball. But this was free play.



A sound of cooking came from the kitchen, and good smells. Dill, onions, fennel. It was dusk. Outdoors
the noise of the market continued as loud as before, but with a different tone: more yelps, more music,
and fewer sounds of animals. Party time. But not for Jayjay. Not after today. He’d surrendered. He was
a recovering glutton.

He kept thinking about Thuy. Was she really pregnant? Hopefully she’d be back soon. The Muddy Eel
sounded sleazy.

Just as he was about to take his panel upstairs to show the master, a heavy knock sounded on the door.
Kathelijn ambled out of the kitchen and opened it.

“Good evening, Mijnheer Vladeracken,” said she, admitting a sumptuously dressed fellow with a flushed,
piggy face.

“I’ve been chatting with Wim the vintner in the market,” rumbled Vladeracken. “Here.” He handed
Kathelijn a half-empty bottle of wine with no cork in it, then glared down Jayjay. “What’s this smeary
devil doing in here? I saw him preening on your front steps this afternoon.”

“My new assistant,” said Bosch, coming down the stairs. “Cunning little fellow, eh? His name is Jayjay.
Jayjay, this is my neighbor Jan Vladeracken. Let’s settle down in the kitchen.”

Bosch, Vladeracken, Jayjay and Aleid sat at the kitchen table while Kathelijn tended a kettle on the fire.
She was stewing the fish and eel with milk and turnips.

Vladeracken filled a pottery mug with his wine. Bosch and Aleid took some wine as well, but Jayjay
declined, still drawing strength from this afternoon’s illumination, his mind reverberating with the
knowledge that no longer needed to be a glutton.

“I’m concerned about our painting of John the Baptist,” said Vladeracken in a tendentious voice.

Bosch rolled his eyes and didn’t answer. Aleid took up the slack.

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“As you remember, I commissioned this work from your husband when I was the dean of the Swan
Brotherhood of Our Dear Lady.”

“Really, Jan,” said Aleid wearily. “Certainly we’re proud that Jeroen’s a member of the Swan
Brotherhood, but this endless bickering is so—”