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

“Let’s go, Thuy,” said Azaroth. “We’ll take the rest of my catch to the fish market. And I’ll show you the
tavern where I live. It’s an interesting place. Lots of vibby types in town for the annual procession.
Musicians, actors, acrobats,”

“The Muddy Eel,” said Bosch, shaking his head. “Full of whores and dreadful music. Which reminds
me—”

With no transition at all, the artist strode over to the room’s window and began screaming imprecations
at the unseen man who was playing the bagpipe. The music broke off, and a tenor voice called up,
wheedling for alms. Bosch cursed again; the squealing resumed.

“Do you want me to get rid of him, Jeroen?” said Jayjay. “I’ll show you how useful I can be.”

“Let it be so. And usher your two companions out the door.”

Jayjay and Thuy skipped down the stairs hand in hand, hopping from one step to the next, both of them
very excited. The ground floor front room was full of painting supplies: oak panels, pots of pigment, a
work bench for mixing paints, cupboards of rolled-up drawings. No apprentices were to be seen.
Jayjay, Thuy and Azaroth stepped out the front door. The pesky bagpiper sat at the base of the stone
steps, the same unshaven man they’d seen on the road, now red-faced and smelling of wine. Surprised to
see the two tiny figures emerging from Bosch’s house, he broke off his sonic assault. He wiped his ropy
lips, then favored Jayjay with a sneer. But not for long.

Jayjay was on him like a sped-up goblin, pummeling him in the ribs and booting him in the butt. Surprised
and yowling, the bagpiper limped away. Some of the bystanders booed, some cheered, and Bosch
cackled from his window.

Jayjay bowed from the top step and announced himself. “I am the new apprentice of Jeroen Bosch!” He
took Thuy’s hand. “And this is my wife. We offer you friendship; we require respect! Hurray for
‘s-Hertogenbosch!” Just to dispel any scent of the diabolic about the curious figures they cut,
Jayjay—and then Thuy—slowly crossed themselves.

“I hope we didn’t do that backwards,” said Thuy, looking out at the crowd. “Oh, whew, they’re smiling.
Way to go, Jayjay.”

Jayjay bid Thuy and Azaroth good-bye and hurried back to Bosch’s studio.



“I’m often guilty of the sin of anger,” the artist said pensively. He’d settled behind his painting once more;
he was touching up the images of some tiny bas-reliefs depicted upon a temple pillar near Saint Anthony.
“And I fall into pride over my work. I lust as well, though less so than in my youth. How about you?”

“I don’t see myself that way,” began Jayjay. “It’s—” But then he broke off. Bosch was regarding him
with those profoundly knowing eyes. Why lie to him? “I guess you could call me a drunkard,” admitted
Jayjay. “Of sorts.”

He was thinking of the wine and the ergot, not to mention the Big Pig trip he’d taken when he should
have been honeymooning with Thuy. He’d spent most of his life trying to get high, and yesterday he’d
ended up paralyzed in a diaper beside another guy having sex with his wife. And last night—this was the