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

rich part—as soon as his paralysis had worn off, he’d gotten drunk with crippled beggars and had eaten
the psychedelic that was making their fingers and legs drop off.

This was his actual life, the only life he had. He had a sudden sensation of standing on a ridge looking
back at a valley devastated by years of strip-mining. His past.

“Gluttony,” said Bosch. “I see it now. You seek outside, instead of seeking within. You risk losing your
soul and becoming an empty shell.”

“You’re a glutton for images,” said Jayjay defensively. He gestured at the extravagant fantasies on the
panels against the wall: the fish like ships in the sky, the burning cities, the devils and nudes and chimerical
beasts.



“I make these things from within myself,” said Bosch. “I don’t gobble and guzzle in search of bliss. God
sees you, Jayjay. God is always watching.”

“That’s a stupid way to think,” snapped Jayjay, recoiling from his taste of self-knowledge.

“You’re the one who’s lost,” murmured Jeroen, focusing on the images he was painting. “You rail at the
fog.” He touched his dry, narrow tongue to his lips as he worked.
“Why should I think of God hating me for every little thing?” demanded Jayjay. “My mother already did
that. And my in-laws. And the preachers. And the government. God should be more than an angry eye in
the sky. Maybe God isn’t what you think, Jeroen. Maybe God is that harp in your attic.”

Bosch paused, brush poised in the air. “It pleases you to be merry. I freely can agree that God is an
unfathomable mystery. But the issue is your gluttony. Know that hell is the sinful life.”

“Nobody paints hell as well as you, Jerome,” said Jayjay, more than ready to change the subject. “It’s
ironic how uninteresting heaven always looks.”

“Look closer,” said Bosch. “Sacred and ordinary things are strange monsters, too. All made of the same
paint.”

Jayjay walked around to Bosch’s side and noticed a dissected stingray in the picture. Still fighting against
the cathartic revelation Bosch was leading him towards, Jayjay shot a verbal jab:

“Did you torture animals when you were a boy?”

“Impudent imp! I was a timid lad. But often I watched the butchers at work. And I saw my brother
Goossen’s friends stone a cat to death. Horrible. I fear cats. And so I paint them. Painting hell is heaven.”
He pointed with the end of his brush at a toothy, squalling cat face on a demon near the kneeling Saint
Anthony. Saint Anthony was looking over his shoulder at Jayjay, his eyes calm and filled with
self-knowledge. He had eyes like Bosch.



In that moment Jayjay accepted that he was indeed a glutton. His craving for excess had warped his life.
He was finally ready to change. Giving things up had never worked for him, but maybe he could change