"Rudy Rucker - The Secret of Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rucker Rudy)

and volatile stuff that evaporated almost before he could swallow.

With flushed skin, buzzing ears, and the sudden conviction thathe was cool , Conrad fumbled the bottle
back into its velvet-collared overcoat. A brief wave of sickness. He made for the men’s room, eyes and
mouth streaming, and drank some water from the sink.

The bathroom was empty, all light and white tile. Mirrors, a stack of clean-smelling linen towels by the
sinks, and the urinals across the room. “I’m here by the sinks,” thought Conrad, “and it seems impossible
that I will ever be over there by the urinals.” He began to walk. “Now I am moving through space, and
time is going on, and now . . .” He unzipped and began to piss. “Now, although it seemed inconceivable
before, I am on the other side of the room.” His mind felt unbelievably clear. “Last year I never thought
I’d be drunk at a dance, yet here I am, just as surely as I’ve crossed this tile floor.”

As he started back toward the dance floor, the wider implications hit him. “I can’t conceive of being in
college, but that will come, too, and when it comes it will feel likenow . I will go to college, and marry,
and have children, and all the time it will be me doing it, me doing it in some mysteriously movingnow .
And then I’ll die. It seems impossible, but someday I will really die.”

Linda wasn’t interested in all this; Linda was a tennis player. She and Conrad had gone steady for almost
a year, and now all of a sudden at the New Year’s Eve dance he was interested in the problem of death.
Babbling about it on the dance floor, Conrad wore a heavy, glazed expression that made Linda
suspicious.

“Are you drunk? You’re acting funny.”

“What difference does it make? What difference does anything make? Oh, beautiful Linda, why don’t
you sleep with me before we die.”

“That is just alittle out-of-the-question, Conrad. Maybe you should sit down.”

Instead he dug back into the coat racks. There were some older boys down there now, but, hell,
everyone was drinking, why should they care if he took a little?

“Get out of here, Bunger. What are you, a pickpocket or something?” It was Preston, a party-boy with
cratered skin and a black burr-haircut. He was sipping from the very same pint that Conrad had sampled
earlier.

Conrad attempted a smile. Suddenly he wasn’t cool anymore. “Happy New Year, Preston. Can I have a
slug?”

“Christ, and give me syphilis? Get your own!”
It was still only 10:30, and those few gulps of whiskey were wearing off fast. The boys in the cloakroom
glared at Conrad. He found his way back upstairs.

Linda was still dancing, laughing and light on her feet. Her partner was Billy Ballhouse, a real snowman.
Ballhouse was talking about love, no doubt, love and kissing, dance steps and new clothes. Watching
Linda dance, Conrad felt very old. Who was he to badger this gay young thing for sex? With death so
near, and the night so young, how could he find a bottle?

The answer came to him as the song ended.Steal some wine from the St. John’s sacristy! He told