"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - The Questing Mind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

He closes his eyes in frustration and hopes enough of his mind will be left by
dinner so that he can have a meaningful, life-saving conversation with his
sister's son.

The man who eats from the tray at Brasher's bedside is not a boy, but a person
who is crossing the threshold of old age. He is balding, and his features are
wide and square. The cartilage in his nose has softened, flattening it against
his jowly face. Only the eyes are familiar: bright and green and shining with
intelligence.

The nurses have served roast beef obviously carved in a grocery store dell,
gravy from a can, and mashed potatoes made from a mix. The preservatives give
everything a flat flavor, except the potatoes, which have a gritty taste all
their own. Scott eats carefully, flattening his potatoes so they melt into the
gravy and pushing the gelatinous mess away from his roast beef. He will not look
at Reed.

"It happens to everyone, Unc." Scott's right hand has lumpish knuckles and an
age spot near the wrist. "We all get old."

"No," Reed says. "No one else in my family lost their mind."

"Aunt Olive did, at the end, remember?"

He remembers. But he chooses to believe that his wife's personality simply died
before her body did. "We were not related by blood," he says, gently.

Scott smiles and for the first time, Reed sees the boy he remembers trapped in
the man's body. "I know that. But they think now that sometimes things like this
happen because of environment. You two went everywhere together."

Reed shakes his head. "This is different. I've been reading --" he sweeps his
hand at the bookshelf "-- and my symptoms are unique." He clears his throat,
runs his hand through his thinning hair, feeling the baldness pattern that is an
advanced version of his nephew's. "I need your help. I want you to do a map of
the deterioration of my brain."

Scott's eyes widen, and for a moment, color brushes his cheeks. He sets his fork
down, brings the linen napkin to his mouth, and wipes. His hand shakes. Then he
says in an oddly strained voice, "Unc, I haven't done any programming since
college."

Reed frowns. "But computers are your specialty."

Scott shakes his head. "No. I play with computers, but I use other people's
programs. Besides, this would take knowledge I don't have."
Reed slumps against his pillows. Even the thought that his knowledge of Scott
comes from the memory of a boy instead of the reality of a man does not make him
feel any better. Reed stares at the sheet, folded against the thick red
comforter, the white cotton smudged with a dab of gravy.