"Big U, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stephenson Neal)

upward with his pipestem
—"and hear, that perhaps you are in a war now."
Casimir laughed, but then sucked in his breath and sat back as
Sharon glowered at him morosely. The old professor was very
complicated, and Casimir always seemed to be taking missteps with
him.
"War and violence are not very funny," said Sharon, "unless
they happen to you—then they are funny because they haff to be.
There is more violence up there than you realize! Even speech today
has become a form of violence—even in the university. So pay
attention to that, and don't worry about a war in Europe. Worry
about it here, this is your home now."
"Yes, sir." Alter pausing respectfully, Casimir withdrew a
clipboard from his pack and put It on Sharon's desk. "Or it will be
my home as soon as you sign these forms. Mrs. Santucci will tear
my arms off if I don't bring them in tomorrow."
Sharon sat still until Casimir began to feel uncomfortable. "Ja,"
he finally said, "I guess you need to worry about forms too. Forms
and forms and forms. Doesn't matter to me."
"Oh. It doesn't? You aren't retiring, are you?"
"Ja, I guess so."
Silently, Sharon separated the forms and laid them out on the
Periodic Table of the Elements that covered his desk. He examined
them with care for a few minutes, then selected a pen from a stein on
his desk, which had been autographed by Enrico Fermi and Niels
Bohr, and signed them.
"There, you're in the good courses now," he concluded. "Good
to see you are so well Socioeconomically Integrated." The old man
sat back in his chair, clasped his fingers over his flat chest, and
closed his eyes.
A thunderous crash and Casimir was on the floor, dust in his
throat and pea gravel on his back. Rubble thudded down from above
and Casimir heard a loud inharmonious piano chord, which held
steady for a moment and moaned downward in pitch until it was
obliterated by an explosive splintering crack. More rubble flew
around the room and he was pelted with small blocks. Looking down
as he rubbed dust from his eyes he saw scores of strewn black and
white piano keys.
Sharon was slumped over on his desk, and a trickle of blood ran
from his head and onto the back of his hand and puddled on the class
change form beside his pipe. Gravel, rainwater and litter continued
to slide down through the hole in the ceiling. Casimir alternately
screamed and gulped as he staggered to his feet. lie waded through
shattered ceiling panels and twisted books to Sharon's side and saw
with horror that the old man's side had been pierced by a shard of
piano frame shot out like an arrow in the explosion. With exquisite
care he helped him lean back, cleared the desk of books and junk,
then picked up his thin body and set him atop the desk. He propped
up Sharon's head with the 1938 issues of the Physical Review and
tried to ease his breathing. The head wound was superficial and