"Theodore Sturgeon - The Perfect Host" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sturgeon Theodore)

"Gosh, that's all right," he said. He was a sweet little chap, not a man yet, not a child--
less and less of a child as he woke up, which he was doing slowly. He smiled.
"Come in. Let me have your coat. Dad ought to be here now. Maybe he went for cigarettes or
something."
It was as if a switch had been thrown and a little sign had lit up within him-- "Remember your
manners."
Abruptly I felt the strangest compulsion--a yearning, a warming toward this lad. It was
completely a sexual thing, mind you--completely. But it was as if a part of me belonged to a part
of him . . . no; more the other way round. I don't know. It can't be described. And with the
feeling, I suddenly knew that it was all right, it was all quite all right.
I did not have to see Mr. Daniels after all. That business would be well taken care of when
the time came, and not by me. Better--much better--for him to do it.
He extended his hand for my coat. "Thank you so much," I said, smiling, liking him--more than
liking him, in this indefinable way--"but I really must go. I--if your father--" How could I say
it? How could I let him know that it was different now; that everything might be spoiled if his
father knew I had come here? "I mean, when your father comes back...."
Startlingly, he laughed. "Please don't worry," he said. "I won't tell him you were here."
I looked at his face, his round, bland face, so odd with his short slender frame. That thing
like a sense of duty told me not to ask, but I violated it. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
He shook his head. "Not really. But it doesn't matter. I won't tell dad."
"Good." I smiled, and left.




IV

As Told By
JENNIE BEAUFORT


YOU NEVER know what you're going to run up against when you're an information operator, I mean
really, people seem to have the craziest idea of what we're there for. Like the man called up the
other day and wanted to know how you spell conscientious--"Just conscientious," he says, "I know
how to spell objector" and I gave him the singsong, you know, the voice with a smile, "I'm soreee!
We haven't that infor-may-shun!" and keyed him out, thinking to myself, what a schmoe. (I told Mr.
Parker, he's my super, and he grinned and said it was a sign of the times; Mr. Parker's always
making jokes.) And like the other man wants to know if he gets a busy signal and hangs on to the
line, will the signal stop and the bell ring when the party he is calling hangs up.
I want to say to him, what do you think I am, Alexander Graham Bell or something, maybe Don
Ameche, instead of which I tell him "One moment, sir, and I will get that information for you?"
(not that I'm asking a question, you raise your voice that way because it leaves the customers
breathless) and I nudge Sue and she tells me, Sue knows everything.
Not that everything like that comes over the wire, anything is liable to happen right there in
the office or in the halls to say nothing of the stage-door Johnnies with hair oil and cellophane
boxes who ask all the girls if they are Operator 23, she has such a nice voice.
Like the kid that was in here yesterday, not that he was on the prowl, he was too young,
though five years from now he'll be just dreamy, with his cute round face and his long legs. Mr.
Parker brought him in to me and told me the kid was getting up a talk on telephones for his civics
class in high school, and tells the kid to just ask Miss Beaufort anything he wants to know and