"Doorsways in the Sand 07" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

The window slid upward.
"Hi, Fred. Come on in."
"Thanks, Ralph. How've you been?"
"Fine," he said. "Business has been good, too."
"Great."
I climbed in, closed the window, crossed the room with him. I accepted a drink whose taste I did not recognize, though it looked like a fruit juice there in the pitcher on the table. We sat down, and I did not feel especially disoriented. He rearranges his rooms so often that I can never remember the layout from one time to the next, anyway. Ralph is a tall, wiry guy with lots of dark hair and bad posture. He knows all manner of crafty things. Even teaches basket weaving at the university.
"How did you like Australia?"
"Oh, barring a few mishaps, I might have enjoyed it I haven't decided yet."
"What sort of mishaps?"
"Later, later," I said. "Another time, maybe. Say, would it be too much trouble to put me up in the back room tonight?"
"Not unless you and Woof have had an argument."
"We have an arrangement," I said. "He sleeps with his nose under his tail and I get the blankets."
"The last time you stayed over it worked out the other way around."
"That's what led to the arrangement."
"We'll see what happens this time. Did you just get back in town?"
"Well, yes and no."
He clasped his hands about his knee and smiled.
"I admire your straightforward approach to things, Fred. Nothing evasive or misleading about you."
"I'm always being misunderstood," I said. "It is the burden of an honest man in a world of knaves. Yes, I just got back in town, but not from Australia. I did that a couple days ago, then went away and just now came back again. No, I did not just get back in town from Australia. See?"
He shook his head.
"You have a simple, almost classic life-style, too. What sort of trouble are you in this time? Irate husband? Mad bomber? Syndicate creditor?"
"Nothing like that," I said.
"Worse? Or better?"
"More complicated. What have you heard?"
"Nothing. But your adviser phoned me."
"When?"
"A little over a week ago. Then again this morning."
"What did he want?"
"He wanted to know where you were, wanted to know whether I had heard from you. I told him no on both counts. He told me a man would be stopping by to ask some questions. The university would appreciate my cooperation. That was the first time. The man showed up a little later, asked me the same questions, got the same answers."
"Was his name Nadler?"
"Yes. A federal man. State Department. At least, that is what his I.D. said. He gave me a number and told me to call it if I heard from you."
"Don't."
He winced.
"You didn't have to say it."
"Sorry."
I listened to the strings.
"I haven't heard from him since," he finished a few moments later.
"What did Wexroth want this morning?"
"He had the same questions, updated, and a message."
"For me?"
He nodded. He took a sip of his drink.
"What is it?"
"If I heard from you I was to tell you that you have graduated. You can pick up your diploma at his office."
"What?"
I was on my feet, part of my drink slopping over onto my cuff.
"That's what he said: 'graduated.' "
"They can't do that to me!"
He hunched his shoulders, let them fall again.
"Was he joking? Did he sound stoned? Did he say why? How?"
"No-on all of them," he said. "He sounded sober and serious. He even repeated it."