"Ian Watson - Lambert, Lambert" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

LAMBERT, LAMBERT
by Ian Watson

Illustrated by Allen Koszowski


You must be finding your present situation pretty odd, eh? Bear up, pal! Chin
up. There’s company awaiting you further on inside.

Why me?, you’re wondering. I took pity on you, see. Yes, pity! I decided to
save you.

‘Course, once I started doing this trick of mine I developed a certain appetite
for it, as you might say. I won’t go so far as to call it a craving. If I craved, could I
control myself, could I choose my customers? Could I ration myself sensibly?
What-ever my girth, I’m no glutton. No addict, me. I feel a definite relish; that’s
about it.

Listen up, lad, and you’ll understand. What’s in a name? asked the Bard.
Quite a lot, I do believe. To a greater extent than chance can explain, peo-ple’s
names can be unusually fitting. I’d go so far as to say that in a good many cases the
name maketh the man.

Take me, Bert Brown. Blunt and solid, eh? Bert Brown could hardly be a
violinist or a philoso-pher. He could be a bus driver or a postman. In my case, a
prison camp guard. Right? You agree? Only my pals inside know differently.

Oh you’ll meet them just as soon as I do my trick the next time, and you get
squeezed within. Inter-esting company! Your sort. The people they put in these
camps are usually interesting, at least when they arrive and for a few months
after-wards. Then they stop being so interesting. Lack of the old brainfood, eh?
Gruel and thin soup, scabby veg and stale bread wears them down.

You’re still able to peep out. When that stops, you’ll meet the others. Oh I can
talk to them or just listen to them nattering but you can’t yet.

By “inside” I’m not of course referring to the electrified fences, the rows of
huts. I’m talking about me. This here is my standard orientation lecture. How
thoughtful of me to provide one! Well, it calms you down. Otherwise you might
thrash around and give me a spot of indigestion, as ‘twere. You might unbalance me
a bit; though for a fact that would take some doing! I’m carrying ballast, chum. You
need to appreciate what a kindness I’m doing you. I’m sure you’re catching on,
you’re getting there.

Where were we? Oh yes, my name. Bert’s a use-ful sort of moniker to have
these days. Doesn’t attract attention; doesn’t mark a fellow out. That’s how I see it.
It’s a name, if you’ll excuse my humour, lacking any colour.

But thirty years gone by, my Mum and Dad named me Lambert. Lambert
Brown. That’s what Mum always called me when I was a nipper. “My little lamb,