"Kate Wilhelm - Death Qualified" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

Then how is it Tom? Tell me what you mean.

He couldn't tell her. He had tried to guide her hand to the window like shell around him, not hard
like the building windows, but yielding, stretching when it had to stretch, coming back to fit snugly, but
always there. He had tried to make her feel her own casing, her shell, tried to explain that it didn't have
to fit so tightly. When he tried to touch her shell, she had called for someone to come, and someone had
given him a shot. Yesterday. This morning. Sometime. Everything that was not right now was
sometime.

They made him wash windows sometime, and they asked him if the windows were frightening. He
said no.

They asked him if he could see their shells. He said no. He said he didn't know what they meant.
They asked him if he had a shell that could expand and contract. He said no. He said he didn't know
what they meant. He was afraid of the doctor. If he told her the truth she called someone who gave him
a shot. And then when he walked outside it was different. Instead of green leaves, they might be gone
altogether, or there might be snow on the ground. Or it could be different in some other way that made
him edgy.

He never told them about the leaves' not being right.

Sometime. He woke up in front of his television, clutching a piece of paper with writing on it:
Don't take the medicine. He threw it away.

Sometime. He woke up in a chair in his tiny living room, clutching a slip of paper: Don't take the
medicine. He threw it away.

Sometime. He woke up clutching his hand, which was bloody. When he cleaned it he saw
scratches on his palm, as if made with a pin: Don't.

Good morning Tom. How are you ? Any more episodes ?

Any dreams ? Here's your medicine. That's a good boy. Go on to work now. The medicine was a
long red capsule in a little white paper cup, with another little cup of water by it. He put the capsule in
his mouth and took a drink and walked out toward the maintenance office for his daily assignment. On
the way he spat the capsule into his hand and thrust it down into his pocket.

He touched the capsule in his pocket several times.

Sticky. He broke it with a touch and felt grains like fine sand in his pocket.

Tom weed out those dandelions in the daffodils. He bent over to start, but he was shaking, chilled.
Hey Tom you sick or something? Must be flu. Everyone's getting it. Go on home Tom. Pile up in bed

file:///J|/sci-fi/Nieuwe%20map/Kate%20Wilhelm%20-%20Death%20Qualified.txt (2 of 399)17-2-2006 2:49:07
 file:///J|/sci-fi/Nieuwe%20map/Kate%20Wilhelm%20-%20Death%20Qualified.txt

a day or two, you "II be okay.