"Тед Чан. Seventy-Two Letters (72 буквы, Рассказ) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

caused the latent potentialities of both to be realized. Nor was there a
single "true name" for a given object: depending on its precise shape, a
body might be compatible with several names, known as its "euonyms," and
conversely a simple name might tolerate significant variations in body
shape, as his childhood marching doll had demonstrated.
When they reached Lionel’s home, they promised the cook they would be
in for dinner shortly and headed to the garden out back. Lionel had
converted a tool shed in his family’s garden into a laboratory, which he
used to conduct experiments. Normally Robert came by on a regular basis,
but recently Lionel had been working on an experiment that he was keeping
secret. Only now was he ready to show Robert his results. Lionel had
Robert wait outside while he entered first, and then let him enter.
A long shelf ran along every wall of the shed, crowded with racks of
vials, stoppered bottles of green glass, and assorted rocks and mineral
specimens. A table decorated with stains and scorch marks dominated the
cramped space, and it supported the apparatus for Lionel’s latest
experiment: a cucurbit clamped in a stand so that its bottom rested in a
basin full of water, which in turn sat on a tripod above a lit oil lamp. A
mercury thermometer was also fixed in the basin.
"Take a look," said Lionel.
Robert leaned over to inspect the cucurbit’s contents. At first it
appeared to be nothing more than foam, a dollop of suds that might have
dripped off a pint of stout. But as he looked closer, he realized that
what he thought were bubbles were actually the interstices of a glistening
latticework. The froth consisted of homunculi: tiny seminal foetuses.
Their bodies were transparent individually, but collectively their bulbous
heads and strand-like limbs adhered to form a pale, dense foam.
"So you wanked off into a jar and kept the spunk warm?" he asked, and
Lionel shoved him. Robert laughed and raised his hands in a placating
gesture. "No, honestly, it’s a wonder. How’d you do it?"
Mollified, Lionel said, "It’s a real balancing act. You have to keep
the temperature just right, of course, but if you want them to grow, you
also have to keep just the right mix of nutrients. Too thin a mix, and
they starve. Too rich, and they get over lively and start fighting with
each other."
"You’re having me on."
"It’s the truth; look it up if you don’t believe me. Battles amongst
sperm are what cause monstrosities to be born. If an injured foetus is the
one that makes it to the egg, the baby that’s born is deformed."
"I thought that was because of a fright the mother had when she was
carrying." Robert could just make out the minuscule squirmings of the
individual foetuses. He realized that the froth was ever so slowly roiling
as a result of their collective motions.
"That’s only for some kinds, like ones that are all hairy or covered in
blotches. Babies that don’t have arms or legs, or have misshapen ones,
they’re the ones that got caught in a fight back when they were sperm.
That’s why you can’t provide too rich a broth, especially if they haven’t
any place to go: they get in a frenzy.
You can lose all of them pretty quick that way."
"How long can you keep them growing?"