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Ray Bradbury Stories Volume 2
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‘So, at last, you’ve decided to speak?’ said Douglas.
‘Yes,’ came the whisper.
‘We wondered,’ said Douglas, ‘when we would hear from you.’ He squeezed his wife gently.
‘It’s time,’ the voice murmured. ‘So here I am.’
‘Welcome, Sascha,’ both said.
‘Why didn’t you talk sooner?’ asked Douglas Spaulding.
‘I wasn’t sure that you liked me,’ the voice whispered.
‘Why would you think that?’
‘First I was, then I wasn’t. Once I was only a name. Remember, last year, I was ready to come and stay. Scared you.’
‘We were broke,’ said Douglas quietly. ‘And nervous.’
‘What’s so scary about life?’ said Sascha. Maggie’s lips twitched. ‘It’s that other thing. Not being, ever. Not being wanted.’
‘On the contrary.’ Douglas Spaulding moved down on his pillow so he could watch his wife’s profile, her eyes shut, but her mouth breathing softly. ‘We love you. But last year it was bad timing. Understand?’
‘No,’ whispered Sascha. ‘I only understand you didn’t want me. And now you do. I should leave.’
‘But you just got here!’
‘Here I go, anyway.’
‘Don’t, Sascha! Stay!’
‘Good-bye.’ The small voice faded. ‘Oh, good-bye.’
And then silence.
Maggie opened her eyes with quiet panic.
‘Sascha’s gone,’ she said.
‘He can’t be!’
The room was still.
‘Can’t be,’ he said. ‘It’s only a game.’
‘More than a game. Oh, God, I feel cold. Hold me.’
He moved to hug her.
‘It’s okay.’
‘No. I had the funniest feeling just now, as if he were real.’
‘He is. He’s not gone.’
‘Unless we do something. Help me.’
‘Help?’ He held her even tighter, then shut his eyes, and at last called:
‘Sascha?’
Silence.
‘I know you’re there. You can’t hide.’
His hand moved to where Sascha might be.
‘Listen. Say something. Don’t scare us, Sascha. We don’t want to be scared or scare you. We need each other. We three against the world. Sascha?’
Silence.
‘Well?’ whispered Douglas.
Maggie breathed in and out.
They waited.
‘Yes?’
There was a soft flutter, the merest exhalation on the night air.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re back!’ both cried.
Another silence.
‘Welcome?’ asked Sascha.
‘Welcome!’ both said.
And that night passed and the next day and the night and day after that, until there were many days, but especially midnights when he dared to declare himself, pipe opinions, grow stronger and firmer and longer in half-heard declarations, as they lay in anticipatory awareness, now she moving her lips, now he taking over, both open as warm, live ventriloquists’ mouthpieces. The small voice shifted from one tongue to the other, with soft bouts of laughter at how ridiculous but loving it all seemed, never knowing what Sascha might say next, but letting him speak on until dawn and a smiling sleep.
‘What’s this about Halloween?’ he asked, somewhere in the sixth month.
‘Halloween?’ both wondered.
‘Isn’t that a death holiday?’ Sascha murmured.
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Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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