Zelazny, Roger The Dream Master (He Who Shapes)

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He handed his father a package, Jill another.
Render opened his, Jill hers.
"A chess set" Render.
"A compact" Jill.
"Thank you" Render.
"Thank you" Jill.
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"You're both welcome."
"How are you coming with the recorder?" asked Render.
"Give a listen," said Peter.
He assembled his recorder and played.
He played of Christmas and holiness, of evening and blazing star, of warm hearth, wassail, shepherds,
kings, light, and the voices of angels.
When he was finished he disassembled the recorder and put it away.
"Very good," said Render.
"Yes-good," said Jill. "Very ..."
"Thanks."
"How was school?" asked Jill.
"Fine," said Peter.
"Will the change be much of a bother?"
"Not really."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm good. I'm a good student. Dad has trained me well very, very well."
"But there will be different instructors ..."
He shrugged.
"If you know an instructor, then you only know an in-structor," he said. "If you know a subject though,
you know a subject. I know many subjects."
"Do you know anything about architecture?" she asked suddenly.
"What do you want to know?" he said, smiling.
She drew back and glanced away.
"The fact that you ask the question the way you do in-dicates that you know something about
architecture."
"Yes," he agreed, "I do. I've been studying it recently."
"That's all I wanted to know really . . ."
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"Thanks. I'm glad you think I know something."
"Why is it that you know architecture, though? I'm sure it isn't a part of the normal curriculum."
"Nihil hominum."He shrugged.
"Okay I just wondered." She looked quickly in the di-rection of her purse. "What do you think of it?"
she asked, reaching for her cigarettes.
He smiled.
"What can you think about architecture? It's like the sun: It's big, it's bright, and it's there. That's about
all unless you want to get specific."
She flushed again.
Render lit her cigarette.
"I mean, do you like it?"
"Invariably, if it is old and far away or, if it is new and I am inside it when it is cold outside. I am
utilitarian in matters of physical pleasure and romantic in those pertaining to sensibility."
"God!" said Jill, and looked at Render. "What have you been teaching your son?"
"Everything I can," he replied, "as fast as I can."
"Why?"
"I don't want him to be stepped on someday by something
the size of a skyscraper, all stuffed full of facts and modem physics."
"It is not in good taste to speak of people as though they were absent," said Peter.
"True," said Render, "but good taste is not always in good taste."
"You make it sound as though someone owes somebody an apology," he noted.
"That is a matter which the individual must decide for himself, or it is without value."
"In that case," he observed, "I've just decided that I don't owe anybody an apology. If anybody owes
me one though, I'll accept it like a gentleman, and in good taste."
Render stood, stared down at his son.
"Peter " he began.
"May I have some more punch?" asked Jill. "It's quite good, and mine is all gone."
Render reached for the cup.
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"I'll get it," said Peter.
He took the cup and stirred the punch with its crystal ladle. Then he rose to his feet, leaning one elbow
on the back of his chair.
"Peter!"
He slipped.
The cup and its contents fell into Jill's lap. The contents ran in strawberry tracery through the white fur of
her coat. The cup rolled to the sofa, coming to rest in the center of a widening stain.
Peter cried and seized his ankle, sitting down on the floor.
The guest-buzzer sounded.
Render mentioned a long medical term, in Latin. He stooped then and took his son's foot in one hand,
his ankle in the other.
"Does this hurt?"
"Yes!"
"This?"
"Yes! It hurts all over!"
"How about this?"
"Along the side . . . There!"
Render helped him to his feet, held him balanced on his sound foot, reached for his crutches.
"Come on. Along with me. Dr. Heydell has a hobby-lab in his apartment, downstairs. That fast-cast is
coming off. I want to X-ray the foot again."
"No! It's not "
"What about my coat?" said Jill.
The buzzer sounded again.
"Damn everything!" announced Render, and he pushed the call-dot.
"Yes! Who is it?"
There came a sound of breathing.
Then, "Uh, it's me, boss. Did I pick a bad time?"
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"Bennie! No, listen I didn't mean to snap at you, but all hell's just broken loose. Come on up. By the
time you get here things will be normal and unhectic again."
". . . Okay, if you're sure it's all right, that is. I just wanted to stop in for a minute. I'm on my way to
some-where else."
"Sure thing. Here's the door."
He tapped the other circle.
"You stay here and let her in, Jill. Well be back in a few minutes."
"What about my coat? And the sofa . . . ?"
"All in good time. Don't worry. C'mon, Pete."
He guided him out into the hall, where they entered an ele-vator and directed it to the sixth floor. On the
way down, their elevator sighed past Bennie's, on its way up.
The door clicked. Before it could open though, Render pressed the "Hold" button.
"Peter," he said, "why are you acting like a snotty adoles-cent?"
Peter wiped his eyes.
"Hell, I'm pre-puberty," he said, "and as for being snot-ty . . ."
He blew his nose.
Render's hand began to rise, fell back again.
He sighed.
"We'll discuss it later."
He released the "Hold" button and the door slid open.
Dr. Heydell's suite was located at the end of the corri-dor. A large wreathe of evergreen and pine cones
hung upon the door, encircling its brass knocker.
Render raised the knocker and let it fall. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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