Девять рассказов

           "YouloveGod,don’tyou?"Nicholsonasked,withalittleexcessofquietness."Isn’tthatyourforte,sotospeak?FromwhatIheardonthattapeandfromwhatAlBabcock—"

           "Yes,sure,IloveHim.ButIdon’tloveHimsentimentally.HeneversaidanybodyhadtoloveHimsentimentally,"Teddysaid."IfIwereGod,Icertainlywouldn’twantpeopletolovemesentimentally.It’stoounreliable."

           "Youloveyourparents,don’tyou?"

           "Yes,Ido—verymuch,"Teddysaid,"butyouwanttomakemeusethatwordtomeanwhatyouwantittomean—Icantell."

           "Allright.Inwhatsensedoyouwanttouseit?"

           Teddythoughtitover."Youknowwhattheword`affinity’means?"heasked,turningtoNicholson.

           "Ihavearoughidea,"Nicholsonsaiddryly.

           "Ihaveaverystrongaffinityforthem.They’remyparents,Imean,andwe’reallpartofeachother’sharmonyandeverything,"Teddysaid."Iwantthemtohaveanicetimewhilethey’realive,becausetheylikehavinganicetime...Buttheydon’tlovemeandBooper—that’smysister—thatway.Imeantheydon’tseemabletoloveusjustthewayweare.Theydon’tseemabletoloveusunlesstheycankeepchangingusalittlebit.Theylovetheirreasonsforlovingusalmostasmuchastheyloveus,andmostofthetimemore.It’snotsogood,thatway."HeturnedtowardNicholsonagain,sittingslightlyforward."Doyouhavethetime,please?"heasked."Ihaveaswimminglessonatten-thirty."

           "Youhavetime,"Nicholsonsaidwithoutfirstlookingathiswristwatch.Hepushedbackhiscuff.