Девять рассказов

           ButIwouldn’thavehadtogetincarnatedinanAmericanbodyifIhadn’tmetthatlady.Imeanit’sveryhardtomeditateandliveaspirituallifeinAmerica.Peoplethinkyou’reafreakifyoutryto.MyfatherthinksI’mafreak,inaway.Andmymother—well,shedoesn’tthinkit’sgoodformetothinkaboutGodallthetime.Shethinksit’sbadformyhealth."

           Nicholsonwaslookingathim,studyinghim."Ibelieveyousaidonthatlasttapethatyouweresixwhenyoufirsthadamysticalexperience.Isthatright?"

           "IwassixwhenIsawthateverythingwasGod,andmyhairstoodup,andallthat,"Teddysaid."ItwasonaSunday,Iremember.Mysisterwasonlyaverytinychildthen,andshewasdrinkinghermilk,andallofasuddenIsawthatshewasGodandthemilkwasGod.Imean,allshewasdoingwaspouringGodintoGod,ifyouknowwhatImean."

           Nicholsondidn’tsayanything.

           "ButIcouldgetoutofthefinitedimensionsfairlyoftenwhenIwasfour,"Teddysaid,asanafterthought."Notcontinuouslyoranything,butfairlyoften."

           Nicholsonnodded."Youdid?"hesaid."Youcould?"

           "Yes,"Teddysaid."Thatwasonthetape...OrmaybeitwasontheoneImadelastApril.I’mnotsure."

           Nicholsontookouthiscigarettesagain,butwithouttakinghiseyesoffTeddy."Howdoesonegetoutofthefinitedimensions?"heasked,andgaveashortlaugh."Imean,tobeginverybasically,ablockofwoodisablockofwood,forexample.Ithaslength,width—"

           "Ithasn’t.That’swhereyou’rewrong,"Teddysaid.