Девять рассказов

           "Everybodyjustthinksthingskeepstoppingoffsomewhere.Theydon’t.That’swhatIwastryingtotellProfessorPeet."Heshiftedinhisseatandtookoutaneyesoreofahandkerchief—agray,waddedentity—andblewhisnose."Thereasonthingsseemtostopoffsomewhereisbecausethat’stheonlywaymostpeopleknowhowtolookatthings,"hesaid."Butthatdoesn’tmeantheydo."Heputawayhishandkerchief,andlookedatNicholson."Wouldyouholdupyourarmasecond,please?"heasked.

           "Myarm?Why?"

           "Justdoit.Justdoitasecond."

           Nicholsonraisedhisforearmaninchortwoabovethelevelofthearmrest."Thisone?"heasked.

           Teddynodded."Whatdoyoucallthat?"heasked.

           "Whatdoyoumean?It’smyarm.It’sanarm."

           "Howdoyouknowitis?"Teddyasked."Youknowit’scalledanarm,buthowdoyouknowitisone?Doyouhaveanyproofthatit’sanarm?"

           Nicholsontookacigaretteoutofhispack,andlitit."Ithinkthatsmacksoftheworstkindofsophistry,frankly,"hesaid,exhalingsmoke."It’sanarm,forheaven’ssake,becauseit’sanarm.Inthefirstplace,ithastohaveanametodistinguishitfromotherobjects.Imeanyoucan’tsimply—"

           "You’rejustbeinglogical,"Teddysaidtohimimpassively.

           "I’mjustbeingwhat?"Nicholsonasked,withalittleexcessofpoliteness.

           "Logical.You’rejustgivingmearegular,intelligentanswer,"Teddysaid."Iwastryingtohelpyou.YouaskedmehowIgetoutofthefinitedimensionswhenIfeellikeit.Icertainlydon’tuselogicwhenIdoit.