Killer
“And I am the so-called minority,” said Brock. - I have already entered into all kinds of societies, stalked in pickets, filed petitions, went to court. I protested for years. And everyone was laughing at me. Everyone just loves radio and advertising. I am one such freak - I do not keep up with the times.
“But then maybe you should change your leg as a soldier needs?” It is necessary to obey the majority.
- But they snap over the edge. It is pleasant to listen to a little music, occasionally “to connect” with friends, but they imagine: the more, the more pleasant. I'm right furious! I come home - my wife is hysterical. Why, why? Yes, because she half a day could not contact me. Remember, I danced a little on my radio broadcast? Well, that evening I decided to kill my own house.
- Well, I write so?
- By the meaning it is absolutely accurate. I decided to kill him, kill him. I have a house of such, you know, a miracle of technology: talking, singing, purring, telling the weather, reciting rhymes, retelling novels, tinkling, blubbering, singing a lullaby when you go to bed. If you take a shower, he silences you with arias from operas, and if you lie down, he teaches Spanish. A sort of talkative hole, it is full of electronic oracles! The oven bats you, “I'm a jam cake, I'm already baked!” - or: “I'm hot, quickly add gravy” - and other infant nonsense. Beds rock you for the night, and shake you in the morning to wake up! This house can not stand people, right I tell you! The front door bursts out: “Sir, you have shoes in the mud!” And the vacuum cleaner chases you through all the rooms, like a dog, God forbid you drop a pinch of ash from a cigarette - it will immediately suck. Oh dear!
Ray Bradbury. Killer
Translation - N.Gal
1953
“But then maybe you should change your leg as a soldier needs?” It is necessary to obey the majority.
- But they snap over the edge. It is pleasant to listen to a little music, occasionally “to connect” with friends, but they imagine: the more, the more pleasant. I'm right furious! I come home - my wife is hysterical. Why, why? Yes, because she half a day could not contact me. Remember, I danced a little on my radio broadcast? Well, that evening I decided to kill my own house.
- Well, I write so?
- By the meaning it is absolutely accurate. I decided to kill him, kill him. I have a house of such, you know, a miracle of technology: talking, singing, purring, telling the weather, reciting rhymes, retelling novels, tinkling, blubbering, singing a lullaby when you go to bed. If you take a shower, he silences you with arias from operas, and if you lie down, he teaches Spanish. A sort of talkative hole, it is full of electronic oracles! The oven bats you, “I'm a jam cake, I'm already baked!” - or: “I'm hot, quickly add gravy” - and other infant nonsense. Beds rock you for the night, and shake you in the morning to wake up! This house can not stand people, right I tell you! The front door bursts out: “Sir, you have shoes in the mud!” And the vacuum cleaner chases you through all the rooms, like a dog, God forbid you drop a pinch of ash from a cigarette - it will immediately suck. Oh dear!
Ray Bradbury. Killer
Translation - N.Gal
1953
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Source: https://habr.com/ru/post/8450/
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