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- Исаак Азимов
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The
figure
in
the
wheel
chair
looked
up
as
he
entered
and
smiled
.
Byerley
's
face
lit
with
affection
.
He
crossed
over
to
it
.
The
cripple
's
voice
was
a
hoarse
,
grating
whisper
that
came
out
of
a
mouth
forever
twisted
to
one
side
,
leering
out
of
a
face
that
was
half
scar
tissue
,
"
You
're
late
,
Steve
.
"
"
I
know
,
John
,
I
know
.
But
I
've
been
up
against
a
peculiar
and
interesting
trouble
today
.
"
"
So
?
"
Neither
the
torn
face
nor
the
destroyed
voice
could
carry
expression
but
there
was
anxiety
in
the
clear
eyes
.
"
Nothing
you
ca
n't
handle
?
"
"
I
'm
not
exactly
certain
.
I
may
need
your
help
.
You
're
the
brilliant
one
in
the
family
.
Do
you
want
me
to
take
you
out
into
the
garden
?
It
's
a
beautiful
evening
.
"
Two
strong
arms
lifted
John
from
the
wheel
chair
.
Gently
,
almost
caressingly
,
Byerley
's
arms
went
around
the
shoulders
and
under
the
swathed
legs
of
the
cripple
.
Carefully
,
and
slowly
,
he
walked
through
the
rooms
,
down
the
gentle
ramp
that
had
been
built
with
a
wheel
chair
in
mind
,
and
out
the
back
door
into
the
walled
and
wired
garden
behind
the
house
.
"
Why
do
n't
you
let
me
use
the
wheel
chair
,
Steve
?
This
is
Silly
.
"
"
Because
I
'd
rather
carry
you
.
Do
you
object
?
You
know
that
you
're
as
glad
to
get
out
of
that
motorized
buggy
for
a
while
as
I
am
to
see
you
out
.
How
do
you
feel
today
?
"
He
deposited
John
with
infinite
care
upon
the
cool
grass
.
"
How
should
I
feel
?
But
tell
me
about
your
troubles
.
"
