"Aldridge, Ray - The Spine DiversV1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Aldridge Ray)

His face slackened, and his eyes were dull with an inward gaze.

"And now she is a diver," I said, in an attempt to move the conversation along.

He shivered. "Yes. She realized her dream. But soon she will die, and what will I have left? Only those few poor memories of her that my ancient head can hold."

The truth dawned on me. "You want me to include her in my travelogue?"

"Yes, and why not? she is worthy of your regard, not so?"

"Yes, she is," I said quickly. "But why don't you make your own recordings? The equipment is available here; I've seen tourists with rented gear."

He shrugged. "I suppose I could. But I like your work; you're an artist with memory, as I am an artist with food. You could, so I presume, eat your own cooking without great harm. . .but wouldn't you rather eat mine? It is the same with memory. Your chips are small in scope, perhaps, but somehow complete, and they have. . .how shall I say this? Innocence is the right word, perhaps." He paused. "Mirella is an innocent."

"Really?"

He saw my skepticism. "She is. Oh, she has rough edges, I admit this, but she is young, you see." "I see."

"Not entirely," he said. "You are very young, for a Dilvermooner; what are you, seventy standard years? Eighty? I myself am old in every sense; I was old when I came to this terrible little place. Four hundred years ago. But Mirella is young in the most basic human sense; she was born barely twenty-three years ago. She won't see her twenty-fourth birthday."

I examined the emotions that swam through my head, which was aching a little with fatigue. I felt a natural compassion for Odorini, tinged with a slight degree of suspicion. Was he only a doting father, nothing more? That he knew of me was in itself an extravagant coincidence, given the size of the universe and the depth of my obscurity. On the other hand, I had chosen his restaurant from an old guide book -- a true coincidence, which probably could not have been pre-arranged.

What of my feelings regarding the village, the divers, the caverns, and the business that went on down there? My primary reaction was a son of shame. My own fears felt less important to me than before, in comparison to the terrors that boiled beneath our feet.

Still, the whole thing seemed slightly unreal to me. I accepted that for Odorini tragedy was imminent. . .his daughter was clearly a willing participant in the morbid business below. She showed the dark luster of the doomed. She was pursuing her pointless end without any sign of heal thy doubt. It was a very unhappy situation. But I found something terribly false in the theatrical setting, the contrived rituals, the vainglorious rhetoric -- it distracted me, it made me think that the onrushing tragedy was unnecessary, A futile meaningless twitch of fate. . .not at all the stuff of good drama.

"Well," I said finally. "I would do what I could, but she doesn't seem to like me."

He waved his hands, an airy gesture of dismissal. "She knows nothing of you. Also, she is impetuous. Volatile, But fair, very fair. She will surely give you another chance to know her, if you will ask."

"I'll ask, if the opportunity arises."

"I am content," he said, with an invincible sincerity. It occurred to me that he might be a magnificent liar, or else an actor of extraordinary gifts. No, I told. myself, Odorini was only the proprietor of a small restaurant. To imagine anything else was baseless paranoia.

We finished our wine, and I rose to go. "Perhaps," I said. "Perhaps she would allow me to fit a recorder to her. For her next hunt, for her next ride with the tide."

His eyes grew large with what seemed to be dismay. "Oh; no. You mustn't think of such a thing."

"It seems the central aspect of her life."

For the first time he showed a real and unmistakable anger. "That's a shallow thing to say, and false. She swims through a boiling night, pursuing monsters. . .this is the thing closest to the true heart of my Mirella? A little girl who danced in the sunlight, who brought treasures to her father every day. . .flowers, seashells, bits of driftwood? Whose eyes were full of life's brightest delight? Who had the sweetest laugh I've ever in my long life heard? No, no, it's nothing but the foolishness of youth, that's all. But it's a foolishness she has no time to outgrow. Why would I want to remember her in the darkness?" There were tears in his eyes again, tears of rage or perhaps helplessness. He sank back slowly, took a deep breath.

"Besides," he said, in an abruptly careless voice. "You'd be breaking guild law -- a capital offense. If you put a bug on her and she swims. . . ." He shook his head somberly. "When the divers catch you, they'll skin you and leave you for the crabs. Or if they happen to be in a merciful mood, they'll just lash you to a rock and let the tide kill you."

I slept in my room until noon, and thereafter passed two days in unprofitable musing. I wandered the village, rubbed elbows with the tourists, took my meals at the Ripper Room.

I saw nothing of Odorini. When I asked after him, the staff at the restaurant gave no explanation for his absence, beyond bemused shrugs and professional smiles. I wondered where he lived, and how he amused himself away from the kitchen and the cash register.

But I thought many more times of his beautiful daughter Mirella. I remembered her long smooth swimmer's legs, her glossy mouth, The first night, lonely in my room, I considered knocking on all the doors in the hall, until I found her. Then I thought of going out to find someone else. In the end I spent the night alone, dreaming fitfully of darkness and turbulent waters. . .sometimes Odorini's clever old face floated through my dreams.