"Dann, Jack - Going Under" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

"No, we are not," Esme said impatiently. "Not yet, at least," and Stephen felt exhilarated at the thought of her really wanting him. Actually, it made no sense, for he could have any young woman he wanted. Why Esme? Simply because just now she was perfect.
"You're quite pretty," Michael said to Esme.
"Well, thank you," Esme replied, warming to him. "I like you too."
"Watch it," said the boy. "Are you going to stay on the ship and die when it sinks?"
"No!" Esme said, as if taken aback.
"What about your friend?"
"You mean Poppa?"
Vexed, the boy said, "No, him," giving Stephen a nasty look.
"Well, I don't know," Esme said. Her face was flushed. "Have you opted for a lifeboat, Stephen?"
"Yes, of course I have."
"Well, we're going to die on the ship," Michael said.
"Don't be silly," Esme said.
"Well, we are."
"Who's `we'?" Stephen asked.
"My sister and I. We've made a pact to go down with the ship."
"I don't believe it," Esme said. She stopped beside one of the lifeboats, rested the box containing Poppa on the rail, and gazed downward at the ocean spume curling away from the side of the ship.
"He's just baiting us," Stephen said, growing tired of the game. "Anyway, he's too young to make such a decision, and his sister, if she is his sister, could not decide such a thing for him, even if she were his guardian. It would be illegal."
"We're at sea," Michael said in the nagging tone of voice children use. "I'll discuss the ramifications of my demise with Poppa tomorrow. I'm sure he's more conversant with such things than you are."
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your sister now?" Stephen asked. Michael responded by making the rubber-lips face at him, and then walked away, tugging at the back of his shorts, as if his undergarments had bunched up beneath. He only turned around to wave good-bye to Esme, who blew him a kiss.
"Intelligent little brat," Stephen said.
But Esme looked as if she had just now forgotten all about Stephen and the little boy. She stared at the box as tears rolled from her eyes.
"Esme?"
"I love him and he's dead," she said, and then she seemed to brighten. She took Stephen's hand and they went inside, down the stairs, through several noisy corridors-stateroom parties were in full swing-to her suite. Stephen was a bit nervous, but all things considered, everything was progressing at a proper pace.
Esme's suite had a parlor and a private promenade deck with Elizabethan half-timbered walls. She led him right into the plush-carpeted, velour-papered bedroom, which contained a huge four-poster bed, an antique night table, and a

desk and a stuffed chair beside the door. The ornate, harp sculpture desk lamp was on, as was the lamp just inside the bed curtains. A porthole gave a view of sea and sky. But to Stephen it seemed that the bed overpowered the room.
Esme pushed the desk lamp aside, and then took Poppa, out of the box and placed him carefully in the center of the desk. "There." Then she undressed quickly, looking shyly away from Stephen, who was taking his time. She slipped between the parted curtains of the bed and complained that she could hear the damn engines thrumming right through these itchy pillows-she didn't like silk. After a moment she sat up in bed and asked him if he intended to get undressed or just stand there.
"I'm sorry," Stephen said, "but it's just-" He nodded toward the head.
"Poppa is turned off, you know."

Afterward, reaching for an inhalor, taking a long pull, and then finally opening her eyes, she said, "I love you too." Stephen only moved in his sleep.
"That's very nice, dear," Poppa said, opening his eyes and smiling at her from the desk.

Little Michael knocked on Esme's door at seven-thirty the next morning.
"Good morning," Michael said, looking Esme up and down. She had not bothered to put anything on before answering the door. "I came to see Poppa. I won't disturb you."
"Jesus, Mitchell-"
"Michael."
"Jesus, Michael, it's too early for-"
"Early bird gets the worm."
"Oh, right," Esme said. "And what the hell does that mean?"
"I calculated that my best chance of talking with Poppa was if I woke you up. You'll go back to bed and I can talk with
him in peace. My chances would be greatly diminished if-"
"Awright, come in."
"The steward in the hall just saw you naked."
"Big deal. Look, why don't you come back later, I'm not ready for this, and I don't know why I let you in the room."
"You see, it worked." Michael looked around the room. "He's in the bedroom, right?"
Esme nodded and followed him into the bedroom. Michael was wearing the same wrinkled shirt and shorts that he had on yesterday; his hair was not combed, just tousled.
"Is he with you, too?" Michael asked.
"If you mean Stephen, yes."
"I thought so," said Michael. Then he sat down at the desk and talked to Poppa.