"Jack Dann - Art Appreciation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

Art Appreciation
by Barry N. Malzberg, Jack Dann
****
Glop.
There went another gallery-goer, an overweight middle-aged woman, camera
slung over the right shoulder, blue sunglasses, a peaked cap, long purple fingernails.
The kind of woman youтАЩd fantasize being eaten by a painting, perhaps. The kind of
woman -- a tip of the hat to Mencken here -- who made you want to burn every bed
in the world. Glop. Glug. Into the Giaconda smile.
The Mona Lisa seemed to wink at Evans and Evans struggled agaainst the
impulse to wink back. That would have made him a collaborator. He was definitely
not that. He witnessed alarm. Horror, in fact.
Glop. Tourists disappeared head first into the maw of La Giaconda. This
woman was the fifth within the hour. How long had this been going on? he asked
himself once again, as if repetition could bring enlightenment. Had it been going on
since the opening? Since Leoonardo had painted the sphinxlike wife of the merchant
Pier Francesco del Giacondo? Could he have been her first adultery? There was a
certain licentious satisfaction in that thought. Indeed. Leonardo da Vinci unleashes
the atom bomb of archetypes. Hateful man. But, alas, he could certainly paint.
All of this had its comic aspects, of course, and the indignity of exit was
provocative, but you were really dealing with tragedy here. Evans had to keep that in
mind. This was his Blue Period, as he had decided to call it only a little while ago
when the tourists started to slide away. It was no improvement upon the Yellow
Period, which seemed to have gone on for several decades up to this point, but it
looked as if it was going to be instructive. Alone in the gallery now, bereaved, he
supposed, Evans could feel waves of satisfaction coming from the famous painting,
along with the hint of a belch. Well, what was he supposed to do? Arrest the
painting? Turn in La Giaconda to the authorities? What did you do with something
like this?
There was a whole clump of guards just outside the gallery, standing sullenly,
pacing around; they represented, Evans supposed, a kind of authority. Should he go
to them, point out that La Giaconda was gobbling tourists, waiting until only Evans
and a straggler were there, then snatching the incautious traveler who came too close
to the frame and inserting the surprised victim into a mouth grown not ambiguous
but suddenly huge? The screams from the tourists, however brief, were intense
enough to travel, but the guards had shown no reaction. The dangers posed by this
kind of cannibalism seemed immense. Still, there seemed no proper way to deal with
the situation. тАЬExcuse me,тАЭ he could say to one of the union guys carrying batons
and small radios, тАЬI donтАЩt mean to interrupt your conversation, but thereтАЩs some
very strange stuff going on here; I donтАЩt quite know how to tell you this, but -- тАЬ
 Well, but what? This wasnтАЩt the kind of thing you could tell a stranger. The
terms were imponderable. The worst sign would be indications of interest and
credulity. That would mean that he was being humored while reinforcements were
called in. Drastic things would happen. Evans himself might stand accused of killing
tourists, corpus delicti or not.
Still. тАЬStill now,тАЭ he said to the Mona Lisa, the painting on special international
loan, placed high on the wall opposite, buttressed by heavy frame and protected by
guys in the anteroom with batons and receivers, тАЬIтАЩve got my eye on you, lady.
YouтАЩre not going to get away with this, lady. Evans is on the job and sees exactly
whatтАЩs going on here, which is why IтАЩm keeping a safe distance. YouтАЩre not getting