"Jack Dann - The Diamond Pit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

"Because of what they say about me."
"And what is that?"
"That's for me to know."
I nodded. She was obviously younger than her years, but I couldn't help
feeling attracted to her. I'd often been in the company of the rich and
spoiled, and Phoebe was certainly the quintessential product of excess. Could
she even imagine that there was another world out there, a world of people
working twelve hours a day, haggling over pennies at the market, cooking their
own food, sharing their possessions? Probably -- no, definitely not.
"How did you know I could play the piano?" I asked.
"Well, because I heard you, that's how. Poppa can listen to everything
those horrible men say down in the pit. And so can I, although if you tell
Poppa that, I'll never speak to you again." We walked down a huge stone
staircase and past the Neptune Pool that reflected the sun as a sheet of
yellow light. "But you wouldn't care, would you?"
"About what?" I asked, overwhelmed by the sheer size of this place, by
the formal gardens with statues as large as houses, by the pergola ahead,
which was fashioned of crystal and gems and seemed to extend for a mile. And
there was the chateau -- the castle that connected to dozens of other
buildings, each one of a different period, yet part of the perfect white,
geometric whole -- that was surrounded by pools the color of terra-cotta and
marble constructions that resembled Greek and Roman ruins.
"You wouldn't care if I ever spoke to you again, would you, Mr. Paul
Orsatti?" She sniffled, turning her head from me. "Well?"
"Of course, I would care."
"Why?"
"I don't know!"
"There, you see?" she said, but of course I didn't see.
"I listened to you play, even the night you got so drunk that the
dumbbell with no eyebrows had to drag you to his room. I listened to you
snore. Do you know how loud you snore? I'd do something about that if I were
you."
I chuckled and asked if her father was able to see his prisoners as
well as hear them. But Phoebe ignored that question -- as though she hadn't
heard it.
We walked past tennis courts, a reservoir, greenhouses, barracks, a zoo
surrounded by marble lions, and then through the pergola to the edge of the
formal gardens. Phoebe glanced back at Isaac every few minutes, and he would
respectfully drop back several feet.
"I think it's all a lie," Phoebe said.
"What?" I asked.
"That the servants can't understand English. I think they've been
tricking Poppa about that for years, and so does Uncle George."
"Uncle George?"
"You met him and played with his trains. That's what Poppa told me."
"Your _uncle_ is in the pit?"
"Oh, yes," Phoebe said. "George Bernard Jefferson. He didn't tell you
his last name, I imagine." She giggled. "He's always been in there. Well,
practically always. But Poppa will tell you all about that. He tells
everybody."