"Davis, Jerry - Random Acts" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

lenses, and they affect people the same way a camera does. They've
very blue, and he stares with such an intensity and clarity of
focus that they put people on the defensive. He's also a big guy,
with big square shoulders --- he's not really muscular, and he's
not fat, he's just big. He dwarfs Pris, who stands between us,
touching both of us. She watches him and then watches what he's
watching, as if trying to fathom how he sees things. Occasionally
she glances at me and flashes her brilliant little Pris-smile,
which always sends a little thrill though my nerves. I watch her,
and see she's breathing fast and shaking. It makes me want to hold
her, an urge that never quite leaves me when she's around.
Pris taps on Tom's arm and whispers, "Isn't that the bum that
hangs out on your front steps?"
Tom and I look over; in the back corner of the large, dim
room, in the darkest part, is a thin man standing by himself. He's
facing the front with a mask-like face and piercing, beady eyes.
He's dressed in an old Army jacket and tattered pants, and his
hair hangs in oily strings to one side of his forehead. Yes,
that's our bum. He's acting strangely calm tonight --- it's odd to
see him standing still, not moving a muscle, not even talking to
himself. The only time I've seen our bum motionless is when he's
asleep in the bushes next to the steps of our apartment building
--- other than that he's always moving, always doing something
. . . usually something mindless, like dragging things out of the
public trash cans and playing with used straws and rubber bands.
The mustachioed man in black finishes his candle-lighting and
then takes quick steps to the door. At the door, he glances at his
watch for about twenty seconds then looks up, grunting. "Excuse
me," he says to the people loitering outside. "Meeting's about to
start." Turning from the door, he takes more large, quick steps to
the table, where he takes a seat. The people around us find a seat
and settle down. Tom, Pris and I take seats toward the back.
Someone closes the door to the room and the only thing that breaks
the sudden silence is a few low whispers.
The man in black clears his throat then introduces himself as
Bob Thorn, then he introduces the two dumpy-looking women who have
positioned themselves next to him as Virginia Beach and Lori
Angstrom. Pris and I share a glance and a stifled laugh at
"Virginia Beach." Jokes would come from that later. Virginia
stands up and positions herself behind the podium, clearing her
throat into the microphone. "I assume everyone here has seen the
little red light?"
There is a general nodding of heads, and a few muttered
admissions.
"I see a member of the press has shown up," Virginia says,
looking straight at Tom. "Is that because you've seen the light,
or are you here to do a story?"
"I'm here to find out what this is about," Tom says. "I'm
just curious. I mean, your signs are all over the place."
"I'll tell you what it's about," Virginia Beach says with