"The World Jones Made" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

Suddenly Nina clutched her husband tight. "I wish--" Her voice broke achingly. "Isn't there some way we can go back?"

"Back?" He was perplexed. "Back where?"

"The way we were. Not quarreling, all the time. We seem to be so far apart. We don't understand each other any more."

He held his wife close to him; under his hands her body was surprisingly fragile. "It's this damn thing . . . someday it'll be over, and we'll be together like we used to."

Stricken, Nina gazed up imploringly. "Does it have to be over? Does it have to be gotten rid of? Can't we accept it?"

"No," Cussick said. "Ill never accept it."

The woman's sharp nails dug futilely into his back. For an interval she rested her head against his shoulder, tumble of blonde hair billowing into his face. The familiar scent of her tickled his nose: the sweet perfume of her body, the warmth of her hair. All this, the smoothness of her bare shoulders, the silky texture of her dress, the faint sheen of perspiration glowing on her upper lip. Harshly, he held her against him, squeezing her silently, yearningly. Presently she uptilted her chin, smiled waveringly, and kissed him on the mouth.

"We'll try," she said softly. "We'll do our best. Right?"

"Sure," he answered, meaning it with all his heart. "It's too important--we can't let our lives slip away like this. And now that we have Jack--" Roughly, his fingers crumpled into the base of her neck, lifting her torrent of thick hair. "We don't want to leave him for the vultures."

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CHAPTER TEN


AFTER THE dance he led her back to the table, gripping her small fingers tightly until both of them had taken their seats. Kaminski sat slumped over, half-asleep, muttering vague hoarse sounds. Tyler sat trimly upright; she had finished her drink and ordered another.

"Another round?" Nina asked, with wan cheerfulness. She got hold of the waiter and reordered. "Max, you look like you're going to die on us."

With an effort, Kaminski raised his shaggy head. "Madame," he answered, "leave a man something."

The evening was coming to a close; people were beginning to filter out of the bar, back up the stairs to the street level. On the raised platform the man and woman had reappeared, removed their clothing, and once more were going through their dance. Cussick scarcely noticed them; sinking into gloomy contemplation, he sat dully sipping his drink, distantly aware of the murmur of voices, the thick opaqueness of the air. When the floor show ended, the major bulk of the audience got up and began pushing toward the exit. Already, the room was half-empty. From the street stairs a blast of frigid early-morning air swirled down, chilling the people still sitting at their tables.

"It's late," Cussick said.

Across from him, Nina's face flitted with panic. "They're not closing for a long time," she protested pathetically. "And in the back they don't close at all. Dance with me again, before we go."

Cussick shook his head. "Sorry, honey. I'd fall over."

Nina was on her feet. "Max, will you dance with me?"

"Sure," Kaminski said. "I'll do anything. Enjoy ourselves in the time left." Holding her clumsily by the arm, he half-led, half-dragged her through the departing people, to the front of the room. There, a few sodden couples swayed back and forth. The two hermaphrodites, now both women, were dancing calmly with male patrons. Presently, tired of that, they switched sexes, became men, and wandered among the tables looking for female partners.

Sitting at his table, Cussick said: "Can they control it?"

Tyler sipped her drink. "Probably. It's quite an art."

"It's depraved."