"Gibson, William - Count Zero" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gibson William)

"No," he said, "their hair. The hair on their necks, when
they ran."
"Manes," she said, and there were tears in her eyes.
"Fuck it." Her shoulders began to heave. She took a deep
breath She tossed her empty Carta Blanca can down the
beach. "It, me, what's it matter?" Her arms around him
again. "Oh, come on, Turner Come on"
And as she lay back, pulling him with her, he noticed
something, a boat, reduced by distance to a white hyphen,
where the water met the sky.

When he sat up, pulling on his cut-off jeans, he saw the
yacht It was much closer now, a graceful sweep of white
riding low in the water. Deep water. The beach must fall
away almost vertically, here, judging by the strength of the
surf. That would be why the line of hotels ended where it did,
back a long the beach, and why the ruin hadn't survived. The
waves had licked away its foundation.
"Give me the basket
She was buttoning her blouse. He'd bought it for her in one
of the tired little shops along the Avenida Electric blue
Mexican cotton, badly made. The clothing they bought in the
shops seldom lasted more than a day or two. "I said give me
the basket."
She did. He dug through the remains of their afternoon,
finding his binoculars beneath a plastic bag of pineapple
slices drenched in lime and dusted with cayenne. He pulled
them out, a compact pair of 6 X 30 combat glasses. He
snapped the integral covers from the objectives and the pad-
ded eyepieces, and studied the streamlined ideograms of the
Hosaka logo. A yellow inflatable rounded the stern and swung
toward the beach.
``Turner, I''

"Get up." Bundling the blanket and her towel into the
basket. He took a last warm can of Carta Blanca from the
basket and put it beside the binoculars. He stood, pulling her
quickly to her feet, and forced the basket into her hands.
"Maybe I'm wrong," he said. "If I am, get out of here. Cut
for that second stand of palms." He pointed. "Don't go back
to the hotel. Get on a bus, Manzanillo or Vallarta. Go home~~
He could hear the purr of the outboard now
He saw the tears start, but she made no sound at all as she
turned and ran, up past the ruin, clutching the basket, stum-
bling in a drift of sand. She didn't look back.
He turned, then, and looked toward the yacht. The inflat-
able was bouncing through the surf. The yacht was named
Tsushima, and he'd last seen her in Hiroshima Bay. He'd
seen the red Shinto gate at ltsukushima from her deck.
He didn't need the glasses to know that the inflatable's