"Godwin, Parke - Snake Oil 02 - The Snake Oil Wars, or Scheherazade Ginsberg Strikes Again (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Godwin Parker)

"I hate love scenes." "The act needs a love scene," Gershwin appealed to Coyul,


through the clouds upon a stunned and churlishly ungrateful rabble of dwarfish
lumpen, The heroic vanguard would include his heroine who would enter lost,
pursued by a horde of stunted, slavering villains. There would be a nimbus of
light about her golden head, a beacon to the Aryan hero who rescued and joined
her in a twenty-minute duet. She must have a name whose sound was beauty itself
Statuesque as her conquering kind, his heroine would be

Would be . , . Richard Wagner halted and stared,

Not would be, Was. There. Redundant as breathing might be, Wagner gasped aloud.
Directly in his path, lounging against a centuried oak, was his creation
incarnate. Cascades of hair He molten gold fell over creamy shoulders so white
there seemed a bluish underrint, A truly legendary figure was barely covered by
a brief, diaphanous costume that would have caused riots at Bayreuth, She was at
least eight feet tall, ninety-six utterly flawless inches. Not Germanic, more
striking than Amazon. For her height, not an inch or an ounce was too little,
too much or misplaced. Wagner Bushed with ardor. Flagstad and Nilsson were
forgotten, Never until this moment had his artistic intent been so perfectly
realized in Resh, Her leitmotif, fresh as the first dawn in Valhalla, Flooded
through his soul in a spontaneous burst of creation. He could hear it, see it
finished in score for two hundred instruments

Her Viking-blue eyes wide with curiosity, the dazzling behemoth bent to examine
a fallen leaf The flow of her body through the simple movement was sensuality
itself She caught sight of Wagner-"Ohl"-and focused on him with the fascination
of novelty and a smile that put all his remembered hormones on red alert,

You are Brunhilde, he adored.

"No, my name is Purji, I've only just arrived," She appeared to understand him
telepathically; Wagner heard her in German. "What an athletic tongue you think
in. Here, sit down and help me get my bearings."



She took his hand. Wagner was wafted swiftly upward to a thick limb of the oak.
Next to the leviathan Purji he felt like a ventriloquist's dummy. "There now."
She gazed around in surmise. "From the fascinating but unstable nature of my
surroundings, I've landed in a post-life energy pool," She stroked Wagner like a
lapdog. "You are a dear little thing."

"And you . . . are a goddess?"

She nodded. "Used to be. Among the Keljians, Pardon me, I'm so used to their
proportions." Her fabulous image dissolved, shrank and recombined to the same
perfection on a smaller scale. "I'm looking for a dear friend who must be
somewhere hereabouts. Coyul, a lovely male like yourself"