"Lisa Goldstein - Fools Road" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

dressed in rags and ribbons of green and brown and gold. Their faces were narrow
and fetal, their ears pointed. Their eyes gleamed. She tried to back away but
they surrounded her, their eyes as sharp as swords.

One or two of them smiled. Suddenly it was like the end of a magic trick, the
watch restored to its rightful owner, the woman sawn in two made whole again. No
one with a grin that wide could possibly mean her any harm. "All right," she
said. "Yes."

And then they were running down the street with her in the middle, laughing for
no reason she could give. Trees scattered their leaves around them. Dogs barked.
Overhead the moon lay drowned in a great river of cloud.

They came to a doorway and darted inside. She must have passed this building a
dozen times, a hundred, on her way to work, but she had never known what it was.
Crowds of people moved through a room; dim tattered murals covered the distant
walls. The light was the color of old coins. A man slipped in after them,
carrying a furled umbrella against his chest like a regimental rifle.

"What is this place?" Amanda asked.

"Hush," one of them said.

One of the men nudged the woman next to him. "Look," he said. And, "Look," she
said to the person next to her.

A woman was coming in through the door, sheathed like a knife in a dress of shot
silk. A double strand of pearls grinned at her throat like a second set of
teeth. "Who is she?"

"Hush."

The woman pushed forward into the room, walking on high stiletto heels, and
stopped to talk to the man with the umbrella. They were both carrying drinks;
the woman's was green as poison. Some of the tattered crowd Amanda had come with
were holding drinks as well, but she couldn't see where they had gotten them.

"They're here," whispered a man next to her. And, "Here," echoed another.

Some of the wild band clambered up on one of the tables and started dancing in
circles. More joined them, and then more; they spun faster and faster, laughing
and singing. The woman with the pearls headed toward Amanda, her staccato heels
clattering against the floor.

"They've brought you, then," the woman said. "Hello, Amanda."

"What do you mean?" Amanda said. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
Two or three of the dancers spilled off the edge of the table. Then they all
tumbled to the floor, laughing and cursing. A small man, his red hair curling
upward like a flame, pushed his way out of the tangle and saw Amanda.