"Lisa Goldstein - The Phantasma of Q---" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

The Phantasma of QтАФтАФтАФтАФтАФтАФтАФ
Lisa Goldstein
Lisa Goldstein (b. 1953) creates worlds just slightly removed from our own. The Red
Magician (1982) is set in a recognizable Eastern Europe just before the Second World War where a
magician tries to keep his world separate from what is happening around him. Tourists (1989) is
set in a variable world, called Amaz, where a family are seeking an ancient treasure which may or
may not be part of the world. Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon (1993) is set in an Elizabethan
world of faerie. Like Blaylock's work, the shift between fantasy and reality is not always apparent.
Just as in the following story.

I THINK I'VE SEEN HER AGAIN.
It was on one of my rare forays into London, rare, perforce, because my old bones cannot stand
the continuous jarring motion of the train into town and the even worse jostling of the people packed into
the underground. It is galling to me that I, who have ventured into nearly every continent and seen sights
most men can only dream of, should be confined to a little village, that I should have to plan for a trip to
the capital with all the care and precision of a voyage to the interior of Africa. However, it cannot be
helped.
I went to London to deliver to my publishers the latest instalment of my memoirsтАФand to be treated
to a rich dinner at my editor's club, one of my few indulgences nowadays. Over a glass of very good port
I hinted at the marvels I would reveal in later episodes: the hippogriff, the centaur, the phoenix I had
tracked down in Arabia.
My editor listened, as engrossed as a child, and when I had finished he remarked that the first
volume of my memoirs had done very well. "People love to read about these journeys to exotic places,"
he said. "Especially now that civilization is making inroads nearly everywhere. In another ten years, I
wager, most of these wonderful creatures will be extinct, or will have hidden themselves so well they'll
never be found."
"Ten years, is it?" I said. "Fortunately I'll probably be dead by then."
He laughed, uncertain whether I had made a joke or not.
After dinner I left him and walked, a little unsteadily, to the nearest underground station. The train I
wanted was just closing its doors, and I knew that I would not be able to run for it. She ran, however,
flying past me, and slipped into the car just before the train pulled out.
It was she, I was almost certain of it. She looked exactly the same. Forty years had not changed her
in the slightest. Well, they wouldn't, would they?
Now the question is, do I tell Wallis? He has less reason to love her than I do.
I have just telephoned Wallis. I had no idea whether or not he still lived in London; for all I knew he
had returned to the States. And yet the operator I spoke to found him after a wait of only a few minutes,
which seemed nearly as marvellous as anything I have encountered on my travels. Perhaps the wonder
has not died out of the world after all.
He sounded, like myself, years older and years more tired. "Hello," I said. "Is this Samuel Wallis?"
"Yes," he said. "Who is this?"
"James Arbuthnot," I said.
There was a long silence. "Arbuthnot," he said finally. "What brings you to phone me?"
"I think I've seen her. She's in London, Wallis."
There was another silence. I thought he was going to ask me who "she" was, but he of course
remembered her as vividly as I did. "Is she?" he said.
"Yes. I saw her on the underground."
 "And what do you expect me to do about it? Scour London for her? I don't want to see her
againтАФyou of all people should know that. And you know why."
"I thought you might keep your eyes peeled. I don't live in LondonтАФ"
"Yes, I know. I've read the first volume of your memoirs. Are you going to mention her, mention