"Lisa Goldstein - Tourists" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

one of those pieces of folklore that some of his colleagues at
the university loved to collect. He made a mental note to learn
more.
To the left of the statue a small knot of people stood silently,
doing nothing. No, they were looking at his houseтАФTamirтАЩs
house. He scanned the letter to see if Tamir had had anything
to say about them, but there was nothing. He frowned. The
group swayed slightly, like a small tide. What on earth were
they doing? They were all wearing turbans.
He ignored them and crossed the street, following TamirтАЩs
directions. As he got closer to them he saw that only the men
were wearing turbans. The women wore bright clothes of blue
and red. In the fierce light it hurt his eyes to look at them.
Neither the men nor the women said anything to him as he
passed.
тАЬMost of the streets in the city have no names,тАЭ TamirтАЩs
letter went on. тАЬAdditionally, there was a devastating fire a
few years ago, and small earthquakes occur frequently. It may
seem to you, before you become accustomed, that the city is
moving, that it has a life of its own. But you will soon be able
to find your way to the major landmarks. Though if you wish
to go anywhere elseтАФI confess I have lived in the city all my
life and can still lose my way.тАЭ
Mitchell reread the paragraph and frowned. It had seemed
straightforward enough when he had read it in the United
States, but under the different sky of Amaz it took on a new
character, a mystical tone. Was this the man who was going to
stay in the ParmentersтАЩ house for a year? Maybe he should
have asked for more references.
A man drove a donkey leisurely across the street and traffic
came to a standstill. Cars honked furiously, a man leaned out
of his car window and shouted, another man got out of his car
and slammed the door angrily, shaking his fist at the man
with the donkey, who was taking no notice of anyone. The air
had quickly taken on the smell of exhaust fumes, but there
was a hint of cinnamon and of something else. The sea?
Mitchell walked on. тАЬTurn left at the empty field,тАЭ he read.
He saw no empty field anywhere on the street, but to his left
there were rows of red woven umbrellas, diminishing with
distance. A loud raucous noise came from beneath the
umbrellas, something like the noise of a carnivalтАФbut like
that of no carnival he had ever heard. Curious, he went closer.
It was an animal market.
 A fat woman sat under her umbrella surrounded by cages of
parrots wearing the strange colors of tropical flowers. Under
the umbrella next to her cages of monkeys were piled one on
top of the other, and over them all a monkey hung from the
supports of the umbrella as if he were the proprietor. Snakes
in terrariums. An ocelot, pacing alone in a cage under an
umbrella. And tethered to a stake at the end of the row, all by