"Christopher Kenworthy - The Clear" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenworthy Christopher)

lens of the torch into it, illuminating her closed fingers. Her hand
glowed as though boneless, except for dim purple shadows in the knuckles.
I couldn't guess why she was doing this, but it pleased me, because I used
to do the same thing when I was young. We're brought up to imagine flesh
as firm, and bone as hard white, so it's fascinating when you see your
hand lit up like foggy red glass.
She put the torch away and leaned back. I closed my eyes and tried to
picture Caroline, but found it difficult to bring up her image, and nodded
back into sleep.
The next time I awoke, the sun has risen over a landscape of red oxide,
mounds of iron ore and refined salt piled as high as foothills. For the
next five hours the view was the same scrub and bush, flat to the horizon.
I spent a lot of the journey watching her, only seeing her face in odd
moments.
When we reached the Roebuck roadhouse in the late afternoon, the driver
asked everyone to remain on board, talked into his radio, then said,
"Sorry folks, but we won't be getting any further than Broome today.
Floods on the road. It's that time of year." He said it as though he was
annoyed at us for attempting the journey.
Questions were asked rapidly about where we could stay, when the road
would be clear.
"It could be a night or two. It could be weeks. If you're desperate, you
can fly."
I calculated, touching finger to finger, working out the times. If I
caught the morning flight out, I'd only be a few hours late. I could be
with Caroline in less than a day.

The roads in Broome were made from dry red earth, like powdered
terra-cotta. Wooden buildings were dusted with it, and the ribbed fronds
of palm trees were sheathed in its rust. Clouds had risen on the inland
horizon, and filled with lighting, silent from the distance. Most of the
travelers stayed in the town, but the driver took the rest of us closer to
the coast. I wanted to be near the ocean, no matter how remote it was from
so-called facilities.
I was almost asleep when we reached the Cable Beach Backpackers, and was
joined at reception by the German girls. They looked so tired, I avoided
the usual travel greeting. It's normal to ask people where they're from,
how long they've been traveling, where they're heading, but they seemed to
need the quiet.
The wooden dorms were built around an area of palm trees and eucalyptus,
circling the blue-glowing pool. A few people were gathered at tables
outside the kitchen; it was effectively outdoors, but covered with a
ceiling of yellow strip lights and spinning fans. The sky had darkened,
stars appearing behind the trees, even though it was as hot as midday.
I phoned Caroline, but reached an answering machine, which made me cross.
It was unreasonable to expect her to stay in waiting for me, but it made
the urgency seem like mine alone. I found myself saying, "I might just
hang on here for a day or two, until the road clears. But I miss you."
With no shops for miles, I bought a packet of two-minute noodles from the
reception office. It was even hotter in the kitchen, from the straining