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

fridges, and the only others present were the Germans. They had changed,
and were talking with smiles as they cooked, brightening up now that the
journey was over.
I chatted to them briefly about the coach trip, the heat. It was Melanie,
the shorter one, who talked. Alex continued slicing the capsicum, never
making eye contact, but listening.
Sitting at a free table outside, beneath the fans, I tried to create an
appetite, despite the heat. There weren't many people around, being so
close to Christmas, but in the corner, by a green drinks fridge, were
three men. They leaned in over their table, elbows between cans of Emu
bitter. One of them was completely bald, with tiny eyes, his mouth hidden
by a wide moustache. The one in the middle was dark skinned, pouting to
conceal large teeth. The third one had a jaw matted with ragged hair, more
like fur than beard. It was his movement that kept me watching. Although
he opened his mouth wide, no words came out. He appeared to be using sign
language; not a recognized form, just a determined gesturing. The bald one
made signs back, as though interpreting the conversation.
I thought I'd attracted their attention, because all three looked over at
once. It took a moment to realize they were looking behind me, at Melanie
and Alex. I almost expected the men to wolf-whistle, but they watched
silently. The girls bickered in response to the attention, standing still
with their plates, looking anxious. I smiled briefly, trying to look
sympathetic.
Melanie raised her eyebrows. "May we join you?"
"Of course."
They pulled up chairs with their backs to the three men. I could just make
out the bearded one, shaking his head.
"Thank you. If we had sat on our own," Melanie said, "I think they would
have not left us alone."
"Have you had any trouble?" I asked, directing the question at both.
Again, Melanie spoke.
"Only generally," she said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. "I felt
like they were looking straight through me."
Alex looked shocked.
"Please don't say that," she said, her eyes wide.
Melanie answered in German, and they appeared to argue for a while.
"Sorry," Alex said, looking at me for an instant, "but my English is not
good."
Throughout the meal there were pauses when they spoke to each other in
German, never translating what was said. I couldn't tell whether tension
was brewing between them, but even when our food was gone, we continued
talking. I was unbearably tired, and felt my eyes narrowing, but didn't
want it to end. Although Melanie talked about herself a lot, and Alex only
interjected occasionally, they were good company. It was the laughter, as
we shared stories about traveling, that kept me awake.
The tiredness must have been getting to me, though, because when Alex ran
a hand through her hair, the light from a ceiling lamp seemed to come
through her fingers. She saw my expression and pulled her arm down, as
though embarrassed.
She put her hand loose against her chest, as though feeling for a