"Garry Kilworth - Mirrors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kilworth Garry)

Mirrors
a short story by Garry Kilworth

He found himself in an exotic city, in an oriental country, but was not
quite sure which city or which country. Having taken the sleeping pill he
had been bemused when awakened from a deep pool of sleep, to be told the
plane had developed engine trouble and they had to make an emergency
landing. The airline had driven the passengers from the airport to a
hotel, where a room had been provided. It was the Hilton. One might be in
a Hilton in Bangkok, New York or Amsterdam: they all had similar interior
plans, similar decor. The hotel was no indication of where he was. Nor
were the staff, who simply looked oriental. They might have been Korean,
or Thai, or Vietnamese: Walt was no great traveler and could not separate
these nationalities from one another. In an American city he had once
mistaken a Filipino maid for Chinese.
So, here he was, wandering streets encrusted with neon lights - red, blue,
pink, opal - each sign like pouting lips begging him to enter the
establishments they advertised. There were bars, night clubs, nude
theaters, dancing palaces, houses of erotic fantasy ... his mind had
stopped on that one, fixed on it. Houses of erotic fantasy! This was a new
one on him. At first he had decided he would not go inside one, but simply
think about it further in a bar. But sidestreets and backstreets and a
long narrow alley had led him to one of these houses of fantasy which
unlike the others seemed to be trying to hide itself, down below the
street. The sign bidding him to enter was level with his knees and the
steps under the sign led down to a basement.
Should he go inside? Did he have time before the aircraft was repaired.
Sure, he had the whole night. Perhaps all of next day too! He was lost
anyway. It would be necessary to call a cab to get back to the hotel.
There was no way he could find it himself. Especially not in the dark.
He descended.
'How much?' he asked the man standing at the open door. 'How much for an
erotic fantasy?'
'What one?' came back the reply. 'Ordinary, Special or Extra-special?'
'Will traveler's checks do? American dollars?'
The man smiled. 'Of course.'
'Then I want the best.'
'Extra-special - four hundred dollar.'
'Four hundred?' cried Walt.
The man laid a slim-fingered hand on Walt's sleeve and moved
conspiratorially closer, as if about to reveal a sacred trust.
'Listen, mister - you never have something like this again. Four hundred
very cheap for this. She very beautiful woman. What happen if you say no?
You go home. You sit in chair by fire and make regrets. You tell yourself
you would pay one thousand dollar for chance like this again.'
He let these words sink in, then he added, 'Maybe you just want Ordinary
or Special - but not so good. I tell you mister, you not want your autumn
years to be filled with sadness. Extra-special is best of best.'
Walt knew his own true nature. He knew his own weaknesses. In the past he
had bought toys for more than four hundred. That mountain bicycle for a