"Henry Kuttner & CL Moore - Vintage Season" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

VINTAGE SEASON
by Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore
(as Lawrence OТDonnell)




Three people came up the walk to the old mansion just at dawn on a perfect May morning. Oliver Wilson in his pajamas watched them from an upper window through a haze of conflicting emotions, resentment predominant. He didnТt want them there.
They were foreigners. He knew only that much about them. They had the curious name of Sancisco, and their first names, scrawled in loops on the lease, appeared to be Omerie, Kieph and Klia, though it was impossible as he looked down upon them now to sort them out by signature. He hadnТt even been sure whether they would be men or women, and he had expected something a little less cosmopolitan.
OliverТs heart sank a little as he watched them follow the taxi driver up the walk. He had hoped for less self-assurance in his unwelcome tenants, because he meant to force them out of the house if he could. It didnТt look very promising from here.
The man went first. He was tall and dark, and he wore his clothes and carried his body with that peculiar arrogant assurance that comes from perfect confidence in every phase of oneТs being. The two women were laughing as they followed him. Their voices were light and sweet, and their faces were beautiful, each in its own exotic way, but the first thing Oliver thought of when he looked at them was, Expensive!
It was not only that patina of perfection that seemed to dwell in every line of their incredibly flawless garments. There are degrees of wealth beyond which wealth itself ceases to have significance. Oliver had seen before, on rare occasions, something like this assurance that the earth turning beneath their well-shod feet turned only to their whim.
It puzzled him a little in this case, because he had the feeling as the three came up the walk that the beautiful clothing they wore so confidently was not clothing they were accustomed to. There was a curious air of condescension in the way they moved. Like women in costume. They minced a little on their delicate high heels, held out an arm to stare at the cut of a sleeve, twisted now and then inside their garments as if the clothing sat strangely on them, as if they were accustomed to something entirely different.
And there was an elegance about the way the garments fitted them which even to Oliver looked strikingly unusual. Only an actress on the screen, who can stop time and the ifim to adjust every disarrayed fold so that she looks perpetually perfect, might appear thus elegantly clad. But let these women move as they liked, and each fold of their clothing followed perfectly with the movement and fell perfectly into place again. One might almost suspect the garments were not cut of ordinary cloth, or that they were cut according to some unknown, subtle scheme, with many artful hidden seams placed by a tailor incredibly skilled at his trade.
They seemed excited. They talked in high, clear, very sweet voices, looking up at the perfect blue and transparent sky in which dawn was still frankly pink. They looked at the trees on the lawn, the leaves translucently green with an under color of golden newness, the edges crimped from constriction in the recent bud.
Happily and with excitement in their voices they called to the man, and when he answered his own voice blended so perfectly in cadence with theirs that it sounded like three people singing together. Their voices, like their clothing, seemed to have an elegance far beyond the ordinary, to be under a control such as Oliver Wilson had never dreamed of before this morning.
The taxi driver brought up the luggage, which was of a beautiful pale stuff that did not look quite like leather, and had curves in it so subtle it seemed square until you saw how two or three pieces of it fitted together when carried, into a perfectly balanced block. It was scuffed, as if from much use. And though there was a great deal of it, the taxi man did not seem to find his burden heavy. Oliver saw him look down at it now and then and heft the weight incredulously.
One of the women had very black hair and skin like cream, and smoke-blue eyes heavy-lidded with the weight of her lashes. It was the other woman OliverТs gaze followed as she came up the walk. Her hair was a clear, pale red, and her face had a softness that he
thought would be like velvet to touch. She was tanned to a warm amber darker than her hair.
Just as they reached the porch steps the fair woman lifted her head and looked up. She gazed straight into OliverТs eyes and he saw that hers were very blue, and just a little amused, as if she had known he was there all along. Also they were frankly admiring.
Feeling a bit dizzy, Oliver hurried back to his room to dress.

УWe are here on a vacation,Ф the dark man said, accepting the keys. УWe will not wish to be disturbed, as I made clear in our correspondence. You have engaged a cook and housemaid for us, I understand? We wifi expect you to move your own belongings out of the house, then, andЧФ
УWait,Ф Oliver said uncomfortably: УSomethingТs come up. IЧФ He hesitated, not sure just how to present it. These were such increasingly odd people. Even their speech was odd. They spoke so distinctly, not slurring any of the words into contractions. English seemed as familiar to them as a native tongue, but they all spoke as trained singers sing, with perfect breath control and voice placement.
And there was a coldness in the manТs voice, as if some gulf lay between him and Oliver, so deep no feeling of human contact could bridge it.
УI wonder,Ф Oliver said, Уif I could find you better living quarters somewhere else in town. ThereТs a place across the street thatЧФ
The dark woman said, УOh, no!Ф in a lightly horrified voice, and all three of them laughed. It was cool, distant laughter that did not include Oliver.
The dark man said, УWe chose this house carefully, Mr. Wilson. We would not be interested in living anywhere else.Ф
Oliver said desperately, УI donТt see why. It isnТt even a modem house. I have two others in much better condition. Even across the street youТd have a fine view of the city. Here there isnТt anything. The other houses cut off the view, andЧФ
УWe engaged rooms here, Mr. Wilson,Ф the man said with finality. УWe expect to use them. Now will you make arrangements to leave as soon as possible?Ф
Oliver said, УNo,Ф and looked stubborn. УThat isnТt in the lease. You can live here until next month, since you paid for it, but you canТt put me out. IТm staying.Ф
The man opened his mouth to say something. He looked coldly at
Oliver and closed it again. The feeling of aloofness was chill between them. There was a momentТs silence. Then the man said, УVery well. Be kind enough to stay out of our way.Ф
It was a little odd that he didnТt inquire into OliverТs motives. Oliver was not yet sure enough of the man to explain. He couldnТt very well say, УSince the lease was signed, IТve been offered three times what the house is worth if IТll sell it before the end of May.Ф He couldnТt say, УI want the money, and IТm going to use my own nuisance-value to annoy you until youТre willing to move out.Ф After all, there seemed no reason why they shouldnТt. After seeing them, there seemed doubly no reason, for it was clear they must be accustomed to surroundings infinitely better than this timeworn old house.
It was very strange, the value this house had so suddenly acquired. There was no reason at all why two groups of semi-anonymous peopie should be so eager to possess it for the month of May.
In silence Oliver showed his tenants upstairs to the three big bedrooms across the front of the house. He was intensely conscious of the red-haired woman and the way she watched him with a sort of obviously covert interest, quite warmly, and with a curious undertone to her interest that he could not quite place. It was familiar, but elusive. He thought how pleasant it would be to talk to her alone, if only to try to capture that elusive attitude and put a name to it.
Afterward he went down to the telephone and called his fiancщe.
SueТs voice squeaked a little with excitement over the wire.
УOliver, so. early? Why, itТs hardly six yet. Did you tell them what I said? Are they going to go?Ф
УCanТt tell yet. I doubt it. After all, Sue, I did take their money, you know.Ф
УOliver, theyТve got to go! YouТve got to do something!Ф
УIТm trying, Sue. But I donТt like it.Ф
УWell, there isnТt any reason why they shouldnТt stay somewhere else. And weТre going to need that money. YouТll just have to think of something, Oliver.Ф
Oliver met his own worried eyes in the mirror above the telephone and scowled at himself. His straw-colored hair was tangled and there was a shining stubble on his pleasant, tanned face. He was sorry the red-haired woman had first seen him in his untidy condition. Then his conscience smote him at the sound of SueТs determined voice and he said:
УIТll try, darling. IТll try. But I did take their money.Ф
They had, in fact, paid a great deal of money, considerably more than the rooms were worth even in that year of high prices and high wages. The country was just moving into one of those fabulous eras which are later referred to as the Gay Forties or the Golden Sixties
Чa pleasant period of national euphoria. It was a stimulating time to be aliveЧwhile it lasted.
УAll right,Ф Oliver said resignedly. УIТll do my best.Ф

But he was conscious, as the next few days went by, that he was not doing his best. There were several reasons for that. From the beginfling the idea of making himself a nuisance to his tenants had been SueТs, not OliverТs. And if Oliver had been a little less determined the whole project would never have got under way. Reason was on SueТs side, butЧ For one thing, the tenants were so fascinating. All they said and