"Fritz Leiber - Coming Attraction UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leiber Fritz)

УWho?Ф
She didnТt answer.
i put my arm around her shoulders. УAre you afraid to tell me?Ф I asked. УWhat is the matter?Ф
She still didnТt look my way. She smelled nice.
УSee here,Ф I said laughingly, changing my tactics, Уyou really should tell me something about yourself. I donТt even know what you look like.Ф
I half playfully lifted my hand to the band of her neck. She gave it an astonishingly swift slap. I pulled it away in sudden pain. There were four tiny indentations on the back. From one of them a tiny bead of blood welled out as I watched. I looked at her silver
fingernails and saw they were actually delicate and pointed metal caps.
УIТm dreadfully sorry,Ф I heard her say, Уbut you frightened me. I thought for a moment you were going to . . .У
At last she turned to me. Her coat had fallen open. Her evening dress was Cretan Revival, a bodice of lace beneath and supporting the breasts without covering them.
УDonТt be angry,Ф she said, putting her arms around my neck. УYou were wonderful this afternoon.Ф
The soft gray velvet of her mask, molding itself to her cheek, pressed mine. Through the maskТs lace the wet warm tip of her tongue touched my chin.
УIТm not angry,Ф I said. УJust puzzled and anxious to help.Ф
The cab stopped. To either side were black windows bordered by spears of broken glass. The sickly purple light showed a few ragged figures slowly moving toward us.
The driver muttered, УItТs the turbine, man. WeТre grounded.Ф He sat there hunched and motionless. УWish it had happened somewhere else.Ф
My companion whispered, УFive dollars is the usual amount.Ф
She looked out so shudderingly at the congregating figures that I suppressed my indignation and did as she suggested. The driver took the bill without a word. As he started up, he put his hand out the window and I heard a few coins clink on the pavement.
My companion came back into my arms, but her mask faced the television screen, where the tall girl had just pinned the convulsively kicking Little Zirk.
УIТm so frightened,Ф she breathed.

Heaven turned out to be an equally ruinous neighborhood, but it had a club with an awning and a huge doorman uniformed like a spaceman, but in gaudy colors. In my sensuous daze I rather liked it all. We stepped out of the cab just as a drunken old woman came down the sidewalk, her mask awry. A couple ahead of us turned their heads from the half-revealed face as if from an ugly body at the beach. As we followed them in I heard the doorman say, УGet along, Grandma, and cover yourself.Ф
Inside, everything was dimness and blue glows. She had said we could talk here, but I didnТt see how. Besides the inevitable
chorus of sneezes and coughs (they say America is fifty per cent allergic these days), there was a band going full blast in the latest robop style, in which an electronic composing machine selects an arbitrary sequence of tones into which the musicians weave their raucous little individualities.
Most of the people were in booths. The band was behind the bar. On a small platform beside them a girl was dancing, stripped to her mask. The little cluster of men at the shadowy far end of the bar werenТt looking at her.
We inspected the menu in gold script on the wall and pushed the buttons for breast of chicken, fried shrimps and two Scotches. Moments later, the serving bell tinkled. I opened the gleaming panel and took out our drinks.
The cluster of men at the bar filed off toward the door, but first they stared around the room. My companion had just thrown back her coat. Their look lingered on our booth. I noticed that there were three of them.
The band chased off the dancing girls with growls. I handed my companion a straw and we sipped our drinks.
УYou wanted me to help you about something,Ф I said. УIncidentally, I think youТre lovely.Ф
She nodded quick thanks, looked around, leaned forward. УWould it be hard for me to get to England?Ф
УNo,Ф I replied, a bit taken aback. УProvided you have an American passport.Ф
УAre they difficult to get?Ф
УRather,Ф I said, surprised at her lack of information. УYour country doesnТt like its nationals to travel, though it isnТt quite as stringent as Russia.Ф
УCould the British Consulate help me get a passport?Ф
УItТs hardly theirЧФ
УCould you?Ф
I realized we were being inspected. A man and two girls had paused opposite our table. The girls were tall and wolfish-looking, with spangled masks. The man stood jauntily between them like a fox on its hind legs.
My companion didnТt glance at them, but she sat back. I noticed that one of the girls had a big yellow bruise on her forearm. After a moment they walked to a booth in the deep shadows.
УKnow them?Ф I asked. She didnТt reply. I finished my drink. УIТm not sure youТd like England,Ф I said. УThe austerityТs altogether different from your American brand of misery.Ф
She leaned forward again. УBut I must get away,Ф she whispered.
УWhy?Ф I was getting impatient.
УBecause IТm so frightened.Ф
There was chimes. I opened the panel and handed her the fried shrimps. The sauce on my breast of chicken was a delicious steaming compound of almonds, soy and ginger. But something must have been wrong with the radionic oven that had thawed and heated it, for at the first bite I crunched a kernel of ice in the meat. These delicate mechanisms need constant repair and there arenТt enough mechanics.
I put down my fork. УWhat are you really scared of?Ф I asked her.
For once her mask didnТt waver away from my face. As I waited I could feel the fears gathering without her naming them, tiny dark shapes swarming through the curved~ night outside, converging on the radioactive pest spot of New York, dipping into the margins of the purple. I felt a sudden rush of sympathy, a desire to protect the girl opposite me. The warm feeling added itself to the infatuation engendered in the cab.
УEverything,Ф she said finally.
I nodded and touched her hand.
УIТm afraid of the moon,Ф she began, her voice going dreamy and brittle, as it had in the cab. УYou canТt look at it and not think of guided bombs.Ф
УItТs the same moon over England,Ф I reminded her.
УBut itТs not EnglandТs moon any more. ItТs ours and RussiaТs. YouТre not responsible. Oh, and then,Ф she said with a tilt of her mask, УIТm afraid of the cars and the gangs and the loneliness and Inferno. IТm afraid of the lust that undresses your face. AndФЧher voice hushedЧФIТm afraid of the wrestlers.Ф
УYes?ФI prompted softly after a moment.
Her mask came forward. УDo you know something about the