"R. A. MacAvoy - Black Dragon 2 - Twisting the Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

who had stood miserably silent in his twisted sweater, now went from red to white and lunged for the piper,
hands balled into fists. He did not touch him, however, for he came up against the afflicted Mr. Long. That
gentleman had somehow wandered between the two in search of fresh Kleenex. P├бdraig's arm was softly
circled by a dark hand, which he could not remove. "B├н c├║ramach, a Ph├бdraig,"; said Long very quietly, and
then he turned away.
The tissue box was on the table beside St. Ives. Long brushed the stocky piper as he reached around him,
and St. Ives staggered.
With the first signs of real temper, St. Ives pushed back, succeeding only in pushing himself backward onto
the mattress, which swayed beneath his weight.
"Take a walk, George. Cool off." Martha spoke quietly, but all in the room turned to her in surprise, even
George. He pursed the mouth that was hidden in his curly, bisonlike beard. He swelled beneath his layers of
sweaters. He rose to his feet, but appeared to reject the soft suggestion that had really been a command.
Long was beside him, shoulders almost touching. He blew his nose again, discreetly. "Lovely afternoon for a
walk in Santa Cruz , St. Ives," he said, with a genteel enthusiasm. "Blue sky, ocean breezes. A good way to
regain a flagging inspiration. To reflect, perhaps, on the death of old arts. If one doesn't fancy a nap, of
course.
"I myselfтАФand he tossed the tissue into the bedside basketтАФ"am going to nap." He looked significantly from
the bed to St. Ives.
Much to the surprise of most in the room, the piper walked out without another word. They heard his feet
echoing down the hall and out the back door of the motel, for St. Ives stayed in a place apart from the rest of
them.
Elen glanced at Long with exaggerated respect. "The big lady's muscleman?"
He blinked sore eyes at her. "Well, it is my bedroom, Elen. He could scarcely stage a sit-down in it."
Her gaze grew even more disbelieving. "Sure he couldn't! George would never be so rude. I think he must
believe you're carrying a gun."
At the reminder that this nicest room in the mediocre motel belonged to Long, all the musicians rose also.
But Mr. Long had walked from the space between the beds back to the breakfast table, where he smiled
graciously and sat down again, showing no more signs of going dormant.
"I don't, Daddo," said Marty, edging away from him. "I don't fancy a nap at all. I more fancy a walk, I think."
No one answered her. Relief was audible through the room as they realized the awkward scene was over.
"Ravel," said Elen Evans contemplatively, as she began to strike octaves on the left row of strings. "I really
prefer Debussy." She plucked a great, rolling, unsettled chord along the length of the harp, top to bottom.
Teddy spoke to the unhappy chord, rather than to
Elen's dispassionate words. "Don't be put off your center by that, Elen. I don't think George feels very well.
Inside himself. I see him as off balance. Harried from within, you know. He needs some sort of adjustment."
Her face looked rather like Stan Laurel's, so blankly she gazed at him. "Spiritual in nature, Teddy? Or
chiropractic?"
"Either or both. Or nutritional. I wonder about his amino acidsтАж"
"I prefer past-life regression, myself."
"You have a marvelous gift of acceptance, Ted," said Martha appreciatively. "I admit he pisses me off
wonderfully, when he gets going like that. And he doesn't even nip at my ego, as he does to yours."
"George doesn't really twist the screws in Teddy." Elen smiled like a madonna, plucked an octave and
winced at the sound. She uttered a quiet and very nasty curse and twisted the big turning wrench once more.
"Not as he does to Pat."
Ted blew on his ugly nail. "He isn't exactly wild over my guitar. I can hear his teeth grinding every time I add a
chord progression. But that's his problem, not mine.
"And he really does care, you know. About the accuracy of what he's doing. There's few enough who do."
P├бdraig ├У S├║illeabh├бin glanced worriedly at Ted. "Do you thinkтАж Did I do wrong in getting angry at him?
Maybe I didn't understand enoughтАж"
"Getting angry doesn't help, that's for sure, P├бdraig," said Ted, putting his hand on the Irishman's shoulder