"Sean McMullen - The Devils of Langenhagen" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

they argued it was stormy and dramatic, like a Wagnerian opera. Reissel and I could have been dogs
barking, in comparison.
***
 I sat among the ruins some distance from the hangars. My world was burning, and nothing but a few
fighters was left to it. It was Hell, and I was a devil, tormenting starving deportees by eating in front of
them.
"Herr Willy, where are you?" It was the voice of Frau Guber. I hesitated for a moment, my chest
tightening, then stood up and waved.
"Ah, there you are," she said, walking out of the haze, an incongruous apparition. "I came to apologise
for Fritz. He has a bee in his helmet about propellers."
"Some of it was my fault, Frau Guber," I said, sitting on a block of concrete. "His aircraft seems very
fine."
"Ah yes, his Lightning Shinden thing. It was developed by the Japanese." I was so startled that I
gasped aloud and stared at her in astonishment.
"The Japanese! But they're a world away. How did they get it here?"
"Oh Willy, how should I know? By submarine or rocket or something."
She was so close that I could smell her perfume above the ever-present smoke. She smiled at me,
then ran a finger down my coat, lightly horrified by the dirt. Then she reached into her shoulder bag and
produced a folded cloth. When she shook it out it was the size of a blanket. She spread it on the ground,
touched some coloured spots at the edge, then knelt and gestured for me to join her on it.
It was as if ants were being blown over my skin by a thousand little air jets, and I started, gasping.
After a moment the feeling dwindled to a vague tingle, and she touched another of the spots. The blanket
was soft, yielding, as if it was inches thick, and very warm. When I noticed that my uniform had become
spotlessly clean, I was already accepting it all as part of a huge dream.
"Don't be afraid, Herr Willy," she purred, pulling me down beside her. "Fritz and I are only together
for a little, ah, holiday. We are not really married. He is a tinkerer, a squirrel hoarding his stupid little
facts." Her face floated closer and closer, and I became very tense. "You are a real hero. A real man,
Willy."
And then we were clinging to each other, our lips jammed together, my hands clawing at her rump,
feeling the suspender straps beneath her skirt. There was a soft, heady pressure from her breasts, her
thighs. Clumsily, I pulled her skirt up.
"Can I... do you..." I stammered, quite unable to string any sentence together.
"You are a man who kills," she whispered, wriggling under me. "This is so exciting, seducing a killer.
Nobody kills in..."
The name that she said was like none I had ever heard, and we said no more until our frantic
lovemaking was over. Lying beside her I began to notice small, strange details. Her clothes and her
makeup were expensive, but just a little tasteless. The lipstick was too heavily applied, the beauty spot
was too large, and her eyeshadow was a bilious shade of green. My fingernails had torn a couple of holes
in her stockings, yet they had not run! From my mother and sisters I knew that stockings always ran long
ladders when torn. Her skin was creamy white; not just a healthy white skin, but perfect, like spilled
cream.
"That was your first time, Willy," she stated rather than asked. I nodded. "I knew it!" she exclaimed.
"So Hermann has his fighter kill and I have my killer virgin."
I did not know what to make of this. "This is a strange blanket," I observed stupidly.
She laughed. "Yes, it is the perfect seduction aid for outdoors. It uses electrostatics to give a soft bed,
to clean our bodies, and even keeps rain off to a yard overhead." She touched a spot, and the crawling
tingle cleansed us again.
"Germany is in ruins," I said before I could stop myself, "yet our scientists waste time with things like
this?" She ignored what I had said, stood up and arranged her clothes. Then she collapsed the blanket
and folded it.