"Christopher Moore - Coyote Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

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feel for who he really was, which is exactly how Sam wanted it. He thought a show of desire, of passion,
of anger even, would give him away, so he suppressed these emotions until he no longer felt them. His life
was steady, level, and safe.

So it happened that on an autumn-soft sunny day, not two weeks after his thirty-fifth birthday,
some twenty years after he had run away from home, Samuel Hunter stepped out of his office onto the
sidewalk and was poleaxed by desire.

He saw a girl loading groceries into an old Datsun Z that was parked at the curb, and to the core
of his being, Sam wanted her.

Later he would recall the details of her appearance -- a line of muscle on a tan thigh, cutoff jeans,
the undercurve of a breast showing below the half shirt, yellow hair tied up haphazardly, tendrils escaping
to brush high cheekbones and wide brown eyes -- but her effect on him now was like a long, oily
saxophone note that started somewhere in that lizard part of the brain where the libido resides and
resonated down his body to the tendons in his groin and back into his stomach to form a knot that nearly
doubled him over.

"You want her?" The question came from beside him, a man's voice that startled him a bit, but
not enough for him to tear his eyes from the girl.

The question came again. "You want her?"

Already off balance, Sam turned toward the voice, then stepped back in surprise. A young
Indian man dressed in black buckskins fringed with red feathers sat on the sidewalk by the office door.
While Sam tried to regain mental ground, the Indian dazzled a grin and pulled a long dagger from his belt.


"If you want her, go get her," he said. Then he flipped the dagger across the sidewalk into the
front tire of the girl's car. There was a thud and a high squealing hiss as the air escaped the tire.

"What was that?" the girl said. She slammed the hatchback and moved to the front of the car.

Sam, in a panic, looked for the Indian, who had disappeared, and then for the knife, which had
vanished as well. He turned and looked through the glass door into his outer office, but the Indian wasn't
there either.

"I can't believe I manifested this," the girl said, staring at the flattened tire. "I've done it again. I've
manifested failure."

Sam's confusion blossomed. "Whatare you talking about?"

The girl turned and looked at him for the first time, studied him for a second, then said, "Every
time I get a job I manifest some kind of tragedy that ruins my chances of keeping it."