"Christopher Moore - The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

of color and light into their branches.
The Sea Beast sent her a signal, which roughly translated into: "Hey,
baby, haven't seen you around before." She sat there, purring, playing coy,
but he knew she wanted him. She had short black legs, a stumpy tail, and
smelled as if she may have recently eaten a trawler, but those magnificent
silver flanks were too much to resist.
The Sea Beast turned himself silver as well, to make her feel a little
more comfortable, then reared up on his hind legs and displayed his aroused
member. No response, just that shy purring. He took it as an invitation and
moved across the parking lot to mount the fuel truck.


Estelle

Estelle placed a mug of tea in front of Catfish, then sat down across the
table from him with her own. Catfish sipped the tea and grimaced, then pulled
the pint from his back pocket and unscrewed the cap. Estelle caught his hand
before he could pour.
"You have some explaining to do first, Mr. Bluesman." Estelle was more
than a little rattled. When they were only half a mile away from the beach,
she had been overtaken by a sudden urge to return and had fought Catfish for
control of the car. It was crazy behavior. It frightened her as much as the
thing at the beach had, and when they got to her house she immediately took a
Zoloft, even though she'd already had her dose for the day.
 "Leave me be, woman. I said I'd tell you. I needs me some nerve
medicine."
Estelle released his hand. "What was that at the beach?"
Catfish splashed some whiskey into Estelle's tea first, then into his
own. He grinned, "You see my name wasn't always Catfish. I was born with the
name of Meriwether Jefferson. Catfish come on me sometime later."
"Christ Catfish, I'm sixty years old. Am I going to live long enough to
hear the end of this story? What in the hell was out in the water tonight?"
She was definitely not herself, swearing like this.
"You wanna know or not?"
Estelle sipped her tea. "Sorry, go ahead."


six

Catfish's Story

Was 'bout fifty year ago. I was hoboing through the Delta, playin juke
joints with my partner Smiley. He called Smiley cause he don't never get the
Blues. Boy could play the Blues, but he never got the Blues, not for a second.
He be broke and hungover and he still always smilin. Make me crazy. I say,
"Smiley, you ain't never gone play no better'n Deaf Cotton, lessin you feels
it."
Deaf Cotton Dormeyer was this ol' boy we used to play with time to time.
See, them days, bunch of Bluesmen was blind, so they be called Blind Lemon
Jefferson, Blind Willie Jackson -- like that. And them boys could play them