"Murphy, Pat - Departure" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Pat)

glittered in the rubbish that had accumulated near the station's tiled wall.
Another light had burned out. The platform was filled with shadows.

Jan stood with her back to one of the pillars by the tracks, staring into the
darkness from which the train would emerge. The wine had filled her head with a
humming that would not stop. Though she waited here each day for the train home
from work, the station seemed unfamiliar. She found herself staring at the
graffiti on the walls, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the illegible words.
On a level that she did not want to acknowledge, she felt that the scrawled
letters held a message for her. The graffiti shifted and moved before her eyes.

In the dim light, her hearing seemed exceptionally keen. She heard the crackle
of paper as the bag lady shifted her head on her shopping-bag pillow, the rasp
of a match as the teenager lit a cigarette, the hoarse whisper of the old man's
breathing. She thought she heard him say something, but she caught only a few
words.

". . .safe in the tunnels," he murmured. ". . .warm and dark. . ."

Jan glanced at him, but he was talking to no one. His head was in his hands and
he was staring fixedly at the tracks. She turned away, keeping her back to the
pillar.

". . .can't find us here," sighed another voice. Jan glanced back and saw the
bag lady shift on her bench.

Another voice, just as soft, joined the bag lady's muttering. "We come out at
night," the teenager said.

Jan pressed her back to the pillar. She did not look around. The station was
filled with whispering voices that ebbed and flowed like wind in the trees. She
caught fragments of sentences -- or did she imagine the words.

". . .place to hide," the bag lady said.

". . .come out at night," whispered the man.

Jan heard the distant rumble of a train and stared into the darkness, watching
for the first glow of the headlight.

". . .good hunting" murmured the teenager.

The train pulled into the station and Jan flung herself into an empty car. Harsh
light shone on molded plastic seats and graffiti-decorated walls; there was a
faint smell of old cigarette butts and piss. Through the dirty glass of the
window, Jan looked back at the platform. The teenager smiled as the train pulled
away.

Jan sat on the plastic seat and blinked at the darkness that rushed past the
windows. An unintelligible voice announced the coming station. She rocked with