"Linda Nagata - The Bohr Maker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nagata Linda)

Out of principle Phousita touched his neck, checked for a pulse. It was a ceremony the Chinese
doctor insisted upon, even when the patient was obviously dead. Perhaps it helped ease the frightened
spirit still trapped within the body. Sumiati looked on, a worried pout on her lips until Phousita shook her
head. Sumiati smiled.

"Even if tuan was robbed, he still has his clothes," she said. "Maybe the thieves overlooked
something." She quickly checked his pockets, but found nothing. Phousita worked at the fastenings on his
robe. In minutes they had the body stripped. Phousita stepped back in relief.
Sumiati's eyes glowed as she held the fluff bucket stuffed full of fine clothing. "Push him off the
boom," she urged. "Let's hurry. We have to take these to temple market. It's a long walk, but we'll get
the best price there. We can take some water to sell too. And then we can buy rice. Enough for
everyone to eat until their stomachs complain! And clothes. Henri and Maman need new clothes. And
medicines, of course. You'll know the ones to buy. And the Chinese doctor is always glad to see you...."

Phousita smiled at Sumiati's nervous chatter. The dead man had indeed brought them good
fortune. And now she could send him on his way. She reached for the dead man's arm. Twisted it gently,
to ease him off the boom. Hurry now. In a moment he would be gone.
"Phousita!"

Her hands jerked back in guilty surprise. She looked up as Arif dropped through the trapdoor.
He landed on the metal plank. His slim, hard bodyтАФclothed only in worn snortsтАФwas poised in a
fighter's stance. Arif was always fighting, she thought bitterly. And he'd do anything, anything at all to
survive.
He stared at her, cruel violet eyes so out of place amongst the swollen, exaggerated features of
his laughing, yellow, bioluminescent joker's face. Sumiati, blind to his moods, started to bubble forth in
her good-natured way with the tale of their find, but Arif cut her off with a gesture. "Phousita," he
growled softly. "What are you doing?"

Phousita glanced at the nude body of the dead man. Without his clothes he seemed a pale,
ghostly thing. "Take the basket up, Sumiati," she said softly. "Arif will help me now."

Sumiati nodded, confused. Arif helped her out of the river and onto the plank, then stepped
back, out of her way. She climbed the rope. "Close the door behind you," he said. He still stared at
Phousita. In the harsh shadows under the warehouse, his ogre-ugly face glowed brilliant yellow with its
own generated light.
By his own admission Arif had been a wicked child. His mother had sold him to a sorcerer who
poisoned him with a spell that exposed his sins upon his face. With his ridiculously elongated nose and
chin, his cheeks as round and full as overripe guavas, and his glowing yellow complexion, he resembled
one of the comical servants of the wayang theater. Except his eyes.
His gaze flickered upward as the corrugated metal door closed with a creak. Soft footsteps
moved off across the warehouse floor. When Sumiati was out of earshot, Arif spoke: "He's food,
Phousita." He walked to the end of the plank. "Why would you throw away food?"
Suddenly Arif dove, slicing like a sunbeam through the water, his thick black hair, tied up in a
short ponytail, trailing behind him. He surfaced next to Phousita, startling her with an explosion of
bubbles. He threw his swollen yellow head back and laughed, then hugged her tiny figure quickly, his
arms encircling her waist. "Don't be afraid, Phousita," he crooned. "The old witch filled your head with all
kinds of lies. It's just a body. Tuan's spirit is gone."

Phousita was trembling. She sank into Arif's arms while the cool river rushed past. "You don't