"Mike O'Driscoll - A Soldier's Things" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'driscoll Mike)

never goes away, is never ever satisfied."
Then the two soldiers, as was their due, killed the men and raped the
women of Azul. The chief's daughter alone was left untouched. Hollow-eyed
and full of need, they left her pleading for that which she would never
have again. They fled Azul before the sun went down and wished themselves
not back at their jungle home, but in Las Vegas, surrounded by showgirls
and dressed in the finest designer clothes that drug money could buy.

A few coins were tossed into an ashtray on the table. One or two people
drifted away, their appetite for wonder satisfied for another day or two.
"Have another beer," an American said, sticking a five dollar bill in
Joe's shirt pocket. "And tell us about the fucking crows."
Joe nodded, but before he could begin, I leaned forward and placed a
photograph in front of him. It was a black and white picture of an African
woman in a sequined gown, dancing on a spotlit stage. He picked it up and
stared at it for a second or two, before his eyes sought out mine from the
press of bodies around him. "Hannie?" he said.
"That's not my name," I said.
"Where'd you get this?"
"She's just a dancing girl."
"No, she was more than that. She was all the world to me."
"Come on, man," the American said. "Let the fucker speak."
Joe smiled a sheepish smile, as if he'd just remembered what he was there
for. Which was to perform. "Thirsty work," he said, holding the picture
tight in his fist. "Now listen."

2. A Word on a Wing
Long ago in a foreign land there was a good soldier by the name of
Sergeant Stryker who worked hard and saved all his money instead of
spending it on drinking and whoring. At this particular time, he found
himself with the task force sent to capture an evil General who would let
no ships sail through the kingdom of Panama. Stryker had two friends,
fellow sergeants, but unlike him, they gambled heavily in the city's
casinos and were mighty envious of the good soldier's thrift. After
brooding and plotting together, they determined to relieve their friend of
his money.
Now these two villains knew that Stryker was a keen photographer, and that
he liked to use his free time to go on jungle shoots, or up into the
mountains to get a panoramic view of the Gatun basin.
One evening, these two treacherous rogues stalked Stryker as he followed a
dusty path above Rio Abajo. At a bend in the path, they overtook him and
beat him to a pulp. Blood ran from his ears and his eyes clouded with
pain. They took his money and cameras, and left him to die beneath a
blooming Jacaranda tree. But he didn't die; instead, he came to in the
middle of the night, and being a God-fearing man, he began to pray.
As he prayed, a sound of beating wings impinged on his awareness. He
looked up through bruised eyelids and saw three large crows fluttering
round his head. After a while they settled on the ferny branches and began
to speak to each other. Unable to move, he lay beneath the tree,
listening.