"Paul Park - The Tourist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Park Paul)

 But by that time Paul and I had been given permission to leave. We had
to
wait in line outside the lounge to get our visas stamped, and then we
made
our way through the chaotic lobby. I allowed Paul to guide me, ignoring
as
he did the many people who accosted us and tugged upon our arms. He
seemed
familiar with the place, happy or at least amused to be there. Outside
in
the heat, he stopped to give a quarter to a beggar he appeared to
recognize, and conversed with him while I looked around. I was going to
get a taxi and find a hotel and stay there for a night or so before
going
on into the interior. I haven't travelled very much, and I was worried
about choosing a taxi man from the horde that surrounded us, worried
about
being overcharged, taken advantage of. I put on my sunglasses, waiting
for
Paul, and I was relieved to find when he was finished that he expected
me
to follow him. "I'll take you to the Aladeph," he said. "We'll get some
breakfast there."
He was scanning the crowd for someone specific, and soon a little man
broke through, Chinese or Korean or Japanese--"Mr Paul," he said, "This
way, Mr Paul." Then he was tugging at our bags and I, untrusting,
wasn't
letting go until I saw Paul surrender his own daypack. We walked over to
a
battered green Toyota. Rock and roll was blaring from the crummy
speakers.
The sun was powerful. "We've got to get you a hat," said Paul.
A long straight road led into town, flanked on both sides by lines of
identical one-storey concrete buildings: commercial establishments
selling
hubcaps and used tyres, as well as piles of more anonymous metal junk.
Men
sat in the sandy forecourts, smoking cigarettes and talking; there were
a
lot of people, a lot of people in the streets as we passed an enormous
statue of Dr Mog, the Father of the Nation with his arms outstretched--
a
gift from the Chinese government. We drove through Martyr's Gate into a
neighbourhood of concrete hovels, separated from the narrow streets by
drainage ditches full of sewage. People everywhere, but not one of them
looked native to the time--the men wore ragged polyester shirts and
pants,
the women faded housedresses. Most were barefoot, some wore plastic
shoes.
We passed the Catholic Cathedral, as well as numerous smaller churches