"Mack Reynolds - After Utopia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

Berbers and Arabs, Rifs and Blue men, shabby Europeans
from both sides of the Curtain. Indians in saris, Moslems
in jellabas and shuffling babouche slippers. The Moorish
fez, the Indian turban, the Jewish skullcap, the French
beret. Rue Siaghines, the widest street in the medina,
practically the only one in which you couldnтАЩt touch the
walls along both sides while standing in the middle.
Lined by Indian shops with the products of a hundred
lands. Cameras from Germany, perfumes from France,
watches from Switzerland.
And, for that matter, pornography from Japan, hashish
from southern Morocco, heroin from Syria, aphrodisiacs
from Egypt.
As he walked, his mentally clear astral self stood back
in dumbfounded amazement. If this were no dream, then
where was he going, what was he doing? Tracy Cogswell
seldom came into the native section of Tangier. He had
no reason to. His work and what little recreation he
allowed himself all took place in the westernized section
of town. He shopped in the French market, ate
occasionally in a French or Spanish restaurant, visited
the American library to read the papers and magazines,
attended the cinema possibly two or three times a week.
He came to the Petit Zocco, crossed it, and took the
narrow side street to the right, the one headed by what
had been the Spanish post office when Tangier had been
an International Zone. He ended at the Tannery Gate.
A hundred yards down it, he turned into LuigiтАЩs
Pension, an establishment heтАЩd never noticed before, one
of a dozen similar cheap hotels.
Luigi, who Cogswell decided looked like a sinister
version of the Mexican comedian Cantinflas, spoke
English. Their business was quickly transacted. Tracy
CogswellтАЩs voice showed no indication of stress, certainly
Luigi acted as though nothing untoward was going on. A
man with a suitcase and an Australian passport was
taking a room with full pension, three meals, at a cost of
five hundred Moroccan francs per day. A bit over an
American dollar.
The room was windowless, and drab beyond what the
average westerner would expect. Tracy Cogswell didnтАЩt
notice. He shoved the suitcase in a corner unopened,
undressed himself, locked and bolted the door, and went
to bed.
When the physical body fell off to sleep, the mental
astral self, which was the sane Tracy Cogswell, lapsed
into unconsciousness as well, unbelieving all the time.
Tomorrow it would be different.
The next day it was not different.
Tracy Cogswell awoke, as did his mental otherself, the