"Bruce Holland Rogers - Wind Over Heaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

"Gero, The Tarragon Leaf is a terminal case. Whether I stay or go, Sutherland is in the picture, and
that means that the restaurant you and I know is already history. He's a bladder worm, remember?"
"Ah, yes. A bladder worm," Gero said. "Better you drink this." He offered the noxious drink again.
"Look, forget that nonsense," Eric said. He picked up the drink, walked it to the sink, and poured it
out.
 Gero took a deep breath. That was the most extreme expression of exasperation Eric had ever seen
him make. "All right," Gero said, "I will show you."
He looked around the kitchen. It was late, but the other chefs, the pot scrubbers, the dish washers
were all still busy. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to the conversation. "Restaurant has a
parasite," Gero said very quietly. "What is a better treatment for parasite than another parasite?" He
produced a jar. Inside was something that looked like a long, curled shaving of wax. Even without
knowing what it was, there was something about its appearance that made Eric's stomach turn.
Gero tapped the side of the jar. "Tapeworm pieces," he said. "Proglottids. Fresh. Ripe. Full of eggs."
He reached among his jars and produced a second and third jar with similar contents.
Eric thought he felt something twitch in his intestines. The kitchen air suddenly seemed very stale.
"I had to get several. I had to make sure I would have many eggs. It must be a big infection to make
sure the bladder worms get to the brain."
"Where..."
"From Mexico, from pigs," Gero said. "I have sources, yes? I tell them it must be fresh."
"But I mean, where..."
"In the steak sauce, remember? In your partner's steak sauce, not yours. The eggs are too small to
see, though, so I worry, just a little sauce on a spoon is bad. Or the waiter makes mistake."
"Bad. Yes." And the waiter had made a mistake. Had Eric's steak knife perhaps touched the sauce on
Sutherland's steak? He tried to remember. Surely, if there were bladder worm larvae in Eric's stomach,
he couldn't feel them. Surely that crawling sensation was his imagination.
"But now, all we need is patience," Gero went on. "In four years, your partner will not be running any
restaurant. Maybe we will buy Southern Exposure. We will make two fine restaurants then, Eric. With
balance." He smiled. There was light in his gray, Sino-Ugrian-Russo-Mediterranean eyes. "What did I tell
you? Wind over heaven. The Taming Power of Small Things. Your partner is a man out of balance. Big
body, big appetite, very big greed. With something small, now, we tame him."
"The drink," Eric said. His mouth felt dry. "Some kind of herbs?"
Gero shook his head. "Herbs for some things, for subtle things, are fine. But for killing worms, making
sure you are not infected, we need the best poison. Quinacrine hydrochloride. Makes you vomit
sometimes, so I put in some catnip and phenobarbital. I will make you another now."
Eric, still looking at the worm pieces in the jars, thought he saw one move. He rushed to the sink and
leaned forward.
Gero stood watching him for a moment. "Recipe is not balanced," he said. "I think, this time, more
phenobarbital."
Eric rose to breathe, then leaned forward again.
Gero sighed and shook his head. "It is difficult. This is not something I can balance by taste." He
opened a jar full of pills, and he shrugged.
"After all," he said, "I am not a doctor. I am only a saucier."
Published by Alexandria Digital Literature. ( http://www.alexlit.com/ )

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