"Christopher Rowe - The Voluntary State" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowe Christopher)5 The Voluntary State by Christopher Rowe Something was caught on the wispy thorns of a nodding thistle growing at the edge of the lot. "Crow's feather," the policemen chanted. "Crow's feather Crow's feather Crow's feather." And even Soma, licensed for art instead of justice, knew what the fluttering bit of black signified. His car had been assaulted by Kentuckians. **** Soma had never, so far as he recalled, painted a self- portrait. But his disposition was melancholy, so he might have taken a few visual notes of his trudge back to Nashville if he'd thought he could have shielded the paper from the rain. Soma Between the Sea and the City, he could call a painting like that. Or, if he'd decided to choose that one clear moment when the sun had shown through the towering slate clouds, Soma Between Storms. broad-brimmed hat, black pants cut off at the calf, yellow jersey unsealed to show a thin chest. A young man, sure, but not a young man used to long walks. No helping that; his car would stay in the trailhead lot for at least three days. The mechanic had arrived as the policemen were leaving, galloping up the gravel road on a white mare marked with red crosses. She'd swung from the saddle and made sympathetic clucking noises at the car even before she greeted Soma, endearing herself to auto and owner simultaneously. Scratching the car at the base of its aerial, sussing out the very spot the car best liked attention, she'd introduced 6 The Voluntary State by Christopher Rowe herself. "I am Jenny-With-Grease-Beneath-Her-Fingernails," she'd said, but didn't seem to be worried about it because she ran her free hand through unfashionably short cropped blond hair as she spoke. She'd whistled for her horse and began unpacking the saddlebags. "I have to build a larger garage than normal for your car, Soma Painter, for it must house me and my horse during the convalescence. But don't worry, my licenses are in |
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