"Dan Simmons - Carrion Comfort (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons Dan)

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CARRION COMFORT
By Dan Simmons
Nina was going to take credit for the death of that Beatle, John. I thought that was in very bad
taste. She had her scrapbook laid out on my mahogany coffee table, newspaper clippings neatly
arranged in chronological order, the bald statements of death recording all of her Feedings. Nina
Drayton's smile was radiant, but her pale-blue eyes showed no hint of warmth.
"We should wait for Willi," I said.
"Of course, Melanie. You're right, as always. How silly of me. I know the rules." Nina stood and
began walking around the room, idly touching the furnishings or exclaiming softly over a ceramic
statuette or piece of needlepoint. This part of the house had once been the conservatory, but now
I used it as my sewing room. Green plants still caught the morning light. The light made it a
warm, cozy place in the daytime, but now that winter had come the room was too chilly to use at
night. Nor did I like the sense of darkness closing in against all those panes of glass.
"I love this house," said Nina.
She turned and smiled at me. "I can't tell you how much I look forward to coming back to
Charleston. We should hold all of our reunions here."
I knew how much Nina loathed this city and this house.
"Willi would be hurt," I said. "You know how he likes to show off his place in Beverly Hills-and
his new girlfriends."
"And boyfriends," Nina said, laughing. Of all the changes and darkenings in Nina, her laugh has
been least affected. It was still the husky but childish laugh that I had first heard so long ago.
It had drawn me to her then-one lonely, adolescent girl responding to the warmth of another as a
moth to a flame. Now it served only to chill me and put me even more on guard. Enough moths had
been drawn to Nina's flame over the many decades.
"I'll send for tea," I said.
Mr. Thorne brought the tea in my best Wedgwood china. Nina and I sat in the slowly moving squares
of sunlight and spoke softly of nothing important: mutually ignorant comments on the economy,
references-to books that the other had not gotten around to reading, and sympathetic murmurs about
the low class of persons one meets while flying these days. Someone peering in from the garden
might have thought he was seeing an aging but attractive niece visiting her favorite aunt. (I draw
the line at suggesting that anyone would mistake us for mother and daughter.) People usually
consider me a well-dressed if not stylish person. Heaven knows I have paid enough to have the wool
skirts and silk blouses mailed from Scotland and France. But next to Nina I've always felt dowdy.
This day she wore an elegant, light-blue dress that must have cost several thousand dollars. The
color made her complexion seem even more perfect than usual and brought
out the blue of her eyes. Her hair had gone as gray as mine, but somehow she managed to get away
with wearing it long and tied back with a single barrette. It looked youthful and chic on Nina and
made me feel.that my short, artificial curls were glowing with a blue rinse.
Few would suspect that I was four years younger than Nina. Time had been kind to her. And she had
Fed more often.
She set down her cup and saucer and moved aimlessly around the room again. It was not like Nina to
show such signs of nervousness. She stopped in front of the glass display case. Her gaze passed
over the Hummels and the pewter pieces, and then stopped in surprise.
"Good heavens, Melanie. A pistol! What an odd place to put an old pistol."
"It's an heirloom," I said. "A Colt Peacemaker from right after the War Between the States. Quite
expensive. And you're right, it is a silly place to keep it. But it's the only case I have in the
house with a lock on it, and Mrs. Hodges often brings her grandchildren when she visits-"
"You mean it's loaded?"