"Sleator, William - Interstellar Pig 01 - Interstellar Pig 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sleator William)

"Cars were expiring all around us," the woman went on. "If that had happened to ours, I think I might have just left it there and hitchhiked." She smiled sweetly up at Ted.

"You probably wouldn't have had much trouble getting a ride," Ted said.

"Nice domain you got here, Ted," said the man with the brown mustache. "A prime piece of domain, no doubt about it. Prime."

"Well, we do try to take good care of it," Ted said, sounding pleased with himself.

"Our little logement does seem to have a better view, just like you told us," said the other man, who had a blond beard. "Even though it's not quite as picturesque as the captain's house."

"The captain? How'd you know the story about the captain?" Ted demanded, as though the house's history were his own personal property. "I didn't say anything about it over the phone."

"Oh, no one told us any kind of story about it," the woman quickly explained, with a glance at the
blond man, who pressed his lips together. "We don't know any story. That's just what the agent called itЧthe captain's house, whatever that means." She turned toward our house, and I squeezed back behind the pillar. "But it did make us a trifle curious. And you seem like such an accommodating person, Ted." She smiled at him _again, and her voice took on a husky, cajoling quality. "And I was just wondering ... if those people didn't arrive yet, do you think you could guide us around inside? We'd be so engrossed. I'm sure you've taken wonderful care of it."

"They've been here for a week," Ted said. "Much as I'd enjoy showing it, I don't think they want company now. But there are some things I should tell you about your place. . . ." His voice faded as he moved with them toward the front door of their house. I went quietly back inside.

The two windows in our dark, pine-paneled dining room faced directly toward the cement patio in front of the cinder-block cottage. Mom and Dad sat at the ends of the table, and I sat on the side, opposite the windows. We all had a perfect view when the neighbors emerged in their swim-suits with a tray of bottles and glasses.

Mom was the first to look away from them. "Why, Barney, you haven't even touched your burger," she said.

I quickly took a bite. But I also kept watching. It wasn't just that all three of the neighbors had the bodies of athletes. There was also a casual, animal grace to their movements that attracted the eye simply because it was so unusual. I knew they were just three peopleЧbut somehow I felt as though I were watching three lions.


1-1

"That's really an adorable bikini she's wearing, don't you think?" Mom said. "Only the poor dear should know better than to show herself in something that skimpy at her age. She just doesn't have the figure for it anymore."

I choked on a sip of milk, and Dad gave Mom a puzzled glance. The woman's figure was as flawless as any movie star's. "Her figure looks all right to me," Dad said, making a gross understatement.

"It's especially unflattering on her in comparison to those two striking young men," Mom said, as though she hadn't heard him. "They could be models or something."

"Models?" Dad said. "Those ordinary-looking guys? They're a little on the puny side if you ask me."

I had to laugh. Mom and Dad, who were middle-aged and out of shape, were trying to rationalize their way out of being compared unfavorably to these perfect physical specimens. It seemed rather childish.

"I wonder what it is they see in her," Mom said. "Maybe she has money. That would explain it." The idea seemed to satisfy her.

"Maybe they just like her for herself," I said. "Maybe they're all just good friends."

"Well, they're certainly having a good time," Mom said, her eyes resting on the neighbors again. I wondered vaguely why she was paying so much attention to them. She usually made a point of ignoring other vacationers, unless they had connections with her own set. But now she smiled wistfully at them. "It's nice seeing people enjoy themselves so much, isn't it?" she asked.

The neighbors had arranged lawn chairs in a row facing the bay. They seemed fascinated by the sky and the water, pointing and gesturing, talking animatedly, sipping their drinks, frequently laughing. Their skin had a purplish cast in the fading light. I began to wonder, as their shapes grew indistinct, why they kept looking more and more often toward our house. Were they talking about us?

It was several hours later, Mom and Dad were watching television and I was rereading The Puppet Masters, when there was a knock on the front door.

"Maybe that's the people from next door," Mom said.

The cottage next door was the only other house on this stretch of road. "Who else?" Dad said, pushing himself out of his chair. I got up too, but he beat me to the door.