"Norman Spinrad - A Thing of Beauty (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spinrad Norman)

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NORMAN SPINRAD

A Thing of Beauty

"I once showed some native hunters, who were as keen sighted as hawks, magazine pictures in which
any of our children would have instantly recognized human figures. But my hunters turned the
pictures round and round until one of them, tracing the outlines with his finger, finally
exclaimed: 'These are white men.' It was hailed by all as a great discovery" (C. G. Jung, Modern
Man in Search of a Soul). We can make no greater mistake than to believe what we see is seen by
everyone else.
"There's a gentleman by the name of Mr. Shiburo Ito to see you," my intercom said. "He is
interested in the purchase of an historic artifact of some significance."

While I waited for him to enter my private office, I had computer central display his specs on the
screen discreetly built into the back of my desk. My Mr. Ito was none other than Ito of Ito
Freight Boosters of Osaka; there was no need to purchase a readout from Dun & Bradstreet's private
banks. 1f Shiburo Ito of Ito, Boosters wrote a check for anything short of the national debt, it
could be relied upon not to bounce.

The slight, balding man who glided into my office wore a red silk kimono with a richly brocaded
black obi, Mendocino needlepoint by the look of it. No doubt back in the miasmic smog of Osaka, he
bonged the peons with the latest skins from Savile Row. Everything about him was just so; he
purchased confidently on that razor edge between class and ostentation that only the Japanese can
handle with such grace, and then only when they have millions of hard yen to back them up. Mr. Ito
would be no sucker. He would want whatever he wanted for precise reasons all his own, and would
not be budgeable from the center of his desires. The typical heavyweight Japanese businessman, a
prime example of the breed that's pushed us out of the center of the international arena.

Mr. Ito bowed almost imperceptibly as he handed me his card. I countered by merely bobbing my head
in his direction and remaining seated. These face and posture games may seem ridiculous, but you
can't do business with the Japanese without playing them.

As he took a seat before me, Ito drew a black cylinder from the sleeve of his kimono and
ceremoniously place it on the desk before me.

"I have been given to understand that you are a connoisseur of Filmore posters of the early-to-mid
1960s period, Mr. Harris," he said. "The repute of your collection has penetrated even to the
environs of Osaka and Kyoto, where I make my habitation. Please permit me to make this minor
addition. The thought that a contribution of mint may repose in such illustrious surroundings will
afford me much pleasure and place me forever in your debt."

My hands trembled as I unwrapped the poster. With his financial resources, Ito's polite little
gift could be almost anything but disappointing. My daddy loved to brag about the old expense
account days when American businessmen ran things, but you had to admit that the fringe benefits
of business Japanese style had plenty to recommend them.

But when I got the gift open, it took a real effort not to lose points by whistling out loud. For
what I was holding was nothing less than a mint example of the very first Grateful Dead poster in