"Michael Swanwick - The Feast of Saint Janis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

having his papers stolen.
Kaplan led Wolf through the evening streets. A bright sunset circled the
world and the crowds were much thinner. тАЬWe wonтАЩt be leaving the area
thatтАЩs zoned for electricity,тАЭ Kaplan said. тАЬOtherwise IтАЩd advise against
going out at night at all. Lot of jennie-deafs out then.тАЭ
тАЬJennie-deafs?тАЭ
тАЬMutes. Culls. The really terminal cases. Some of them canтАЩt pass
themselves off in daylight even wearing coveralls. Or chadorтАФa lot are
women.тАЭ A faintly perverse expression crossed the manтАЩs face, leaving not
so much as a greasy residue.
тАЬWhere are we going?тАЭ Wolf asked. He wanted to change the subject. A
vague presentiment assured him he did not want to know the source of
KaplanтАЩs expression.
тАЬA place called PeabodyтАЩs. YouтАЩve heard of Janis Joplin, our famous
national singer?тАЭ Wolf nodded, meaning no.
тАЬThe show is a recreation of her act. Woman name of Maggie Horowitz
does the best impersonation of Janis IтАЩve ever seen. Tickets are almost
impossible to get, but Hopkins has special influence in this case
becauseтАФah, here we are.тАЭ
Kaplan led him down a set of concrete steps and into the basement of a
dull, brick building. Wolf experienced a moment of dislocation. It was a
bookstore. Shelves and boxes of books and magazines brooded over him, a
packratтАЩs clutter of paper.
Wolf wanted to linger, to scan the ancient tomes, remnants of a time
and culture fast sinking into obscurity and myth. But Kaplan brushed past
them without a second glance and he had to hurry to keep up.
They passed through a second roomful of books, then into a hallway
where a gray man held out a gnarled hand and said, тАЬTickets, please.тАЭ
Kaplan gave the man two crisp pasteboard cards, and they entered a
third room.
It was a cabaret. Wooden chairs clustered about small tables with
flickering candles at their centers. The room was lofted with wood beams,
and a large, unused fireplace dominated one wall. Another wall had
obviously been torn out at one time to make room for a small stage. Over a
centuryтАЩs accumulation of memorabilia covered the walls or hung from the
rafters, like barbarian trinkets from toppled empires.
тАЬPeabodyтАЩs is a local institution,тАЭ Kaplan said. тАЬIn the twentieth century
it was a speakeasy. H. L. Mencken himself used to drink here.тАЭ Wolf
nodded, though the name meant nothing to him. тАЬThe bookstore was a
front and the drinking went on here in back.тАЭ
The place was charged with a feeling of the past. It invoked AmericaтАЩs
bygone days as a world power. Wolf half-expected to see Theodore
Roosevelt or Henry Kissinger come striding in. He said something to this
effect and Kaplan smiled complacently. тАЬYouтАЩll like the show, then,тАЭ he
said. A waiter took their orders. There was barely time to begin on the
drinks when a pair of spotlights came on, and the stage curtain parted.
A woman stood alone in the center of the stage. Bracelets and bangles
hung from her wrists, gaudy necklaces from her throat. She wore large
tinted glasses and a flowered granny gown. Her nipples pushed against the
thin dress. Wolf stared at them in horrified fascination. She had an extra