"Van Lustbader, Eric - Black Blade(eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

Once, he had imagined it was his great wealth that was an impediment to a lasting relationship with a woman. Now he knew better. It was his secret life, the one that opened up for him at night like a poppy, whose kiss could bring all his delicious dreams alive. And there was no better place than Tokyo for him to indulge his appetite for sexual excess.
He picked up the red silk cord, wound it around his hand. He tugged gently at it, and the woman, the other end of the cord tied around her ankle, was pulled closer to him. He got up and, stepping away from the comfort of the sofa, brought her over to the restraint of a hard, armless ladderback chair. He jerked on the silk cord, and she straddled the chair, facing the back.
He knelt, tied first one ankle, then the other to the chair legs. Now he began the most enjoyable work, using other lengths of silk cord. When he was finished, she was bound around neck, wrists, waist, breasts, across eyes and open mouth in a kind of complex puzzle of tight loops and knots that, in concert with her smooth, firm flesh created a kind of artwork, a living sculpture that was as aesthetically pleasing as it was sexually arousing.
Her helplessness - and her enjoyment of that helplessness - was an irresistible erotic magnet to Moravia. He stood, naked himself, with his hands on her shoulders, knowing that she could not move even if she wanted to. Of course, she did not want to.
His hands slid down her bound back, caressing her flanks, then gripping her pelvis. His knees bent until he was at the correct height, then, pulling on the tightly bound cords, he entered her.
She gasped through the silk, her head falling back onto his chest, sightless and, therefore, feeling him all the more deeply. But this kind of heightened pleasure could not last long, and it was over for both of them too quickly. Well, he thought, gripping her hard-nippled breasts, there would be more to come after his requisite interval of rest and recovery - he knew that she was ready to go on now.
Moravia, just returned from his latest trip to Tokyo, was assaulted by memories of his last night there, spent with a girl named Evan. In all ways, he realized, he had just now attempted to duplicate his inchoate coupling with the extraordinary Evan. Together, they had celebrated his new-found endurance well into the small hours of the morning. It was only when he had finally been sated, that a discreet knock at the fusuma had announced the arrival of Naoharu Nishitsu.
Moravia had noticed that, as Nishitsu passed her, Evan bowed so low her forehead touched the tatami, just as if Nishitsu had been the Shogun of feudal Japan. When she raised her head, Moravia signed to her to close the fusuma. Much to his annoyance, she had looked to Nishitsu for confirmation of this command. A minute incline of his head, and she shut the sliding door.
The incongruity of the situation had not been lost on Moravia: Nishitsu, the traditionalist, in neat Western suit and tie, and he, a Westerner, in traditional silk kimono.
Nishitsu had turned that eerie opaline eye on Moravia and they went through the ritual of a formal greeting. Evan brought tea. Though it was not green tea and had not been hand-whisked to a froth, Nishitsu nevertheless gracefully accepted a cup.
'Moravia-san, my friend,' he said, when the tea had been drained and Evan had refilled their cups, 'my apologies for disturbing your relaxation, but it has been put to me that in a few days it will be your birthday.'
'This is true, Nishitsu-san,' Moravia said, using the most respectful syntax. 'But I am amazed that such an insignificant event would be of interest to you.'
Nishitsu had sat as still and erect as a toy soldier. The teacup was lost in the palms of his callused hands. Hands that, if one were any kind of a student of Japan, it was apparent had been assiduously exercised for years on karate's wood, stone, metal and hot sand practice stations.
'As you must be aware,' Nishitsu had said, 'markers of time passing have great significance for us. And what more important marker is there than the day of one's birth. We will have a night of celebration.'
Moravia bowed, very pleased indeed. 'Thank you, Nishitsu-san.'
Nishitsu gave the smallest of bows, then rose, and exited the room, leaving the atmosphere charged with the residue of his presence.
And what a celebration his last night in Tokyo had been! Evan had only been the appetizer. He had been wined and dined by Nishitsu and some of the inner circle of Forbidden Dreams. Then, when the sky was turning from pink-black to nacre, the other members of their party either departed or dead drunk, Nishitsu had pulled him to his feet, saying, 'The celebration is not yet over, Moravia-san.'
He and Nishitsu had wrapped themselves in overcoats and had gone out into Tokyo proper. A taxi was waiting for him, its automatic doors opened for him and he climbed in. Half-drunk, he had turned to see Nishitsu standing at the kerb.
'Aren't you coming?'
'Not this time.' Nishitsu had given him a rare smile. 'Enjoy yourself, Moravia-san. Happy birthday!'
The doors closed and they took off. The wind, whipping in through the partially opened windows, began to revive him, so that by the time they slid to a stop he felt more himself.
He exited the taxi, saw he was in a warehouse district near the Sumida. The smell of fish was very strong, great lights burnishing the newly coloured sky just beyond the warehouse rooftops, and he assumed he was near Tsukiji, Tokyo's mammoth fish market.
There was a woman waiting for him at the entrance to a warehouse. One lone bare bulb dropped gold light at her feet.
'Lawrence-san.'
He walked towards the woman, recognizing her now. 'Minako-san,' She was a beautiful woman of indeterminate age, whom Nishitsu had introduced him to one night perhaps a year ago at a glittering restaurant high above the Ginza. She seemed unattached and curious about getting to know an American first-hand. He had been flattered, and, in the manner of the Japanese, they had become friends. There had been no sex but, rather, the comfort of trust far from home.
Minako laughed when she saw his bewildered face. 'Poor Lawrence-san,' she said, 'being led from temple pillar to gatehouse post.' She took his arm companionably, led him into the warehouse. 'How has your birthday celebration been?'
'Memorable,' he had murmured.
'Good. Then we mustn't disappoint you now.'
They went up in a gigantic steel and chrome elevator, the servos almost silent. He could smell oil and disinfectant, and wondered where he was.
The elevator deposited them on the third floor, and Minako took him down a hallway smelling of sawdust and hot machinery.
In a room rather smaller than he had expected in such a structure, he saw a matte-black cube on a dolly. Unaccountably, he was reminded of an illustration he had once seen of Humpty Dumpty sitting on his wall.
The cube was set with all manner of interfaces and a kind of LED panel in front.
'Lawrence-san,' Minako said, 'I would like you to meet the Oracle.' With that, she pressed a miniature remote in her hand, and, as if at the unseen behest of a prestidigitator, the Oracle came to life.
'GREETINGS, MORAVIA-SAN,' came a voice that undoubtedly emanated from the matte-black cube. 'I HAVE AWAITED THIS MOMENT FOR SOME TIME.'
Moravia had tried not to look startled. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a tiny smile curl Minako's pressed-together lips. Then he grunted, annoyed at his momentary discomfort. 'It's some kind of recorded tape.'
'I MUST CORRECT THAT SURMISE,' the Oracle said. 'ALTHOUGH I AM EQUIPPED TO TAPE CONVERSATIONS AND PLAY THEM BACK ON REQUEST.'
Moravia stared at the thing, trying to fathom it. But, in truth, he was struggling to understand the unknowable.
He had walked towards it. Tell me more about this thing,' he said to Minako.
The Oracle supplied the answer. 'I WAS CREATED FROM A COMBINATION OF HEURISTIC NEUROLOGIC CIRCUITS AND AN ENTIRELY NEW TECHNOLOGY CALLED LAPID. LAPID IS AN ACRONYM FOR LIGHT WAFER/PRISM GATE IMAGE DATA. IN OTHER WORDS -'
'Enough!' Minako said sharply, then smiled. 'These explanations are wearisome to everyone but the most fervid scientists.'
Moravia took another step forward, peered into the face of the cube. 'But what are you?'
'JUST WHAT YOU ARE THINKING,' the Oracle said. 'A LIFE FORM.'
Out of the silence that ensued, Moravia said, 'I am a life form. You are not.'
'I SUPPOSE WE CAN ASSUME THAT YOU NO LONGER BELIEVE YOU ARE CONVERSING WITH AN AUDIO TAPE MACHINE.'
Moravia didn't know whether to laugh in secret joy or at his own cupidity. He stared, silent, at the Oracle.
'IN ANY CASE, IT SEEMS CLEAR WE ARE HAVING A CONVERSATION,' the Oracle said pleasantly.
'A conversation, yes.'
'WITH WHAT?'
Moravia, stupefied at being outwitted by the Oracle, could not bring himself to utter a sound.
'ARE YOU TALKING TO A ROCK, A TREE, A BLADE OF GRASS, MORAVIA-SAN? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND, PERHAPS?'