"Jeff Vandermeer- Veniss Underground" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vandermeer Jeff)

BUT YOU'RE probably asking how a living artist such as myselfтАФa gaunt, relatively unknown, and
alone artisteтАФcould pull the strings and yank the chains that get you an audience with the mysterious
Quin.

Well, I admit to connections. I admit to Shadrach. I admit to tracking Shadrach down in the Canal
District.

Canal DistrictтАФShadrach. They go together, like Volodya and Sirin, like Ozzie and Elliot, Romeo and
Juliard. You could probably find Shadrach down there now, though I hardly see him any more on
account of my sister Nicola. That's how I met Shadrach, through Nicola when they shared an apartment.

You see, Shadrach lived below level for his first twenty-five years, and when he came up the first place
they took him to after orientation was the Canal District. тАЬA wall of light,тАЭ he called it, and framed against
this light, my sister Nicola, who served as an orientation officer back then for peoples coming above
ground. A wall of light and my sweet sister Nicola, and Shadrach ate them both up. Imagine: living in a
world of darkness and neon for all of your life and coming to the surface and there she is, an angel
dressed in white to guide you, to comfort you. If you had time, I'd tell you about them, because it was a
thing to covet, their love, a thing of beauty to mock the cosmetics ads and the lingerie holos . . .

Anyway, ever since the space freighters stopped their old splash 'n' crash in the cool-down canals, the
Canal District has been the hippest place in town. Go there sometime and think of me, because I don't
think I'll be going there again. Half the shops float on the water, so when the oceangoing ships come in
with their catch and off-load after decon, the eateries get the first pick. All the Biggest Wigs eat there.
You can order pseudowhale, fiddler, sunfish, the works. Most places overlook the water and you can
find anything thereтАФmechanicals and Living Art and sensual pleasures that will leave you quivering and
unconscious. All done up in a pallet of Colors-Sure-to-Please. Sunsets courtesy of Holo Ink, so you
don't have to see the glow of pollution, the haze of smog-shit-muck. Whenever I was down, there I
would go, just to sit and watch the Giants of Bioindustry and the Arts walk by, sipping from their carafes
of alkie (which I don't envy them, rotgut seaweed never having been a favorite of mine).

And so I was down, real down (more down than now, sitting in a garbage zone and spieling to you), and
I wanted a talk with Shadrach because I knew he worked for Quin and he might relent, relinquish, and
tell me what I wanted to know.
It so happened that I bumped into Shadrach in a quiet corner, away from the carousing and watchful eye
of the Canal Police, who are experts at keeping Order, but can never decide exactly which Order, if you
know what I mean, and you probably don't.

We still weren't alone, thoughтАФparts merchants and debauched jewelried concierge wives and stodgy
autodocs, gleaming with a hint of self-repair, all sped or sauntered by, each self-absorbed,
self-absorbing.

Shadrach played it cool, cooler, coolest, listening to the sea beyond, visible from a crack in our tall failing
walls.

тАЬHi,тАЭ I said. тАЬHaven't seen you since those lousy pick dicks did their evil work. You saved my skin, you
did.тАЭ