"Bill Vaughan - The Wall" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vaughan Bill)

THE WALL
By Bill Vaughan

****

AN ELECTRIC CAR ROLLS north on the East Side Highway. It slows, pulls into
the breakdown lane, right side close to the Wall, and stops next to a storm drain. In
the car is a driver and three passengers.

The driver is called Carrie Nation. She gets out of the car and raises the hood.
One of the passengers, a big man called Pancho Villa, opens the rear passenger-side
door and goes to the trunk. He strains to lift out a heavy toolbox.

Carrie NationтАЩs green skirt blows and flutters in the hot damp breeze that
descends the slope of the Wall from far above. Sweat springs to her brow as she
props up the hood. She loosens the collar of her white blouse, rolls up her sleeves,
and bends to look into the engine compartment.

Now the front door opens, bangs against the Wall as cars roar past. A young
stream of dirty water continues in its course along the base of the Wall, running
under the open car door, and trickles through a large grating into the storm drain.

The front-seat passenger, called Nikolai Lenin, crawls out of the car, keeping
his head down. Nikolai Lenin is small and wiry. The car conceals him from the road,
the open doors hide him from in front and behind. Only from the top of the Wall,
two hundred feet above, might he be seen. He crouches and fumbles with the storm
drainтАЩs grating, as Carrie Nation putters under the hood.

Nikolai Lenin, Carrie Nation, and Pancho Villa form cell 34-D of the Marine
Mammals Liberation Army. Along with one Leo Bugleman, who remains in the car,
they intend to breach the Wall Around Manhattan and let in the sea.

Yesterday was Friday.

Over the bass monotone of the great pumps, the alarm clock shrilled. Across
the room, Leo Bugleman awoke. He got out of bed, stumbled sleepily to the clock,
silenced it with a slap. The kettle was already on the stove. Leo turned on the fire
under it and made his way to the bathroom.

The pumps thrummed. The toilet flushed. The shower ran, then the sink. The
kettle boiled. Leo emerged from the bathroom, his feet a little steadier now. There
was still a blob of lather behind his left ear. He poured boiling water on coffee
grounds and dressed as he waited for it to drip.

Buttoning his shirt, Leo stood before his window. It looked east, across
Avenue D. Leo sneered out at the Wall.
 The Wall was tall and ugly. As high as Leo could see, it was streaked white
with seagull droppings, brown with rust, black with the exhalations of a billion diesel
trucks. Trickles of dirty water ran down it, joining in polluted rivulets at the base.