"Ian Watson - Cages" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

As if on cue, the noise intrudes: varrr-oh-aah, varrr-oh-aah-oh-aah, a
wild wind rushing through trees, the sound of a giant bee flying. One of the
Varroa comes cruising overhead, dangling scaly jointed legs, its
glassy-looking wings beating fast. Yellow fur streaked with orange, black
bulbous eyes, antennae like miniature antlers.

тАЬSod off sod off!тАЭ a bloke shouts at it. He shakes his imped
vengefullyтАФa right-hand box. Most people look the other way.

Rather higher in the sky, a passenger jet is descending across
London toward distant Heathrow. That isnтАЩt such a frequent sight as
for-merly. TourismтАЩs almost dead.

A skinny black chap equipped with a full head-cage emerges from a
newsagent. Cradling a toddler in his arms, he looks like a parody of an
American football player. Of a sudden the black man legs it at quite a pace.
Cottoned onto a Varroa in the neighborhood, did he? Whatever a daddy
does, his child will receive an imped when itтАЩs nearing a meter tall.
Head-Cage is probably a bit nuts and is trying to stop his offspring from
learning to walk, so that the child never appears tall. Well, that wonтАЩt work, is
the long and the tall of it. Long equals tall.

****

A HIGH STONE WALL tipped by rusty spikes sur-rounds the grounds of
the ex-rectory, ex-nursing home. Cedars, cypresses, and Scots pines rear
up. At the gateway a couple of blokes stuff entrance money into the
pockets of long, open leather coats. On account of his waist-cage, one of
these collec-tors looks pregnant with some robot child, its curving spine
and ribs and other metal bones wrapped around his bare midriff. The other
fellow has a solid box on one footтАФafter a year, how the inside must stink.

****

So NOW WEтАЩRE heading up a long driveway through shrubberyтАФin
company with teens and twenties mainly, a bass beat somewhere ahead of
us. IтАЩm wondering what homeowners in the area think about the noise,
whenever thereтАЩs club night. Prior to the hoops, when people could get to
gigs further afield, I guess no club nights happened here. Priorities have
changed as to what annoys us. Tony covertly films a gorgeous black girl
ahead of us wearing pinstripe pants cut into thin thongs exposing her ass
and legs. Hand-cage resembling a medieval weapon. Maybe Tony isnтАЩt gay.
I donтАЩt care a toss. IтАЩd rather it was just Svelte and me here this evening, but
there are proper ways to do things, as TonyтАЩs presence reminds me.

The black girlтАЩs blonde friend sports a frilly skirt and a bulging grille of
a metal bra, to the back of which is fixed butterfly wings of yellow muslin. I
tell a lieтАФthat bra is a breast-cage, which she has dolled up. Quite a crowd
is heading for club night.