"Ian Watson - The FireWorm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

surprised Gavin chatting to Ted at a time when Gavin thought they were safe. The older boys had started
kidding on. тАЬGot a big sister, then, titch?тАЭ Ted had, as it happened: Helen. He nodded. So far as he
knew, Gavin had never even set eyes on her. тАЬPercyтАЩs after her тАФ watch out!тАЭ Gavin had flushed with
embarrassment. тАЬHe must be, mustnтАЩt he?тАЭ Ted had agreed with the tormentors. Gavin had looked
relieved at TedтАЩs comprehension, at this evidence of his young friendтАЩs complicity.

A lot of smut was talked about girls at that school, a day school for boys only. Lately Ted had been
growing ignorantly interested in girls; obviously his own sister didnтАЩt count as an example, though the
mysteries of her life would be regarded as fair game by any other boys. Bill Gibbon related that his older
brother Brian and chums would go to a chumтАЩs house when the parents were out at the cinema and
would undress a sister and pour ink over her then bath her cleanthoroughly . They would stick a carrot
up her then make white stuff into the dirty bathwater where she lay. Later, after theyтАЩd dried her down
thoroughly , Gibbon said that they tied a lump of carrot to a string, put this up her to stop her having a
baby then stuck their cocks into her. When Ted told Gavin about this game, Gavin had looked
offended тАФ resentful at his friend having such things in his mind.

In TedтАЩs classroom ball-fights were the rage among half a dozen of the boys, chiefly Gibbon who once
exposed his cock in class under cover of his desk. Ted steered well clear of ball-fights which seemed
excruciating. Two fighters would square off, each with one hand cupping trouser-clad balls, then would
dart at each other to claw the otherтАЩs defences aside and squeeze his knackers. Howls of pain went up
from the loser.

тАЬHullo,тАЭ Ted said to Gavin.

The newsagentтАЩs window display consisted of a row of sun-faded paperback westerns and war stories, a
line of pens and pencils, and a box covered with red cr├кpe paper. On that box stood a glass of water
and a yellow plastic ostrich a few inches high. The ostrich slowly dipped its beak into the water, raised its
head, dipped it, raised it.
тАЬI wonder how that works?тАЭ mused Gavin. тАЬPerpetual motion is scientifically impossible. Something to
do with water and sunshine, I suppose.тАЭ

Ted stared in trembling fascination. The novelty ostrich reminded him тАж of the crane on the pier!

From where they stood he couldnтАЩt quite see the pier. The clock tower at the bottom of the street was in
the way, as was part of the miniature Gibraltar behind which housed the Castle, a small base, and the
ruins of the Priory. Turn right at the clock tower and descend the steep road alongside the grass slopes of
the Castle moat, and into view would come the great north pier of granite blocks, high whitewashed
lighthouse at its seaward end.

The massive wheeled crane rested on several sets of rust-bobbled rails running along the mid-section of
the pier, high and low. Anyone walking out to the lighthouse had to pass underneath its looming, girdered
bridge then along beneath its hundred foot jib. These days the crane never rolled to and fro nor swung its
jib out over the sea. Why had it ever done so in the past? To unload boats tying up formerly at the lower
stone quayside, safely clear of the Black Midden rocks?

Many steel hawsers as thick as a boyтАЩs arm tethered the crane to iron rings in the pier walls; at these
points the granite was streaked orange with salt-water rust. The crane had to be chained like some
mechanical Samson or winter storms could smash it into the bay. Wild waves sometimes broke clear
over the top of the crane, even over the top of the lighthouse. But perhaps the machine couldnтАЩt move,
ever again; perhaps it was rusted in place. Ted sincerely hoped that this was so, but scarcely dared