"WILHELM, KATE - JUSTICE FOR SOME" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

Virgil would be, at least if Maria Florinda was still working on the
tropical lilies. She didn't actually smile, but resisted only through an
effort, as she thought of the way Virgil looked at Maria, and then she
did smile because they were to be her actors in the video, playing the
part of a happy yuppie couple with a couple of grand to spend on a water
garden. Poor Virgil, she thought, and followed the thought swiftly with
an admonition. She would not tease Virgil, she told herself. She would
not tease Virgil. She would not ... The tropical dome was divided into
two sections, the smaller one the showroom that looked like a piece of
Eden. An irregularly shaped pool was backed up by lava rocks and lush
tropical plants. There were two waterfalls, and the water was dyed
black; it looked like velvet. Lotuses rose seven feet high, eight feet,
with gigantic leaves that looked large enough to lie down on, and great
brilliant red, yellow, white flowers. The tropical lilies stood above
the black water in every possible color, bicolors, some that changed
throughout the day from yellow to orange to red, some as blue as the
sky.

The air was so fragrant it was stifling, and as soon as she entered the
dome, the sweat that had not collected in the and heat outside became a
clammy second skin.

The heat, the humidity, the heavily scented air suddenly became
overwhelming; she felt-her stomach chum, and ran through the showroom.

Her footsteps signaled the fish in the pool; to them people meant
feeding, and they came to the surface and milled about in abandon-reds,
oranges, yellows, whites, blue and white... When Virgil first told her
the fish were tame, she had laughed, but he had told the truth. Some
were so tame they came up to be stroked, to take food from human
fingers. She looked at them and kept hurrying; the fish followed as far
as the confines of the pool permitted.

The workroom was several times larger than the showroom, and in here
half a dozen people were busy at long benches, at tanks of water, at
tables in the center of the room. The air was as hot and humid as in the
showroom, and nearly as fragrant. Virgil had taken her on a tour a year
ago, had pointed out the tanks, some as much as two feet deep, some so
shallow they had no more water than the absorbent lining held.

He had pointed out the wicking system, which made working on some
tropical bog plants much easier than if they were submerged. Under the
shallow trays was a trough of water that was regulated by valves, he had
gone on, so that the wicks drew up exactly enough water... He had given
her a mini-lecture on the systems-automatic humidity and temperature
adjustments, automatic watering, draining, the vents and fans, the
oxygenating sys term... She had stopped listening, and merely observed
after that. And when she realized that he intended to point out every
plant, every detail of the maintenance, she had regarded him with
disbelief and excused herself.