"Colin Wilson - The Glass Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

"All right. Wait a moment. Uncle Hugh wants some more tea."
As he went up the stairs, smelling the familiar odor of dust and old books, a port-winy voice said,
"Well, Damon, what on earth brings you back?"
Urien Lewis was seated on a tea chest, another tea chest full of books beside him and an open
ledger on his knee. He was an enormous man. Sitting down, he seemed almost as fat as he was tall. His
teeth were large, irregular, and tobacco-stained, and his mouth was also big and somehow irregular.
There was something about his face that reminded Reade of a crocodile. The gold-rimmed pince-nez
spectacles, attached to his lapel by a thin gold chain, looked almost as incongruous as they would on a
crocodile. The big, square-fingered hands seemed to confirm this hint of power and violence contained in
the face. The voice was smooth and rich; it always reminded Reade of an actor he had known as a child,
who specialized in Dickens parts.
"This is a most pleasant surprise, Damon. I hear you've been home and returned."
"Yes. Something rather interesting has turned up."
"Good, good. I need a little interest in my poor, feeble old life. Although books are a great
compensation. Isn't this beautiful?"
It was a compact volume in finely tooled calfskin; the title on the jacket: Le Moyen de Parvenir.
Reade took it politely. This was a kind of game they played. He was indifferent to books unless they
dealt with subjects that interested him; Lewis knew this.
"That's quite a treasure. B├йroalde de Verville was an imitator of Rabelais. The language is even
more scurrilous. Someone ought to translate it. . ." He coughed, cleared his throat, and spat into a
handkerchief. "Where the devil's Sarah with that tea? Sarah!"
"Coming."
She came up the stairs behind them. She had changed the checked school frock for a green and
yellow summer dress that left her arms bare. It also emphasized the shape of her small breasts. She had
to push past Reade to hand the tea to her uncle, and the contact of the bare arm disturbed him.
Lewis said, "Thank you, m'dear. Going out?"
She looked at him innocently. "No."
"Getting pretty, isn't she, Damon?" Lewis put an arm around her waist and caressed the bare
arm.
"Very," Reade said.
"Growing up," Lewis said with mock sadness. "She'll be getting engaged next."
"Don't be silly."
"Dresses like a young lady. Look."
He raised the bottom of her skirt and showed the embroidered hem of an underskirt. But when
he tried to lift it higher, her hands instinctively held it down.
Lewis said reprovingly, "No need to be shy in front of Damon. He's known you since you were
tiny. What's the good of wearing nice underwear if nobody sees it?"
She said, "They're not supposed to see it." But she allowed Lewis to raise the skirt to the level of
her navel, showing white panties that matched the underskirt.
Lewis said, "Refuses to wear those green things any more."
Reade felt slightly repelled and was glad when Lewis allowed the skirt to drop. Sarah had
reddened and was looking away. Lewis's action implied that she was a child trying to pretend to be a
woman. For a moment Reade felt irritation; then he reflected that, for Lewis, she was still a child.
Lewis said, "Find a seat, Damon. Sarah, are you going or staying?"
"Staying. I want to hear what Damon has to say."
Reade sat on the edge of a tea chest. He was observing for the first time that the relation between
these two had changed subtly. A year ago Lewis was still mildly impatient at having been made the
guardian of a schoolgirl; she had been aware of this and had never been quite at ease with him. A year
ago she would have understood her guardian's question as an order to go away. Now she pulled up a
small stepladder and sat on the top step, with no trace of nervousness, as if it were her right to be there.