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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 65 из 164Foyle tore at the bandage before his eyes, working eye holes through the gauze. He muttered to himself, listening to Jisbella weep and hearing the shouts behind him from Baker's factory. His hands fumbled at Quatt's body, then' he arose and tried to pull Jisbella up.
«Got to go,» he croaked. «Got to get out. They've seen us.»
Jisbella never moved. Foyle mustered all his strength and pulled her upright.
«Times Square,» he muttered. «Jaunte, Jiz!»
Uniformed figures appeared around them. Foyle shook Jisbella's arm and jaunted to Times Square where masses of jaunters on the gigantic stage stared in amazement at the huge man with the white bandaged globe for a head. The stage was the size of two football fields. Foyle stared around dimly through the bandages. There was no sign of Jisbella but she might be anywhere. He lifted his voice to a shout.
«Montauk, Jiz! Montauk! The Folly Stage!»
Foyle jaunted with a last thrust of energy and a prayer. An icy nor'easter was blowing in from Block Island and sweeping brittle ice crystals across the stage on the site of a medieval ruin known as Fisher's folly. There was another figure on the stage. Foyle tottered to it through the wind and the snow. It was Jisbella, looking frozen and lost.
«Thank God,» Foyle muttered. «Thank God. Where does Sam keep his Weekender?» He shook Jisbella's elbow. «Where does Sam keep his Weekender?»
«Sam's dead.»
«Where does he keep that Saturn Weekender?»
«He's retired, Sam is. He's not scared any more.»
«Where's the ship, Jiz?»
«In the yards down at the lighthouse.»
«Come on.»
«Where?»
«To Sam's ship.» Foyle thrust his big hand before Jisbella's eyes; a bunch of radiant keys lay in his palm. «I took his keys. Come on.»
«He gave them to you?»
«I took them off his body.»
«Ghoul!» She began to laugh. «Liar . . . Lecher . . . Tiger . . . Ghoul. The walking cancer. . .Gully Foyle.»
Nevertheless she followed him through the snowstorm to Montauk Light.
To three acrobats wearing powdered wigs, four flamboyant women carrying pythons, a child with golden curls and a cynical mouth, a professional duellist in medieval armor, and a man wearing a hollow glass leg in which goldfish swam, Saul Dagenham said: «All right, the operation's finished. Call the rest off and tell them to report back to Courier headquarters.»
The side show jaunted and disappeared.
«Got to go,» he croaked. «Got to get out. They've seen us.»
Jisbella never moved. Foyle mustered all his strength and pulled her upright.
«Times Square,» he muttered. «Jaunte, Jiz!»
Uniformed figures appeared around them. Foyle shook Jisbella's arm and jaunted to Times Square where masses of jaunters on the gigantic stage stared in amazement at the huge man with the white bandaged globe for a head. The stage was the size of two football fields. Foyle stared around dimly through the bandages. There was no sign of Jisbella but she might be anywhere. He lifted his voice to a shout.
«Montauk, Jiz! Montauk! The Folly Stage!»
Foyle jaunted with a last thrust of energy and a prayer. An icy nor'easter was blowing in from Block Island and sweeping brittle ice crystals across the stage on the site of a medieval ruin known as Fisher's folly. There was another figure on the stage. Foyle tottered to it through the wind and the snow. It was Jisbella, looking frozen and lost.
«Thank God,» Foyle muttered. «Thank God. Where does Sam keep his Weekender?» He shook Jisbella's elbow. «Where does Sam keep his Weekender?»
«Sam's dead.»
«Where does he keep that Saturn Weekender?»
«He's retired, Sam is. He's not scared any more.»
«Where's the ship, Jiz?»
«In the yards down at the lighthouse.»
«Come on.»
«Where?»
«To Sam's ship.» Foyle thrust his big hand before Jisbella's eyes; a bunch of radiant keys lay in his palm. «I took his keys. Come on.»
«He gave them to you?»
«I took them off his body.»
«Ghoul!» She began to laugh. «Liar . . . Lecher . . . Tiger . . . Ghoul. The walking cancer. . .Gully Foyle.»
Nevertheless she followed him through the snowstorm to Montauk Light.
To three acrobats wearing powdered wigs, four flamboyant women carrying pythons, a child with golden curls and a cynical mouth, a professional duellist in medieval armor, and a man wearing a hollow glass leg in which goldfish swam, Saul Dagenham said: «All right, the operation's finished. Call the rest off and tell them to report back to Courier headquarters.»
The side show jaunted and disappeared.