"J. Brian Clarke - Hell Aint What It Used To Be" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clarke Brian J)

manipulated my strings. I only knew I was as scruffy and
smelly as any of the garbage pickers, and as miserable--with
the additional handicap of a compulsion to complete the
assignment whatever the cost. There was also the nagging
feeling I had committed this kind of stupidity before. But I
must have been doing something right, because I did not
attract attention as I stumbled and clawed amid the refuse.
Finally I saw her; a frail child with long greasy hair
and enormous eyes in an endearing little face. As I
pretended to pass by, I suddenly reached out and grabbed her
elbow. "You must come with me," I told her.
I suppose I should have included 'please'. The pain as
she jabbed her sharp little knee into my groin was so
excruciating, she only had to give me a contemptuous little
push to send me tumbling down the slope. The avalanche which
accompanied me to the bottom had enough sharp points to make
me feel I was being flailed with barbed wire. To make
matters worse as I ended up amid crushed cans, bits of glass
and other unidentifiable refuse, was the barrage of missiles
and coarse insults rained on me by a half a dozen youths who
acted as if they were the waif's Praetorian Guard.
Their obscene merriment was still burning my ears as I
forced my battered corpus to its feet and staggered to
relative safety behind a pile of rotting timber, where I
collapsed and wished for the peace and comfort of hellfire.
Nursing my hurts, I waited until the evening sun shone
luridly through garbage dust and the smoke of cooking fires.
Finally, as the day shift shambled toward the shantytown
along with bulging plastic bags which clanked and clinked as
they were either dragged or carried, I crept out from behind
the pile and watched for the waif.
It was almost dark when I spotted her, chivying along a
youth who was bent under a load as big than she was. I
followed at a discreet distance, among other laggards who
were similarly burdened. To make myself less conspicuous, I
carried one of the pieces of timber--which added to my
discomfort as its multi-legged inhabitants decided human
flesh was a fitting desert after a main course of half
decayed wood.
The girl had the youth dump the load on the dirt floor
of a large tent without walls. It was one of several similar
establishments which lined the street. Small boys were busy
sorting incoming junk into separate piles, re-bagging it and
loading it on a truck parked at the back. A man in a dirty
apron with a huge front pocket, flicked derrieres with a
bamboo cane while he whined imprecations about the lack of
descent help.
Gratefully divesting myself of my over-populated
burden, I watched the girl haggle with the man. He pursed
thick lips, poked a foot at the heap of cans and bottles,