"George Alec Effinger - City On Sand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Effinger George Alec)

if this meeting were, after all, better than simple boredom.
“For some young girls, I suppose. Do you favor many
young girls with them?”
A sudden cry from the crowd on the sidewalk prevented
Ernst's reply. He shook his head in disgust. Ieneth interpreted
his expression correctly, looking over her shoulder for a few
seconds. She turned back to him, leaning on the railing near
his table. He, of course, could not invite her to join him.
There were only two classes of people in the city, besides the
slaves: the wealthy and those like Ieneth. She was forbidden
by custom to intrude on her betters, and Ernst was certainly
not the crusading sort to sweep aside the laws of delicacy.
Anyway, he thought, her people had their own dives, and he
surely wouldn't be made welcome in them.
“Ah, I see you disapprove of the Jaish,” said Ieneth. “At
least your expression shows contempt, and its object must be
either our army or myself.”
“No, no, don't worry, I have nothing but affection for you,”
said Ernst. He was amazed by his facile speech; generally he
would have been reduced to unpleasant sarcasm long before
this. In point of fact, he felt even less than mere affection for
the girl. He felt only recognition; he knew her as another
resident of the city, with little to recommend her in any way.
He didn't even feel lust for her. He rather wished that she'd
go away.


19
 The City on the Sand
by George Alec Effinger


“Then it's the Jaish. That's a shame, really. There are
several very nice gentlemen involved with it.” She smiled
broadly. Ernst felt certain that she would wink, slowly. She
did.
Ernst smiled briefly in return. “I'm sure there are,” he said.
“It's just that I'm not one of them, and I have no interest at
all in making the acquaintance of any, and I wish they'd stop
spoiling my afternoons with their juvenile tin-soldiery.”
“You should see the larger story,” said Ieneth. “As long as
they spend their time marching and carrying broom rifles, you
will have no competition for the company of their mothers
and daughters.”
“You mistake me,” said Ernst, “though you flatter me
unduly. Surely it is hopeless for such a one as I, with such,
ah, cosmopolitan tastes.”
“I would not agree,” she whispered. Ernst became aware
that he had been staring at her. She reached across the
railing and touched him confidentially on the shoulder. The