"Alan Dean Foster - Batrachian" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Laughter then, or something akin to laughter. The door swung inward, announcing his minor triumph.

"All right, Mr. Brevard. Come on in and I'll see if I can help."

He stepped over the threshold. The apartment was nearly identical to the one he shared with Shelby
except for the view. They lived on the third floor. This apartment was on the sixth and topmost. Off to the
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left of the small den would be a bathroom and bedroom, to the right the compact kitchen. Through the
tall picture window he could see the sunbathed campus of Arizona State University.

The door hid her, and so he didn't see her right away. His attention was caught instead by something
else. The den was swamped with frogs.

Stone frogs of Mexican onyx and soapstone lined the wall shelves, guarding endless rows of textbooks.
A turquoise Zuni frog fetish sat in a position of honor atop the glass coffee table fronting the couch.
Stuffed frogs stared bubble-eyed from the back of the couch, on which lay several hand-sewn frog
pillows. There were ceramic frogs and jade frogs, stylized frogs of stainless steel and traditional frogs of
wood and pewter, cardboard put-together frog cutouts and paper frogs dangling from the ceiling.
Portraits of frogs in oil and watercolor, pastel and pencil, and acrylic decorated the walls. Terraria
bubbled and burped as spotted green things moved lazily about behind glass walls. He stepped inside
and found himself standing on a thick frog rug.

"You like frogs," he said dryly.

"My collection," she replied.

Then he turned to face her and forgot all about frogs.

Placing her proved impossible. Her skin was coffee-colored. That implied a home located anywhere
from the Congo to the tanning salons of southern California. Her features were slight to the point of
rendering petite an indication of grossness. Except for her eyes. They dominated that delicate face, huge,
damp orbs in which a man could drown with little effort. They were a bright, electric green, as pure as
anything generated by a laser, as alive as the floor of a rain forest.

Aware he was staring, he forced himself to look elsewhere.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Oh, excuse me. I forget my manners sometimes. I don't have many visitors."

He flopped down on the couch. Frogs eyed him from high shelves, inspected him from the top of the
crowded coffee table. He readjusted a frog pillow behind him and arranged his notepad and books.

"It's real neighborly of you to help me out like this."

"Why didn't you use the library?"