"Lisa Goldstein - Lilyanna" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

as well, the street lamp next to it burned out.
A pale shape came toward me out of the shadows. I jumped back, but it was
only a man in a white T-shirt, strange clothing for such a cold night. He was saying
something, but I was filled with such a mixture of terror and excitement I could
barely hear him. “What?” I said.
“Very few buses this late on Sunday,” he said. He seemed unconcerned, and
as I came closer and could smell him I realized that he had been drinking for a while.
“Take a half hour for the next one.”
It proved to be over an hour. I felt nervous standing near someone so
unpredictable, but he did not make any more sudden moves. The town I lived in was
so small, and I was usually indoors so early, that I had forgotten how to deal with
people like him, had lost whatever edge I’d once had.
It was after midnight when I finally got home and went to bed. I could not
sleep, though; when I closed my eyes I saw wisps of white gathering in the darkness,
and I would come awake, my heart pounding.
 On Mondays the people who work in the library always ask each other how
their weekends were. I don’t know why they continue to ask me, since my days off
are horribly dull; I usually spend them gardening or reading or listening to music.
Today they joked about how tired I looked, what a wild weekend I must have had.
Amy said nothing, but I saw her eyes on me a few times, as if she wanted to ask me
a question. To be honest, I wouldn’t have known how to answer her; anything I said
would have sounded crazy. Would have been crazy, for all I knew.
I worked on the circulation desk that day, giving each returned book a
surreptitious shake before putting it away, trying not to scowl at the patrons when
they asked for information or directions. But there was nothing in any of the books,
not even the scraps of torn paper people use for bookmarks. I kept glancing at my
watch, willing the time to pass; I was almost certain that I would find the next clue
only after everyone had gone home.
Finally the library closed, and I locked the door and made my usual rounds.
For a long time I found nothing, and I grew more and more discouraged as I went
on. Then one of the books surrendered a piece of paper: a napkin with an address
printed at the bottom. In the blank space someone had drawn a row of beads,
curving upward like a smile. A pearl necklace.
The place was in Oakland; I’d been right about that, at least. There was no zip
code, of course; they hadn’t existed in 1938. I hurried to the computer and looked
up the address, then linked to a site that showed me which bus to take.
Something glimmered near the history shelves, as pale as snow. I turned, and
in that moment I saw her plain, a woman made of pearl and paper, coalescing out of
the darkness. A cold wind came up, bringing the smell of old books.
I could feel her need, her desire to be avenged. I took a step toward her,
trying to ignore the thrill of terror that ran through my veins. She vanished slowly,
like mist.
Thoughts of her intruded as I tried to sleep that night. What had Selwyn done?
Perhaps he had joined the Communist Party, like a lot of people in the thirties. Or
maybe he had embezzled money; it was the Depression, after all, and he needed to
pay for all those theater tickets and drinks at the Pearl. Hadn’t Lilyanna said she liked
his generosity?
I had a dark thought then. Had she blackmailed him? You could certainly read
the note that way, as Lilyanna asking for money. “Unless your boss should come to
hear about it,” she’d said. And “if you’re as careful as you say you are.”