"Barry Longyear - Dark Corners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longyear Barry)

Traditions of L.A., the woman to Lyle’s right whispered to him, “Too bad. It looks as though Ralph went
out again.”

Lyle turned and looked at the two latecomers. One was a very normal looking business type dressed in a
tan three-piece suit. The other one looked like a nightmare. He was built like a short power lifter with
upper arms like thighs and thighs like sides of beef. His clothing consisted of a torn and dirty pair of triple
extra large gray sweats and a pair of black shower clogs. His hands and feet both were knobby and
twisted, while his lower jaw jutted out from his face so far that it appeared to be an effort for the man to
keep his lips closed over his teeth. His hair was trimmed into a burr cut, and he appeared to have no
body hair at all. Little bloody pieces of toilet paper on his face and the backs of his feet and hands were
the aftermath of what appeared to have been a marathon encounter with a razor. His nose was sharply
upturned and powdered to a light gray. Lyle watched Ralph until the man absentmindedly allowed his
mouth to fall open revealing a set of tearing teeth that looked capable of biting through a picnic ham with
a single snap. The expression on Ralph’s face was one of deep shame.

Just as Lyle turned to ask the woman to his right what she meant about Ralph going out, Ted called out
from the podium, “Verra well, let’s hear from Allyson now. Come oop, lass!”

Accompanied by thunderous applause and howling, the woman who had been seated to Lyle’s right
stood, and with a face glowing with excitement, her diminutive form replaced Ted at the podium. Ted
took his place in a chair to her right. As the applause and howling died down to a few whimpers, Allyson
looked down at Ted and said, “It’s okay to call me lass, Ted. Just don’t call me Lassie!”

From the subdued chuckle coming from the circle, Lyle presumed that it was a well worn joke in the
group. It was new to him, however, and he laughed out loud. Allyson faced the circle, smiled, and said,
“My name is Allyson. I’m a recovering lycantrhopic.”

“Hi, Allyson,” answered the circle, including Lyle.

She shrugged her small shoulders and looked down at the podium for a moment. “I guess I’m a little
nervous,” she confessed. She pushed the bobbed blond hair back from her forehead and aimed her pale
blue eyes at the faces in the circle. “I never thought I’d see this night,” she said quietly. “Fourteen months
ago I was locked up in a mental ward with three charges of murder pending against me.” She fixed her
gaze on the one called Ralph. “The medical records from there show I weighed three hundred and seven
pounds, and not an ounce of it was fat. I was covered with coarse blond hair, I had teeth that could, and
did, chew through a solid oak door, I had claws and paws, and I had ears like Mr. Spock.” A quick
laugh ran around the circle.

Allyson’s eyes glistened as she said, “And now I am a free human being. I haven’t turned for a whole
year. It is such a miracle.” As the woman paused to get control of her tears of gratitude, Lyle found
himself curiously touched. Perhaps he looked upon the whole issue with skepticism, but he certainly
believed thatthey believed.

Lyle glanced to his left at the one called Ralph and saw the huge man sobbing into his shaved paws.
Taking a second look at those paws, Lyle noticed that the claws had been trimmed very short. From the
thickness of the claws it must have been done with bolt cutters.

Now in control of herself, Allyson continued. “As it did for many of us, it began for me by being bitten by
an infected family member.” She held up her hands. “Now, I know that some of you have therapists who
say lycanthropy is not an infectious disease at all, but is, instead, a form of hysteria, and I respect that.