"Brian Lumley - Psychomech 01 - Psychomech" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

‘Your Colonel is more than merely grateful, then?’
‘Grateful? He owes you his life. 7 owe you his life! And his wife’s life. And Heinrich, his son’s life. And he owes you
your sight. Yes, he is more than merely grateful. . .’
‘I want nothing from him.’
‘Then you are a fool, for he can give you everything.’ Koenig stared for a moment at his own reflection in the dark
ovals of Garrison’s spectacles. ‘Almost everything.’

Their third stop was at a Gasthof on a mountain road, where they both drank a beer and relieved themselves before
the final stage of the journey. By then Garrison felt very secure in Koenig’s company and he had grown tired. He
loosened his tie, his jacket, lay back in his seat and dozed while the big German drove and hummed an accompaniment
to soft music from the car’s radio.
He was still half asleep when they arrived at their destination. It was early evening and there was a little laughter
from somewhere close at hand. A chill breeze was up, carrying piney smells on the sweet mountain air; but there were
also splashing sounds, shouts of encouragement, someone urging ‘Schwimm, schwimm!’ A heated outdoor pool.
But by now Garrison was far too tired to concentrate. When he got out of the car he straightened his tie, did up the
buttons of his jacket, gave himself once more into Koenig’s care. He was not given his stick back but led into a
building, into an elevator, along a corridor and into a room. All of these things and places made impressions, but
blurred in his mind and unreal for now. It had been a long day, a long eight months. He remembered Koenig saying
goodnight and something about a pleasant day in the morning.
He found the bed and lay down gladly upon it, loosening his tie once again and his uniform. He kicked off his shiny
black shoes and wondered if they were as shiny as they used to be. But what difference did it make?
Then, just before he slept—
There was a drink, brought to him by some soft-voiced girl. It made him very drowsy. The girl helped him with his
clothes, treated him like a baby, as though she might break him, covered him with cool sheets.
Following which—
‘Good morning,’ said the same soft voice, the girl’s voice. It held the hint of a German accent. Garrison opened his
eyes (he always did it, an automatic reaction to waking up) and heard the girl gasp. He at once closed his eyes and
groped about for his dark-lensed spectacles: his ’blinkers 1 , as he thought of them. For as if it wasn’t enough to be
blind, his eyes were now especially hideous, completely white and without pupils. Only in searching for his blinkers
did he discover his own nakedness, the fact that in his sleep he had thrown off his bedclothes.
He found his blinkers on a bedside table, put them on, opened his dry mouth to say something sharp . .. and bit the
words off unuttered. The girl was still there, had not moved, could only be watching him. He sensed her presence, her -
curiosity? - and his anger turned to a curiosity of his own. This was his first experience of anyone taking advantage of
him.
Very well, if voyeurism was her scene .. .
He lay back on his pillow and deliberately put his hands behind his head. The very act - of consciously displaying
himself, unashamedly lying there naked - gave him a rise. He reached down and gently patted his swelling .hard. ‘Good
morning,’ he answered. ‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’
‘Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it is.’ She moved closer. ‘Aren’t you going to get up? Or perhaps you would like
your breakfast in bed?’
Garrison grinned. ‘What’s on offer?’ he asked. He was ramrod stiff now - half from the need to urinate, the rest from
the powerfully erotic presence of this girl. From the very tone of her voice he could tell that she wasn’t in the least
disturbed either by his nakedness or his hard. But then, why should she be? She had undressed him, hadn’t she? He
scratched an itchy spot on his belly and wondered just exactly what the girl’s duties were.
‘Anything you like,’ she said, very matter of factly. She came and sat on his bed, within reach. Garrison put out his
hand and let it fall on her thigh. His palm touched flesh, his fingers the hem of her shorts. He grinned at her; but after a
second, when he made no effort to remove his hand, she took it and placed it on his stomach. Only then did she jerk
her own hand away and jump to her feet.
‘Oh!’ she said, her voice a half-gasp. ‘You’re naked!’
Now Garrison couldn’t stop himself laughing. ‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘Are you telling me you’ve just noticed?’