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

He thought about it. ‘All of my bedclothes?’
‘It felt like all of them to me.’
‘So you knew I was naked after all?’
For a moment there was silence, then: ‘Yes, I suppose I did. But—’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, you’ll find out for yourself soon enough. If you don’t know already. You see, it’s sort of hard to get
embarrassed when you’re blind. Little things embarrass you, like bumping into someone or knocking a cup over. But
the big things - why, you simply don’t see them!’
Garrison grinned, found the taps and ran water into a washbasin. ‘Thank God for touch, taste, smell and hearing,’ he
called.
‘Oh, I do!’ she answered, ‘I thank Him every day.’
He sat down on the toilet to make water. That way he couldn’t miss. The rush of water down from the taps covered
his own splashing. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I meant,’ he said. ‘I meant that although I can’t see you, I can at least
have the pleasure of knowing how you feel, taste and smell. And the sound of your voice.’
‘Oh? And who says you can have those pleasures?’
‘Who can stop me?’ he asked. ‘I’ve smelled you, touched your face, listened to you talking and tasted your fingers.
And—’
‘And now you’re interested in the entire combination, eh? With perhaps a few variations thrown in for good
measure?’
‘Oh, something like that.’
‘Willy Koenig is right, I think,’ she slowly said. ‘You hardly seem to understand how badly handicapped you are.
And I repeat, you are a very forward boy, Richard Garrison.’
‘Not really,’ he answered, coming out of the bathroom. ‘But it’s like you said. When you’re blind, it’s sort of hard to
feel embarrassed. In fact, being blind probably has a lot of compensations.’ He found her waist, drew her close and
kissed her. Beneath her halter top she wore no brassiere and her breasts were hot and firm against his chest. After a
long moment she began to respond to his kiss, then drew breath sharply and pulled away as his hand found her
breast. She held him at arm’s length.
‘Much too forward altogether,’ she repeated. But her voice was husky as chaff in a summer farmyard.
He reluctantly let himself be guided to the door and helped into the robe hanging there, and then she took him
downstairs.
Breakfast was huge, English (as English breakfasts used to be) and excellently prepared, and it was served in a room
where at least one wall was a vast window facing east. Garrison could feel and enjoy the sun’s rays on his face and
forearms. Moreover, he found himself with a real appetite, something he had missed until now without realizing it. He
ploughed through sausages, bacon, eggs and tomatoes, and was following up with coffee, toast and marmalade when
Koenig entered the room.
Until then Garrison and Vicki had been on their own, and since they had both come to realize what must inevitably
be, neither one of them had found it necessary to say a lot. The space between them was charged, however, as the
space between imminent lovers always is.
Koenig’s entrance was therefore something of an intrusion. He said nothing, but Garrison had heard the door open
and close, and he had recognized the other’s sure tread even on the thick pile of the dining room’s expensive carpet.
When Koenig came to a halt at the table, the blind Corporal sighed and pushed away his plate.
‘Good morning, Willy,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sit? There’s more coffee in the pot if you want it.’
‘Good morning, sir,’ Koenig answered. ‘And thanks, but I have already eaten. Actually, sir, I have brought you
some new clothes. I am here to help you try them on. They are more suitable to this good weather we are enjoying.’
This was a different Koenig, one Garrison wasn’t quite sure he understood. ‘Pretty stiff, aren’t we, Willy?’
‘Not at all, sir. We are merely respectful.’ It was strange to hear these so English words spoken in Koenig’s so
Germanic accents.
Garrison finished his coffee and stood. The electricity had disappeared from the air now and Vicki seemed distant,
lost in space and darkness. Garrison turned towards her in something like panic, or as close as he had ever got to
pdnic. ‘Vicki, are you there? I mean—’