"George R. R. Martin - The Pear-Shaped Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

The Pear-Shaped Man

George R. R. Martin
Copyright ©1987 by George R. R. Martin

First published in Omni, October 1987
The Pear-shaped Man lives beneath the stairs. His shoulders are narrow and stooped, but his buttocks
are impressively large. Or perhaps it is only the clothing he wears; no one has ever admitted to seeing him
nude, and no one has ever admitted to wanting to. His trousers are brown polyester double knits, with
wide cuffs and a shiny seat; they are always baggy, and they have big, deep, droopy pockets so stuffed
with oddments and bric-a-brac that they bulge against his sides. He wears his pants very high, hiked up
above the swell of his stomach, and cinches them in place around his chest with a narrow brown leather
belt. He wears them so high that his drooping socks show clearly, and often an inch or two of pasty white
skin as well.

His shirts are always short-sleeved, most often white or pale blue, and his breast pocket is always full of
Bic pens, the cheap throwaway kind that write with blue ink. He has lost the caps or tossed them out,
because his shirts are all stained and splotched around the breast pockets. His head is a second pear set
atop the first; he has a double chin and wide, full, fleshy cheeks, and the top of his head seems to come
almost to a point. His nose is broad and flat, with large, greasy pores; his eyes are small and pale, set
close together. His hair is thin, dark, limp, flaky with dandruff; it never looks washed, and there are those
who say that he cuts it himself with a bowl and a dull knife. He has a smell, too, the Pear-shaped Man; it
is a sweet smell, a sour smell, a rich smell, compounded of old butter and rancid meat and vegetables
rotting in the garbage bin. His voice, when he speaks, is high and thin and squeaky; it would be a funny
little voice, coming from such a large, ugly man, but there is something unnerving about it, and something
even more chilling about his tight, small smile. He never shows any teeth when he smiles, but his lips are
broad and wet.

Of course you know him. Everyone knows a Pear-shaped Man.
****

Jessie met hers on her first day in the neighborhood, while she and Angela were moving into the vacant
apartment on the first floor. Angela and her boyfriend, Donald the student shrink, had lugged the couch
inside and accidentally knocked away the brick that had been holding open the door to the building.
Meanwhile Jessie had gotten the recliner out of the U-Haul all by herself and thumped it up the steps,
only to find the door locked when she backed into it, the recliner in her arms. She was hot and sore and
irritable and ready to scream with frustration.

And then the Pear-shaped Man emerged from his basement apartment under the steps, climbed onto the
sidewalk at the foot of the stoop, and looked up at her with those small, pale, watery eyes of his. He
made no move to help her with her chair. He did not say hello or offer to let her into the building. He only
blinked and smiled a tight, wet smile that showed none of his teeth and said in a voice as squeaky and
grating as nails on a blackboard, “Ahhhh.There she is.” Then he turned and walked away. When he
walked he swayed slightly from side to side. Jessie let go of the recliner; it bumped down two steps and
turned over. She suddenly felt cold, despite the sweltering July heat. She watched the Pear-shaped Man
depart. That was her first sight of him. She went inside and told Donald and Angela about him, but they
were not much impressed. “Into every girl's life a Pear-shaped Man must fall,” Angela said, with the
cynicism of the veteran city girl. “I bet I met him on a blind date once.”

Donald, who didn't live with them but spent so many nights with Angela that sometimes it seemed as