"Fat Tuesday" - читать интересную книгу автора (McDonald Ian)

in their baseball caps with the correct corporate logos and their hi-tops and
cycle shorts had spun and scratched and sweated and mixed and mastered. And the
sambaderos in their Famous Names sportswear, the sambaderas in their leos and
body-paint had spilled onto the floor, shaking it strut­ting it slapping it
stuffing it shrieking it ai ai ai ai.

He had been good, the Blood Wolves’ guitarristo. Had he not been, he might have
lived. But as the guitars up on their speaker towers clashed and tangled in
fugues and counter­points, he had felt a spirit awaken in the glass guitar, that
same spirit that had called to him that morning when this Annunciato, sixth son
of a sixth son, glimpsed that gleam of glass in a Birimbao trash heap, a spirit
growing stronger, stronger than Annunciato could hold, something that fed on the
sweat and the stink and the shatter of drums and one by one the dancers and the
remixados and even the batteria stopped to watch and the only sound beneath the
sambadrome’s corrugated iron roof was the unbearable feedback howl of the glass
guitar on and on and on and on and on and on and on like the scream of every
child that was ever born in the street and the scream of every soul that ever
fell to a blade in a cabaсa alley and the scream of every sambadera in the ear
of her sambadero as she gave it away in the rear seat of a hot-wired Nissan in
the back rank of the drive-in and the music seized the Lobos’ guitarristo and
burned his soul away to nothing and he toppled from the speaker tower with smoke
coming from his eyes and then they all screamed with one voice and heart and
soul.

One chord. That is all the difference there is between hero and monster.

* * * *

Blue Monday

Sambada por mujeros.

Everything is crucially dependent on the T and A zones. Yah, you got it. Tits
and Ass.

The T Zone. You got a mirror? Then get a mirror. Strip off. Yes, everything. All
you going to be wearing come Fat Tuesday is gloves and boots and black velvet
G-string. The Five of Spades look. Cellulite? No worries, there will always be
someone worse off than you. Roll your shoulders; left, then right. The idea is
to get each breast to describe its own separate, complementary orbit.

The A Zone. As above, but with hips rather than shoulders, and - here is the bit
that marks the true street sambadera from the exhibitionists in from the suburbs
or up from the projects - the A zone has to work in contra-rotation to the T
Zone. They reckon it takes half a year just to get the basic rhythm. When you
can give the impression you are having an orgasm sitting on top of a
thousand-speed spin washing machine, you are close. It helps if you smile.
Anything that makes you feel more confident wiggling your T and A in front of
several million spectators and eleven satellite channels while dressed in a
postage stamp on a piece of elastic has got to help.