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

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Her name is Ros’a’Jericho.

She is an apostle of the Tucurombй.

They are members of a kairis.

A kairis is a group of (usually) four individuals who may, or may not,
previously know each other, called together by the Tucurombй to achieve some
divinely ordained purpose.

The purpose of this kairis is to find a guitarristo to lead the Tres Milagros
parade, the theme of which this year is the New Gods.

The Tucurombй, of whom this La Miranda who saved Annunciate from the Lobos is a
member, are the new gods.

Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. Kid Annunciato’s head is spinning. He is only a
malnourished undereducated favela boy, after all.

Ros’a’Jericho lives with the old black man, who is known as El Batador, in a
house on Tres Milagros Hill. They do not sleep with each other. Annunciato has
heard of Tres Mila­gros Hill. Most people in this city have heard of Tres
Milagros Hill, the one with the big white letters on top of it that no one can
understand, the one where all the weirds, and freaks, and devos, and teevees go
to be weird and freaky and devo-ish and dress up or dress down together. Tres
Milagros have won the golden Bell of St James five times in the past ten years
under the leadership of their director, the fabled La Baiana.

And they want Annunciato to be chief guitarristo? HeesusHosйMaria . . .

Ros’a’Jericho is the remixado. She lives on a mattress amid piles of rotting
Chinese food cartons in a room stacked to the ceiling with silver and black
boxes bearing the logos of Pacific Rim corporations. The only light is that of
LEDs and crystal displays.

‘No vinyl, no spiral, no scratch,’ she says. ‘Happening world is my found
source.’ The pockets of her silver lamй suit contain DATcorders from which she
remixes the sound of the city into her music.

The aged aged black man makes food. Guitarristos are always hungry. It is good
for the music. While Annunciato pokes rice and beans and a little chopped
synthetic meat into his face, El Batador tells him about the Tucurombй.

They are gods. Real gods. Street gods. Patterns of alien intelligence stirred
out of the informational minestrone of the Pacific Rim computer cores and
seasoned with Catholic hagiolatry; favela myth and superstition; silver screen
icon­ography; the symbolism of candomblй, umbanda, vodun, Rosicrucianism and