"Paul J. McAuley & Kim Newman - In Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

Birimbao morning.

****

Sambada por hombres.

You got it easier. You only got one zone to worry about. From the
waist up you might as well be foam polystyrene. From the waist down you
got to be hotter than Mama Marilena’s hot salsa. So start today. You want
ten-, twelve-, fourteen-year-old boys to out-sambada you?

First, the stance. Feet apart, shoulder width. Now, bend back from the
knees. Back. Back. Are you making a thirty degree angle with the ground?
That’s all right. Next, clench the cheeks of your ass. Tight. You should be
able to carry an Amex card between them all the way from the sambadrome
down to the Square of the Basilica of Our Lady of the Angels where the
judging is held. Once you can do that you are ready for the grind. Swivel
your pelvis, left hip up, round in a circle, back, then your right hip so that
your groin - the entire focal point of sambada - is going round and round
like an aeroplane propeller. When your RPM equals your degree of
inclination away from vertical, you are muy sambadero. But do not forget:
dignity. You got to have dignity, or the boys will laugh. You got to be cooler
than a bottle of Dos Equis in a tin tub full of ice.

****

La Baiana: is: twenty-two stone of fun wedged into leopard-print lycra,
falsies jutting like the Guns of Navarone, little troublesome moustache line
virtually invisible beneath a stucco of powder and rouge. Rei de Las
Reims, carnivalado of carnivalados, the designer’s designer. There was
never as titanic an old Queen as La Baiana. From his throne of hammered
flat Heineken cans in Tres Milagros sambadrome, guarded by Playa
Venecia body-shop musculados, he purses persimmon lips as radiantly
beautiful young teevees parade past, wiggling it, jiggling it, pouting and
preening and prinking, pausing in front of La Baiana for that little turn, that
little shake of the tushie.

‘He choosing teevees,’ says Ros’a’Jericho. Tres Milagros much much
famous for quality of transvestites. Big honour, be chosen by La Baiana to
march in Tucurombé parade.’

But the big carnival queen has seen his fellow kairisados and claps
his be-ringed hands.

‘Out girls, out. Back at nineteen and then we shall see who wins the
prize.’ He leans forward in his throne, peers at Annunciato like he is a turd
sticking to a shower curtain. ‘La Miranda saves this piece of ass to be our
guitarristo? This is Seu Guantanamera come again?’

Annunciato, with the unerring cabañero talent for the gratuitous move,