"Christopher Priest - The Watched" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

finished her shower; Ordier paused by the door of the cubicle and
knew by the sound of the water that she was rinsing her hair. He
could imagine her with her face uptilted toward the spray, her long
dark hair plastered flatly back above her ears. She often stood like
this for several minutes, letting the water run into her open mouth
before dribbling away, coursing down her body; twin streams of
droplets would fall from her nipples, a tiny rivulet would snake
through her pubic hair, a thin film would gloss her buttocks and
thighs.
Again torn between desire and impatience, Ordier went to his
bureau, unlocked it, and took out his scintilla detector.
He checked the batteries first; they were sound, but he knew
they would have to be replaced soon. He made frequent use of the
detector because he had discovered by chance a few weeks before
that his house had become infested with several of the microscopic
scintillas, and since then he had been searching for them every day.
There was a signal the instant he turned on the detector, and
he walked through the house listening for subtle changes in the
pitch and volume of the electronic howl. He traced the scintilla to
the bedroom, and by switching in the directional circuit and
holding the instrument close to the floor, he found it a few
moments later. It was in the carpet, near where Jenessa’s clothes
were folded over a chair.
Ordier parted the tufts of the carpet, and picked up the
scintilla with a pair of tweezers. He took it through into his study.
This was the third he had discovered this week, and although there
was every chance it had been brought into the house on someone’s
shoes, it was nevertheless unsettling to find one. He put it on a
slide, then peered at it through his microscope. There was no serial
number.
Jenessa had left the shower, and was standing by the door of
the study.
“What are you doing?” she said.
 “Another scintilla,” Ordier said. “In the bedroom.”
“You’re always finding them. I thought they were supposed to
be undetectable.”
“I’ve got a gadget that locates them.”
“You never told me.”
Ordier straightened, and turned to face her. She was naked,
with a turban of golden toweling around her hair.
“I’ve made some coffee,” he said. “Let’s have it on the patio.”

Jenessa walked away, her legs and back still moist from the
shower. Ordier watched her, thinking of another girl, the Qataari
girl in the valley, and wishing that his response to Jenessa could be
less complicated. In the last few weeks she had become at once
more immediate and more distant, because she aroused in him
desires that could not be fulfilled by the Qataari girl.
He turned back to the microscope and pulled the slide gently
away. He tipped the scintilla into a quiet-case—a soundproof,