"Victor Pelevin. Babylon (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

midnight and they were continuing a drinking spree begun earlier somewhere
else. Tatarsky was sitting just a couple of metres away from them, but they
paid no more attention to him than if he'd been a stuffed model of a
copywriter nailed to the counter in order to brighten up the decor.
Although both of the showmen were thoroughly drunk, they'd lost none of
that strange holographic gleam m every fold of their clothes, as though
their physical bodies were not actually sitting at the next table but were
simply being shown on a huge television standing next to Tatarsky. When he
noticed this inexplicable but undoubtedly real effect, Tatarsky found
himself thinking how long it would take them in limbo to scrape away all the
human attention that had eaten into the pores of their souls. The showmen
were talking shop, and Tatarsky gathered that one of them was having
problems with his contract.
'If they'd just extend it for next year/ he said, clenching his fists.
'Say they do,' the other replied. 'At the end of the year it'll be the
same thing all over again. And you'll be living on tranquillizers again ...
And then what?'
'Then what? Then I've got a serious plan.' He slumped over the table
and poured himself some vodka. 'I'm just five hundred thousand short,' he
said. 'That's what I've got to make.'
'What plan?' 'You won't tell anyone? Listen ...'
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, rummaged around for a
long while and finally pulled out a sheet of glossy paper folded into four.
'There/ he said, 'it says it on here... The kingdom of Bhutan. The only
country in the world where television is forbidden. Unnerstand? Completely
forbidden. It says here that not far from the capital they have an entire
colony where big TV moguls live. If you spend all your life working in
television, the very coolest thing you can do when you retire is move to
Bhutan.'
'Is that what you need the five hundred grand for?' 'No, I need the
five hundred grand so no one will come looking for me in Bhutan afterwards.
Can you just imagine it? Forbidden. Not a single television set anywhere
except in counter-espionage! And the embassies!'
His companion took the sheet of paper from him, unfolded it and started
reading.
'You unnerstand?' - the first showman carried on speaking regardless -
'If anyone is keeping a television at home and the authorities find out
about it, the police come round, unnerstand? And they cart the queer fucker
off to prison. Or maybe they even shoot him.'
He pronounced the word 'queer' with that sabre-whistle intake of breath
you only ever hear from latent homosexuals who have deprived themselves of
the joys of love in the name of a perverse misinterpretation of the social
contract. His companion understood everything and didn't take offence -he
was looking through the article.
'Ah,' he said, 'out of a magazine. It's interesting all right... So who
wrote it? Where is it now... Some guy called Edward Debirsian...'
Tatarsky almost knocked over his table as he stood up to go to the
toilet. He wasn't surprised that TV personalities should feel that way about
their work, although the degree of these people's spiritual degradation did
make it possible to allow that some of them might actually like their jobs.