 |
|
| |
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
even had TV in the valley. He considered the geography of the area -- a
basin. To receive TV in here would require an antenna on one of the
surrounding hills, amplifiers, a long stretch of cable.
Back onto the dresser he went, ear to the ventilator. He found he could
separate the TV show (a daytime serial) from a background conversation between
three or four women. One of the women appeared to be instructing another in
knitting. Several times he heard the word "Jaspers" and once, very
distinctly, "A vision, that's all; just a vision."
Dasein climbed down from the dresser, went into the hall. Between his door
and the window at the end with its "Exit" sign there were no doors. Across
the hall, yes, but not on this side. He stepped back into his room, studied
the ventilator. It appeared to go straight through the wall, but appearances
could be deceiving. It might come from another floor. What was in this whole
rear corner of the building, though? Dasein was curious enough now to
investigate.
Downstairs he trotted, through the empty lobby, outside and around to the
back. There was the oak tree, a rough-barked patriarch, one big branch
curving across a second-floor window. That window must be his, Dasein
decided. It was in the right place and the branch confirmed it. A low porch
roof over a kitchen service area angled outward beneath the window. Dasein
swept his gaze toward the corner, counted three other windows in that area
where no doors opened into a room. All three windows were blank with drawn
shades.
No doors, but three windows, Dasein thought.
He set a slower pace back up to his room. The lobby was still empty, but
there were sounds of voices and the switchboard from the office behind the
desk.
Once more in his room, Dasein stood at the window, looked down on the porch
roof. The slope was shallow, shingles dry. He eased open the window, stepped
out onto the roof. By leaning against the wall, he found he could work his
way sideways along the roof.
At the first window, he took a firm grip on the ledge, looked for a gap in the
curtain. There was no opening, but the sound of the TV was plain when he
pressed his ear against the glass. He heard part of a soap commercial and one
of the women in the room saying: "That's enough of this channel, switch to
NEC."
Dasein drew back, crept to the next window. There was a half-inch gap at the
Page 31
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
bottom of the shade. He almost lost his balance bending to peer in it, caught
himself, took a firm grip on the ledge and crouched to put his eyes to the gap
-- the swimming wash of cathode gray in a shadowy room met his gaze. He could
just make out a bank of eight TV receivers against the wall at his right.
Five women sat in comfortable arm chairs at a good viewing distance from the
screens. One of the women he noted with some satisfaction was knitting.
Another appeared to be making notes on a shorthand pad. Yet another was
operating some sort of recorder.
There was a businesslike women-at-work look about the group. They appeared to
be past middle age, but when they moved it was with the grace of people who
remained active. A blonde woman with a good figure stood up on the right,
racked a clip-board across the face of the top right-hand screen, turned off
the set. She flopped back into her chair with an exaggerated fatigue, spoke
loudly:
"My God! Imagine letting that stuff pour uncensored into your brain day after
day after day after . . ."
"Save it for the report, Suzie!" That was the woman with the recorder.
Report? Dasein asked himself. What report?
He swept his gaze around the room. A row of filing cabinets stood against the
far wall. He could just see the edge of a couch directly under the window. A
pull-down stairway of the type used for access to attics occupied the corner
at the left. There were two typewriters on wheeled stands behind the women.
Dasein decided it was one of the most peculiar rooms he had ever seen. Here
were all the fixtures of normalcy, but with that odd Santaroga twist to them.
Why the secrecy? Why eight TV receivers? What was in the filing cabinets?
What report?
From time to time, the women made notes, used the recorder, switched channels.
All the time, they carried on casual conversations only parts of which were
audible to Dasein. None of it made much sense -- small talk: "I decided
against putting in pleats; they're so much trouble." "If Fred can't pick me
up after work, I'll need a ride to town."
His exposed position on the roof began to bother Dasein. He told himself
there was nothing else to be learned from a vigil at the window. What
explanation could he give if he were caught here?
Carefully, he worked his way back to his room, climbed in, closed the window.
Again, he checked the hall. There just was no door into that strange room at
this level. He walked down to the exit sign, opened a narrow door onto a back
landing. An open stairway with doweled railing wound up and down from the
landing. Dasein peered over the railing, looked down two stories to a
basement level. He looked up. The stairwell was open to a skylight above the
third floor.
Moving quietly, he climbed to the next level, opened the landing door onto
another hall. He stepped in, looked at the wall above the secret room. Two
steps from the landing there was another door labeled "Linen Supplies."
Dasein tried the handle -- locked.
Frustrated, he turned back to the landing. As he stepped from the hall, his
right foot caught on a loose edge of carpeting. In one terrifying instant,
Dasein saw the railing and the open stairwell flash toward him. His right
shoulder hit the rail with a splintering crash, slowing his fall but not
stopping it. He clutched at the broken rail with his left hand, felt it bend
out, knew then that he was going over -- three stories down to the basement.
The broken rail in his hand made a screeching sound as it bent outward. It
all seemed to be happening in a terrible slow motion. He could see the edges
of the descending stairway where they had been painted and the paint had run
in little yellow lines. He saw a cobweb beneath one of the risers, a ball of
maroon lint caught in it.
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The broken rail came free in one last splintering crack and Dasein went over.
In this deadly instant, as he saw in his mind his own body splattered on the
concrete three floors down, strong hands grabbed his ankles. Not quite
realizing what had happened, Dasein swung head down, released the broken rail
and saw it turn and twist downward.
He felt himself being pulled upward like a doll, dragged against the broken
edges of the railing, turned over onto his back on the landing.
Dasein found himself looking up into the scowling black face of Win Burdeaux.
"That were a mighty close one, sir," Burdeaux said. Dasein was gasping so
hard he couldn't answer. His right shoulder felt like a giant ball of pain.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plcs-sysunia.htw.pl
|
| |
|
|
|
| Podobne |
| |
|
| |
|