Harlequin's Millions

Начало книги

JUST OUTSIDE THE LITTLE TOWN WHERE MY TIME stood still is a small castle, and in that castle is now a retirement home. There is only one road leading to the castle, which is at the top of a hill, the road is lined with old chestnuts, the branches of these old trees form a tunnel, so when you walk uphill it’s as if you’re striding through a long, Gothic vault, all the branches are intertwined, they don’t just support each other, they’re completely entangled, locked together by storm and wind. Somehow these trees, in their struggle for a bit of light, seem to have grown weary in the crown and are wasting away, so that the road is forever strewn with dried branches, black and charred, worn bare with constant friction. Sometimes when the wind is still, a whole branch will suddenly drop into the sand, you stand and stare as if a tile has just fallen from the roof, then you lift it up and toss it aside and feel the weight that might have injured you. Each time I set foot on that road, I’m putting my life at risk. I look up and see the five-hundred-meter-long tunnel, held up by black barriers that rise to the treetops like lances raised to honor some victory in a jousting match.

Читать дальше →