Snake

Начало книги

Eve defied death twice nightly, except on Sundays.

Sunday had just begun when there was a soft rap of knuckles on the dressing room door.

“Go away,” she lisped, resentful.

Monday through Friday, she did a show at eleven and a show at one. The first timed to catch and hold the after-the-movies crowd, the second to prime them for their beds, titillated and eager to return for more. Come Saturday, however, both shows had to be over before the laws regarding public drinking and entertainment on the South African sabbath came into effect. Making a total of twelve hours in all, but it was tiring, stressful work.

So when her week ended on the stroke of midnight, she gladly turned into a pumpkin. Her taut orange skin and round face were just right for one, for a do-nothing, think-nothing, vegetating pumpkin which-once she had removed her small top plate-smiled gap-toothed into the mirror like a Halloween lantern. Nobody paid her to be pretty in private.

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