The Amphibian / Человек-амфибия. Книга для чтения на английском языке

A closer look showed that the cliff was man-made and, in fact, nothing more than another wall, a fourth one, for in it Cristo found an iron door, painted grey to blend with the cliff and furthermore screened by a thick growth of wistaria.

Cristo listened. The roar of the surf was the only sound. Where did the small door lead to? The seaside?

Suddenly there was a hubbub of children’s voices behind him. Cristo wheeled round and saw the children staring up into the sky. He also looked up and spotted a small red balloon slowly floating up and across the orchard.

The wind was heading it seawards.

An ordinary children’s balloon, it seemed to stir Cristo deeply. As soon as the servant that had been ill reported for work, the old Indian went to see Salvator.

“Soon we’re leaving for the Andes, Doctor. It might be some time before we come back. May I go and see my daughter and her child?”

Salvator didn’t like his servants leaving the premises, and he didn’t speak at once. Cristo stood waiting, his eyes boldly meeting the cold stare of Salvator’s.

“Remember your pledge,” said Salvator. “I wouldn’t like you to lose your tongue. You may go, but see you’re back within three days. Wait! “

Salvator went into the other room and brought back with him a suede leather pouch.

“There’s something for your granddaughter – and for your silence too.”

An Ambush

“If he doesn’t come this time I’ll cut the painter as far as the pair of you are concerned, I’ll be damned if I won’t.

I’ll get smarter people onto the job,” Zurita was saying, tugging impatiently at his bristly moustache. He wore a white town suit and a panama hat. They had met well outside Buenos Aires, at a point where the pampas were taking over from the maize fields.

Baltasar, in a white blouse and a pair of blue-striped trousers, was squatting by the roadside, plucking dejectedly at the sun-parched brittle blades of grass.

He himself was beginning to regret having sent his brother to spy on Salvator.

Though Baltasar’s elder by ten years, Cristo was strong and lithe and as cunning as a pampas-cat. But he was not reliable. He couldn’t settle down to anything. There had been a time he took up farming but soon dropped it, thoroughly bored. Then he ran a dockside tavern till he drank himself out of house and home. Lately Cristo had been earning a precarious living on the windy side of the law.