Shantaram полностью

He held the thin, curved blade like a sword, sweeping it in a vicious arc as he ran. I allowed his frenzied sweep to pass and then stepped in close, jabbing downward with my own knife. It cut his arm and shoulder, but he was still free to move. His knife slashed backward toward me. He was fast-fast enough to cut my forearm. Blood ran quickly from the wound, and rage pulled me into him with my right fist punching and jabbing with the knife. Then a sudden black, blood-tasting pain crashed into the back of my head, and I knew I’d been hit from behind. I scrambled past the twin, and twisted round to see wounded Rajan, his shirt painted on his skin with his own blood. There was a lump of wood in his hand. My head was ringing with the force of the blow he’d struck. Blood was running from wounds on my head, my neck, my shoulder, and the soft inside of my forearm. The twins began wailing again, and I knew they were about to make a new charge. A tiny seed of doubt ripened and burst open in my mind for the first time since the bizarre contest had begun: I might not win this…

I grinned at them, shaping up for their charge with my fists high and my left foot forward. Okay, I thought. Let’s go. Let’s finish it. They ran at me, keening that high-pitched scream again. The one with the lump of wood, Rajan, swung it at me. I raised my left arm to block the blow. It came down hard on my shoulder, but I rammed my right fist into his face and he fell backward, his knees folding before he hit the floor. His brother slashed at my face with the knife. I ducked and weaved, but the knife cut my head at the back, above the neck. I came up under his guard and jammed my knife into his shoulder, all the way to the crank. I’d aimed for his chest, but it was still a useful wound because his arm below the knife went as limp as seaweed, and he screeched away from me in panic.

Years of anger broke through: all the prison-anger I’d buried in the shallow grave of my resentful self-control. The blood running down my face from the cuts and gashes on my head was liquid anger, thick and red and spilling from my mind. A furious strength ripped the muscles of my arms, shoulders, and back. I looked from Rajan and his twin to the imbecile in the chair. Kill them all, I thought, dragging the air in through clenched teeth, and growling it out again. I’ll kill them all.

I heard someone calling me, calling me, calling me back from the edge of the abyss into which Habib, and all those like him, had plunged.

‘Lin! Where are you, Lin?’

‘In here, Didier!’ I shouted back. ‘In the attic! You’re very close! Can you hear me?’

‘I hear you!’ he shouted. ‘I’m coming at once.’

‘Be careful!’ I called back, panting. ‘There’s two guys up here, and they’re… fuck, man… they’re none too friendly!’

I heard the sound of his footsteps, and I heard him curse as he stumbled in the dark. He pushed open the little door and stooped to enter the room. There was a gun in his hand, and I was glad to see him. I watched his face as he quickly took in the scene-the blood on my face and arms, the blood on the bodies of the twins, the drooling figure in the chair. I saw his shocked surprise harden and settle into the grim, angry line of his mouth. Then he heard the scream.

Rajan’s brother, the one with the knife, let out that blood-numbing waul and ran at Didier, who swung his pistol round without hesitation and shot the man in the groin, near the hip. He crumpled and flung himself sideways, yowling sobs of pain as he rolled on the floor, doubled over his bleeding wound. Rajan limped to the throne-like chair and draped his body in front of Madame Zhou, shielding her with his bare chest. He stared his hatred into Didier’s eyes, and we knew that he was willing to take a bullet to protect her. Didier took a step towards him, and levelled the pistol at Rajan’s heart. The Frenchman’s face was set in a severe frown, but his pale eyes were calm, and gleaming with his cool and absolute dominion. That was the real man, the steel blade within the shabby, rusting scabbard. Didier Levy: one of the most capable and dangerous men in Bombay.

‘Do you want to do it?’ he asked me, his face harder than anything else in the room.

‘No.’

‘No?’ he breathed, his eyes never leaving Rajan. ‘Take a look at yourself. Look at what they did, Lin. You should shoot them.’

‘No.’

‘You should wound them, at the very least.’

‘No.’

‘It is dangerous to let them live. Your history with these people is… not good.’

‘It’s okay,’ I muttered.

‘You should shoot at least one of them, non?’

‘No.’

‘Very well. Then I will shoot them for you.’