Американские боги
Chapter 5
"Iwouldnotasktoseeyours."
Shadowputhisowncoinintheslot.Hetookhisslipofpaper.Hereadit.
EVERYENDINGISANEWBEGINNING.
YOURLUCKYNUMBERISNONE.
YOURLUCKYCOLORISDEAD.
Motto:LIKEFATHER,LIKESON.
Shadowmadeaface.Hefoldedthefortuneupandputitinhisinsidepocket.
Theywentfurtherin,downaredcorridor,pastroomsfilledwithemptychairsuponwhichrestedviolinsandviolasandcelloswhichplayedthemselves,orseemedto,whenfedacoin.Keysdepressed,cymbalscrashed,pipesblewcompressedairintoclarinetsandoboes.Shadowobserved,withawryamusement,thatthebowsofthestringedinstruments,playedbymechanicalarms,neveractuallytouchedthestrings,whichwereoftenlooseormissing.Hewonderedwhetherallthesoundsheheardweremadebywindandpercussion,orwhetherthereweretapesaswell.
TheyhadwalkedforwhatfeltlikeseveralmileswhentheycametoaroomcalledtheMikado,onewallofwhichwasanineteenth-centurypseudo-Orientalnightmare,inwhichbeetle-browedmechanicaldrummersbangedcymbalsanddrumswhilestaringoutfromtheirdragon-encrustedlair.Currently,theyweremajesticallytorturingSaint-Saëns’s"DanseMacabre."
CzernobogsatonabenchinthewallfacingtheMikadomachine,tappingoutthetimewithhisfingers.Pipesfluted,bellsjangled.
Wednesdaysatnexttohim.
