Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 8

           Thisscenthadafreshness,butnotthefreshnessoflimesorpomegranates,notthefreshnessofmyrrhorcinnamonbarkorcurlymintorbirchorcamphororpineneedles,northatofaMayrainorafrostywindorofwellwater…andatthesametimeithadwarmth,butnotasbergamot,cypress,ormuskhas,orjasmineordaffodils,notasrosewoodhasoriris…Thisscentwasablendofboth,ofevanescenceandsubstance,notablend,butaunity,althoughslightandfrailaswell,andyetsolidandsustaining,likeapieceofthin,shimmeringsilk…andyetagainnotlikesilk,butlikepastrysoakedinhoneysweetmilk-andtryashewouldhecouldn’tfitthosetwotogether:milkandsilk!Thisscentwasinconceivable,indescribable,couldnotbecategorizedinanyway-itreallyoughtnottoexistatall.Andyetthereitwasasplainandsplendidasday.Grenouillefollowedit,hisfearfulheartpounding,forhesuspectedthatitwasnothewhofollowedthescent,butthescentthathadcapturedhimandwasdrawinghimirresistiblytoit.HewalkeduptheruedeSeine.Noonewasonthestreet.Thehousesstoodemptyandstill.Thepeopleweredownbytheriverwatchingthefireworks.Nohecticodorofhumansdisturbedhim,nobitingstenchofgunpowder.Thestreetsmelledofitsusualsmells:water,feces,rats,andvegetablematter.Butaboveithoveredtheribbon,delicateandclear,leadingGrenouilleon.Afterafewsteps,whatlittlelightthenightaffordedwasswallowedbythetallbuildings,andGrenouillewalkedonindarkness.Hedidnotneedtosee.Thescentledhimfirmly.

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