The Five Gates of Hell
Rupert Thomson
Language: English
Pages: 384
ISBN: 0679735712
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Moon Beach--place of the dead--where once a year the city observes the Day of the Dead. During one such celebration, two young men from different worlds become the fascinated servants of an entrepreneur of death, whose private passions are intimately entwined with his vocation. "Ghoulish and imaginative . . . ingenious, sardonic and seductive".--New York Times Times Book Review.
think we should order first,’ she said, ‘don’t you?’ She didn’t have to look at the menu. ‘I’ll have the avocado salad,’ she told the waiter, ‘and some mineral water.’ She turned to Nathan. ‘What about you, darling?’ ‘I told you already. I’m not hungry.’ ‘But you must have something.’ ‘I’ll have some coffee,’ he said, ‘then I’d better go.’ ‘Will you have the coffee now, sir?’ the waiter asked him. ‘Yes,’ Nathan said, ‘now.’ ‘That’ll be all, thank you,’ Harriet told the waiter. The waiter
at him. ‘Who do you think?’ It was only then that Jed realised the full extent of Vasco’s obsession. It was death that was after him. It was death, of course. After all, you couldn’t declare war on death without expecting a bit of retaliation, could you? It took Jed almost two hours to dig the gravel out of Vasco’s hands. For the last twenty minutes he worked with a needle, the tip blackened in a flame. And when he dabbed iodine into the wounds, Vasco sizzled through his white lips, the noise
cuts glass. He drank soda now and ate candy, and that was it. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Your pockets crackle when you move.’ He laughed. ‘Coca-Cola,’ she said. ‘You can drink Coca-Cola.’ There was a power-surge behind her eyes, as if the voltage had increased. ‘It’s supposed to be very good here.’ They walked into the brash red and chrome of the Starlite Bar. Someone was playing an electric organ, and old couples twirled on a horseshoe of polished wood. He ordered a gin and tonic for her and a
herself with people, all different kinds, sometimes she was lucky, sometimes she wasn’t, but it didn’t matter to her. In her book the worst people were preferable to no people at all. She was someone who heard each grain in the hour-glass, she felt the passing seconds like sandpaper against her softest skin. Time actually seemed to hurt her, and people helped her get through it. She’d been ripped off more times than she could remember. Jewellery, money, clothes. Even a car once. She was
words out lightly into the darkness. But there was a wistfulness, a nostalgia. He remembered a letter that she’d written to Dad. Something about being tired of the bright lights. Even back then he’d thought it sounded strange; she was only twenty-one, after all. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked her. ‘He went to bed hours ago.’ A bird called from a tree at the end of the garden. A low, brooding murmur. Harriet stood up and began to unzip her skirt. ‘I’m going for a swim.’ She was laughing at her own