Читаем Nightside the Long Sun полностью

“Good morning Maytera.” Awkwardly, the fork and the smoking pan remained in Silk’s hands; there was no place to put them down. “I suffered a little mishap last night, I’m afraid. I fell. It’s still somewhat painful, and I haven’t been able to sleep.” He congratulated himself—it was all perfectly true.

“So you’re making breakfast already. We haven’t eaten yet, over in the cenoby.” Maytera Rose sniffed hungrily, a dry, mechanical inhalation. “Marble’s still fooling around in the kitchen. The littlest thing takes that girl forever.”

“I’m quite certain Maytera Marble does the best she can,” Silk said stiffly.

Maytera Rose ignored it. “If you want to give me that, I’ll take it over to her. She can see to it for you till you come back.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary.” Sensing that he must eat his tomatoes now if he was to eat them at all, Silk cut the thinnest slice in two with his fork. “Must I leave this instant, Maytera? I can hardly walk.”

“Her name’s Teasel, and she’s one of Marble’s bunch.” Maytera Rose sniffed again. “That’s what her father says. I don’t know her.”

Silk (who did) froze, the half slice of tomato halfway to his mouth. “Teasel?”

“Her father came pounding on the door before we got up. The mother’s sitting with her, he said. He knocked over here first, but you didn’t answer.”

“You should have come at once, Maytera.”

“What would have been the use when he couldn’t wake you up? I waited till I could see you were out of bed.” Maytera Rose’s good eye was upon the half slice. She licked her lips and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Know where she lives?”

Silk nodded miserably, and then with a sudden surge of wholly deplorable greed thrust the hot half slice into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He had never tasted anything quite so good. “It’s not far. I suppose I can walk it if I must.”

“I could send Marble after Patera Pard when she’s done cooking. She could show him where to go.”

Silk shook his head.

“You’re going to go after all, are you?” A moment too late, Maytera Rose added, “Patera.”

Silk nodded.

“Want me to take those?”

“No, thank you,” Silk said, miserably aware that he was being selfish. “I’ll have to get on a robe, a collar and so forth. You’d better get back to the cenoby, Maytera, before you miss breakfast.” He scooped up one of the smaller slices with his fork.

“What happened to your tunic?”

“And a clean tunic. Thank you. You’re right, Maytera. You’re quite right.” Silk closed the door, virtually in her face, shot the bolt, and popped the whole sizzling slice into his mouth. Maytera Rose would never forgive him for what he had just done, but he had previously done at least a hundred other things for which Maytera Rose would never forgive him either. The stain of evil might soil his spirit throughout all eternity, for which he was deeply and sincerely sorry; but as a practical matter it would make little difference.

He swallowed a good deal of the slice and chewed the rest energetically.

“Witch,” croaked a muffled voice.

“Go,” Silk mumbled. He swallowed again. “Fly home to the mountains. You’re free.”

He turned the rest of the slices, cooked them half a minute more, and ate them quickly (relishing their somewhat oily flavor almost as much as he had hoped), scraped the mold from the remaining bread and fried the bread in the leftover liquid, and ate that as he once more climbed the stair to his bedroom.

Behind and below him, the bird called, “Good-bye!” And then, “Bye! Bye!” from the top of the larder.

Teasel lay upon her back, with her mouth open and her eyes closed. Her black hair, spread over the pillow, accentuated the pallor of her face. Bent above her as he prayed, Silk was acutely conscious of the bones underlying her face, of her protruding cheekbones, her eye sockets, and her high and oddly square frontal. Despite the mounting heat of the day, her mother had covered her to the chin with a thick red wool blanket that glowed like a stove in the sun-bright room; her forehead was beaded with sweat, and it was only that sweat, which soon reappeared each time her mother sponged it away, that convinced him that Teasel was still alive.

When he had swung his beads and chanted the last of the prescribed prayers, her mother said, “I heard her cry out, Patera, as if she’d pricked her finger. It was the middle of the night, so I thought she was having a nightmare. I got out of bed and went in to see about her. The other children were all asleep, and she was still sleeping, too. I shook her shoulder, and she woke up a little bit and said she was thirsty. I ought to’ve told her to go get a drink herself.”

Silk said, “No.”

“Only I didn’t, Patera. I went to the crock and got a cup of water, and she drank it and closed her eyes.” After a moment Teasel’s mother added, “The doctor won’t come. Marten tried to get him.”

Silk nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

“If you’d talk to him again, Patera…”

“He wouldn’t let me in last time, but I’ll try.”