"Anderson, Poul - Goat Song" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Poul)

УI that in heill was and gladness
Am trublit now with great sickness
And feblit with infinnitie:Ч Timor mortis conturbat inc.Ф

The car detects me and howls a warning. I hold my ground. The car could swing around, the road is wide and in any event a smooth surface is not absolutely necessary. But I hope, I believe that She will be aware of an obstacle in Her path, and tune in I-Icr various amplifiers, and find me abnormal enough to stop for. Who, in SUMТs worldЧwho, even among the explorers that It has sent beyond in Its unappeasable hunger for dataЧwould stand in a cold wildcountry dusk and shout while his harp snarls

УOur pleasance here is all vain glory, This fals world is but transitory, The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee: Ч Tumor mortis conturbat me.

УThe state of man does change and vary, Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now saiy, No dansand miny, now like to die: Ч Timor mortis conturbat me.

УNo state in Erd here standis sicker;
As with the wynd wavis the wicker
So wannis this worldТs vanitie: Ч Timor mnortis conturbat me. Ч ?У

The car draws alongside amid sinks to the ground. I let my strings die away into the wind. The sky overhead and in the west is gray-purple; eastward it is quite dark and a few early stars peer forth. Here, down in the valley, shadows are heavy and I cannot see very well.
The canopy slides back. She stands erect in the chariot, thus looming over me. Her robe and cloak are black, fluttering like restless wings; beneath the cowl Her face is a white blur. I have seen it before, under full light, amid in how many thousands of pictures; but at this hour I cannot call it back to my mind, not entirely. I list sharp-sculptured profile and pale lips, sable hair and long green eyes, but these are nothing more than words.
УWhat are you doing?Ф She has a lovely low voice; but is it, as oh, how rarely since SUM took Her to Itself, is it the least shaken? УWhat is that you were singing?Ф
My answer comes so strong that my skull resonates; for I am borne higher and higher on my tide. УLady of Ours, I have a petition.Ф
УWhy did you not bring it before Me when I walked among men? Tonight I am honiebound. You must wait till I ride forth with the new year.Ф
УLady of Ours, neither You nor I would wish living ears to hear what I have to say.Ф
She regards me for a long while. Do I indeed sense fear also in Her? (Surely not of me. Her chariot is armed and armored, and would react with niachine speed to protect Fler should I offer violence. And should I somehow, incredibly, kill Her, or wound Her beyond chemosurgical repair, She of all beings has no need to doubt death. The ordinary bracelet cries with quite sufficient radio loudness to be heard by more than one thanatic station, when we die; and in that shielding the soul can scarcely be damaged before the Winged Heels arrive to bear it off to SUM. Surely the Dark QueenТs circlet can call still further, and is still better insulated, than any mortalТs. And She will most absolutely be recreated. She has been, again and again; death and rebirth every seven years keep Her eternally young in the service of SUM. I have never been able to find out when She was first born.)
Fear, perhaps, of what I have sung and what I might speak?
At last She saysЧI can scarcely hear through the gusts and creakings in the treesЧФGive me the Ring, then.Ф
The dwarf robot which stamids by Her throne when She sits among men appears beside Her and extends the massive dull-silver circle to me. I place my left arm within, so that my soul is enclosed. The tablet on the upper surface of the Ring, which looks so much like a jewel, slants away from me; I cannot read what flashes onto the bezel. But the faint glow picks Her features out of murk as She bends to look.
Of course, I tell myself, the actual soul is not scanned. That would take too long. Probably the bracelet which contains the soul has an identification code built in. The Ring sends this to an appropriate part of SUM, Which instantly sends back what is recorded under that code. I hope there is nothing more to it. SUM has not seen fit to tell us.
У\Vhat do you call yourself at the moment?Ф She asks.
A current of bitterness crosses my tide. УLady of Ours, why should You care? Is not my real name the number I got when I was allowed to be born?Ф
Calm descends omice more upon I-Icr. УIf I am to evaluate properly what you say, I must know more about you than these few official data. Nanie indicates mood.Ф
I too feel unshaken again, niy tide running so strong amid smooth that I might not know I was moving did I not see time recede behind me. УLady of Ours, I cannot give You a fair answer. In this past year I have not troubled with names, or with much of anything else. But some people who knew me from earlier days call me Harper.Ф
УWhat do you do besides make that sinister music?Ф
УThese days, nothing, Lady of Ours. IТve money to live out my life, if I eat sparingly and keep no home. Often I am fed and housed for the sake of my songs.
УWhat you sang is unlike anything I have heard sinceЧФ Anew, briefly, that robot serenity is shaken. УSince before the world was stabilized. You should not wake dead symbols, Harper. They walk through menТs dreams.Ф
УIs thmat bad?Ф
УYes. The dreams become nightmares. Remember: Mankind, every man who ever lived, was insane before SUM brought order, reason, and peace.Ф
УWell, then,Ф I say, УI will cease and desist if I may have my own dead wakened for me.Ф
She stiffemis. The tablet goes out. I withdraw my arm and the Ring is stored
away by Her servant. So again She is faceless, beneath flickering stars, here at the bottom of this shadowed valley. Her voice falls cold as the air: УNo one can be brought back to life before Resurrection Time is ripe.Ф
I do not say, УWhat about You?Ф for that would be vicious. What did She think, how did She weep, when SUM chose Her of all the young on earth? What does She endure in Her centuries? I dare not imagine.
Instead, I smite my harp and sing, quietly this time:

УStrew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew. In quiet she reposes:
Ah! Would that I did too.Ф

The Dark Queen cries, УWhat are you doing? Are you really insane?Ф I go straight to the last stanza.

УHer cabinТd, ample Spirit
It flutterТd and failТd for breath.
To-night it doth inherit
The vasty hall of Death.Ф