"Charles de Lint - Forests Of The Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

from the forested hills that lay outside the city that was now her home. It had drawn her from the desert to
this place where the seasons changed so dramatically: in summer so green and lush it took the breath away,
in winter so desolate and harsh it could make the desert seem kind. The insistent mystery of it had nagged
and pulled at her until sheтАЩd felt she had no choice but to come.
She didnтАЩt think the source of the summons lay with her uninvited guests, los lobos who came into the yard
to smoke their cigarettes and silently watch the house. But she was sure they had some connection to it.
тАЬWhat are you doing?тАЭ Adelita asked suddenly. тАЬI keep hearing this odd little clicking sound.тАЭ
тАЬIтАЩm just sorting through these milagros that Ines sent up to me. For a ...тАЭ She hesitated a moment. тАЬFor a
fetish.тАЭ
тАЬAh.тАЭ
Adelita didnтАЩt exactly disapprove of BettinaтАЩs vocationтАФnot like their mother didтАФbut she didnтАЩt quite
understand it either. While she also drew on the stories their abuela had told them, she used them to fuel her
art. She thought of them as fictions, resonant and powerful, to be sure, but ultimately quaint. Outdated views
from an older, more superstitious world that were fascinating to explore because they jump-started the
creative impulse, but not anything by which one could live in the modern world.
тАЬLeave such things for the storytellers,тАЭ she would say.
Such things, such things. Simple words to encompass so much.
Such as the fetish Bettina was making at the moment, part mojo charm, part amuleto: a small, cotton sack
that would be filled with dark earth to swallow bad feelings. Pollen and herbs were mixed in with the earth to
help the transfer of sorrow and pain from the one who would wear the fetish into the fetish itself. On the inside
of the sack, tiny threaded stitches held a scrap of paper with a name written on it. A hummingbirdтАЩs feather.
A few small colored beads. And, once sheтАЩd chosen exactly the right milagro, one of the silver votive offerings
that Ines had sent her would be sewn inside as well.
Viewed from outside, the stitches appeared to spell words, but they were like the voices of ravens heard
speaking in the woods. The sounds made by the birds sounded like words, but they werenтАЩt words that could
be readily deciphered by untrained ears. They werenтАЩt human words.
This was one of the ways she focused her brujer├нa. Other times, she called on the help of the spirits and los
santos to help her interpret the cause of an unhappiness or illness.
тАЬThere is no one method of healing,тАЭ her grandmother had told her once. тАЬJust as la Virgen is not bound by
one faith.тАЭ
тАЬOne face?тАЭ Bettina had asked, confused.
тАЬThat, too,тАЭ Abuela said, smiling. тАЬLa medicina requires only your respect and that you accept responsibility
for all you do when you embark upon its use.тАЭ
тАЬBut the herbs. The medicinal plants ...тАЭ
тАЬPor eso,тАЭ Abuela told her. тАЬTheir properties are eternal. But how you use them, that is for you to decide.тАЭ She
smiled again. тАЬWe are not machines, chica. We are each of us different. Sin par. Unique. The measure given
to one must be adjusted for another.тАЭ
There was not a day gone by that Bettina didnтАЩt think of and miss her grandmother. Her good company. Her
humor. Her wisdom. Sighing, she returned her attention to her sister.
тАЬYou canтАЩt play at the brujer├нa all your life,тАЭ Adelita was saying, her voice gentle.
тАЬItтАЩs not play for me.тАЭ
тАЬBettina, we grew up together. YouтАЩre not a witch.тАЭ
тАЬNo, IтАЩm a healer.тАЭ
There was an immense difference between the two, as Abuela had often pointed out. A bruja made dark,
hurtful magic. A curandera healed.
тАЬA healer,тАЭ Bettina repeated. тАЬAs was our abuela.тАЭ
тАЬWas she?тАЭ Adelita asked.
Bettina could hear the tired smile in AdelitaтАЩs voice, but she didnтАЩt share her sisterтАЩs amusement.
тАЬ┬┐C├│mo?тАЭ she said, her own voice sharper than she intended. тАЬHow can you deny it?тАЭ
Adelita sighed. тАЬThere is no such thing as magic. Not here, in the world where we live. La brujer├нa is only for