"Charles de Lint - Spirits in the Wires" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

тАЬI donтАЩt think so,тАЭ she says. тАЬYouтАЩre real now.тАЭ
That makes me smile.
тАЬAs real as I am, anyway,тАЭ she adds.
My smile fades as I see the troubled look that comes over her. I forget that her own exotic
origins are no more than a dream to her most of the timeтАФa dream that makes her
uncomfortable, uneasy in her skin. I wish I hadnтАЩt reminded her of it, but she puts it away
and brings the conversation back to me.
тАЬWhy wonтАЩt you tell Christy your name?тАЭ she asks.

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/de%20Lint,%20Charles%20-%20Spirits%20in%20the%20Wires%20(v1.0).html (6 of 346)8-12-2006 23:50:50
SPIRITS IN THE WIRES by Charles de Lint


тАЬBecause that would let him put me in a box labeled тАШThis is ChristianaтАЩ and I donтАЩt want to
be locked into who he thinks I am. The way he writes about me is bad enough. If he had a
name to go with it he might be able to fix it so that I could never change and grow.тАЭ
тАЬHe does like his routines,тАЭ she says.
I nod. тАЬHis pictureтАЩs in the dictionary, right beside the word.тАЭ
We share a momentтАЩs silence, then she cocks her a head, just a little.
тАЬSo your nameтАЩs Christiana?тАЭ she asks.
тАЬI call myself Christiana Tree.тАЭ
That brings back a genuine smile.
тАЬSo that would make you Miss Tree,тАЭ she says.
IтАЩm impressed at how quickly she got it as I offer her my hand.
тАЬIn the flesh,тАЭ I tell her. тАЬPleased to meet you.тАЭ
тАЬBut thatтАЩs only what you call yourself,тАЭ she says as she shakes my hand.
тАЬWe all have our secrets.тАЭ
тАЬOr we wouldnтАЩt be mysteries.тАЭ
тАЬThat, too.тАЭ
SheтАЩs been sitting on her haunches beside the easy chair I commandeered as soon as IтАЩd
picked up my coffee and sticky-bun from the counter, leaning her arms on one of the chairтАЩs
fat arms. ThereтАЩs another chair nearby, occupied by a boy in his late teens with blue hair and
razor-thin features. HeтАЩs been listening to his Walkman loud enough for me to identify the
music as rap, though I canтАЩt make out any words, and flipping through one of the caf├йтАЩs
freebie newspapers while he drinks his coffee. He gets up now and I give a vague wave to
the vacant chair with my hand.
тАЬWhy donтАЩt you get more comfortable,тАЭ I say to Saskia.
She nods. тАЬJust let me get my stuff.тАЭ
Some office drone in a tailored business suit, tie loose, top shirt button undone, approaches
the chair while Saskia collects her things. I put my scuffed brown leather work boots up on
its cushions and give him a sugar and icicle smileтАФyou know, it looks sweet, but thereтАЩs a
chill in it. HeтАЩs like a cat as he casually steers himself off through the tables and takes a
hardback chair at one of the small counters that enclose the caf├йтАЩs various rustic wooden
support beams, making it look like thatтАЩs what he was aiming for all along.
Saskia returns. She drops her jacket on the back of the chair, puts her knapsack on the floor,
and settles down, tea in hand.
тАЬSo, what were you writing?тАЭ I ask.
She shrugs. тАЬThis and that. I just like playing with words. Sometimes they become something
тАФa journal entry, a poem. Sometimes IтАЩm just following words to see where they go.тАЭ
тАЬAnd where do they go?тАЭ