"Samuel R. Delany - Corona" - читать интересную книгу автора (Delaney Samuel R)

baby-poppas! The little man from Ganymede who's been putting the
music of the spheres through so many changes this past year arrived in
New York this morning. And all I want to say, Bryan ...")

Rage, pain, and music.

("... is, how do you dig our Earth!")

Buddy didn't even feel the pressure hypo on his shoulder. He collapsed
as the cymbals died.




-------


Lee turned and turned the volume knob till it clicked.

In the trapezoid of sunlight over the desk from the high, small window,
open now for August, lay her radio, a piece of graph paper with an
incomplete integration for the area within the curve X4 + Y4 = k4, and
her brown fist. Smiling, she tried to release the tension the music had
built.

Her shoulders lowered, her nostrils narrowed, and her fist fell over on
its back. Still, her knuckles moved to Corona's remembered rhythm.

The inside of her forearm was webbed with raw pink. There were a few
marks on her right arm too. But those were three years old; from when
she had been six.

Corona!

She closed her eyes and pictured the rim of the sun. Centered in the
flame, with the green eyes of his German father and the high
cheekbones of his Arawak mother, was the impudent and insouciant,
sensual and curious face of Bryan Faust. The brassy, four-color
magazine with its endless hyperbolic prose was open on her bed behind
her.

Lee closed her eyes tighter. If she could reach out, and perhaps touch-
no, not him; that would be too much-but someone standing, sitting,
walking near him, see what seeing him close was like, hear what
hearing his voice was like, through air and light: she reached out her
mind, reached for the music. And heard-

-your daughter getting along?

They keep telling me better and better every week when I go to visit