"Books - David Eddings - Polgara the Sorceress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

didn't see him again for quite a number of years.

*CHAPTER2

Nothing that ever happens is so unimportant that it doesn't change
things, and father's intrusion into our lives could hardly be called
unimportant. This time the change was in my sister Beldaran, and
I didn't like it. Until my father returned from his excursion to
Mallorea, Beldaran was almost exclusively mine. Father's return altered
that. Now her thoughts, which had previously been devoted to me,
became divided. She thought often of that beer-soaked old rogue,
and I resented it bitterly.
Beldaran, even when we were hardly more than babies, was
obsessed with tidiness, and my aggressive indifference to my
appearance upset her greatly.
'Can't you at least comb your hair, Pol?' she demanded one
evening, speaking in 'twin', a private language that had grown quite
naturally between us almost from the time we were in the cradle.
'What for? It's just a waste of time.'
'You look awful.'
'Who cares what I look like?'
'I do. Sit down and I'll fix it for you.'
And so I sat in a chair and let my sister fuss with my hair. She
was very serious about it, her blue eyes intent and her still-chubby
little fingers very busy. Her efforts were wasted, of course, since
nobody's hair stays combed for very long; but as long as it amused
her, I was willing to submit to her attentions. I'll admit that I rather
enjoyed what became an almost nightly ritual. At least when she
was busy with my hair she was paying attention to me instead of
brooding about our father.
In a peculiar way my resentment may have shaped my entire life.
Each time Beldaran's eyes grew misty and distant, I knew that she



was brooding about our father, and I could not bear the separation
implicit in that vague stare. That's probably why I took to wandering
almost as soon as I could walk. I had to get away from the melancholy
vacancy in my sister's eyes.
it almost drove uncle Beldin to the brink of insanity, I'm afraid.
He could not devise any latch on the gate that blocked the top of
the stairs in his tower that I couldn't outwit. Uncle Beldin's fingers
have always been large and gnarled, and his latches were bulky
and rather crude. My fingers were small and very nimble, and I
could undo his devices in a matter of minutes whenever the urge to
wander came over me. I was - still am, I suppose of an independent
nature, and nobody is ever going to tell me what to do.

Have you noticed that, father? I thought I noticed you noticing.