"Carol Emshwiller - Foster Mother" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emshwiller Carol)

We take long walks holding hands. When he gets tired I carry him piggyback. I made him booties.
They don't supply footwear or clothes. They say he grows too fast for them to bother. They say he
doesn't need shoes. (Actually, they don't supply much of anything.) We fish. We pick flowers. By now
he knows the names of all the ones around here. They say he's not smart enough for that, but he is.

We brought home a gopher snake. We hope it stays and lives under our shack. We named it
Squiggly. We planted an apple tree. Already he says, "See my tree." We named it Appy.

When he's happy he wiggles all over. They said that wasn't happiness. They said he can't feel much
more than rage. I think that's what I'm here for, to make sure it's rage. What he says most of all is
"Let's get going." They think I'm too old to "get going" with him. They think I'll hold him back and that
will make him angry, but even when he's about to roar at night I'm awake before it happens. I hear his
first whimper so I'm by his side before it can turn nasty. I sing to him, long song stories. "That's a
Ballad," I say. "That's what I named you, Balladeer."

We live at the top of a strategic pass. He's supposed to get to know the whole region so he can patrol
it. We climb to the mountain tops on each side, and across to the dangerous drop-off. He'll be able to