"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

"No neighbors?"
"Not a one in twenty miles."
"Brothers?" I say. "Sisters?"
She shakes her head. "Just my pa." I guess I look curious because she looks away and adds, "My
mother died of tetanus right after I was born. It was a freak thing."
I try to change the subject. "Your father didn't come down to the first concert, did he? Is he coming
tonight?"
"No way," she says. "He didn't and he won't. He doesn't like what I do." I can't think of anything to
say now. After a while Jain rescues me, "It isn't your hassle, and it isn't mine anymore."
Something perverse doesn't let me drop it now. "So you grew up alone."
"You noticed," she says softly. "You've got a hell of a way with understatement."
I persist. "Then I don't understand why you still come up here. You must hate this."
"Ever see a claustrophobe deliberately walk into a closet and shut the door? If I don't fight it this
wayтАФ" Her fingers dig into my arms. Her face is fierce. "This has got to be better than what I do on
stage." She swings away from me. "Shit!" she says. "Damn it all to hell." She stands immovable, staring
down the mountain for several minutes. When she turns back toward me, her eyes are softer and there's
a fey tone in her voice. "If I dieтАФ" She laughs. "When I die. I want my ashes here."
"Ashes?" I say, unsure how to respond. Humor her. "Sure.тАЭ
"You." She points at me. "Here." She indicates the rock face. The words are simple commands given
to a child.
"Me." I manage a weak smile.
Her laugh is easy and unstrained now. "Kid games. Did you do the usual things when you were a kid,
babe?"
"Most of them." I hardly ever won, but then I liked to play games with outrageous risks.
"Hammer, rock and scissors?"
"Sure, when I was really young." I repeat by long-remembered rote: "Rock breaks scissors, scissors
cut paper, paper covers rock."
"Okay," she says. "Let's play." I must look doubtful. "Rob," she Bays warningly.
"Okay." I hold out my right hand.
Jam says, "One, two, three." On "three," we each bring up our right hand. Hers is a clenched fist:
stone. My first two fingers form the snipping blades of a pair of scissors. "I win!" she crows, delighted.
"What do you win?"
"You. Just for a little while." She pulls my hands close and lays them on her body.
"Right here on the mountain?" I say.
тАЬIтАЩm from pioneer stock. But youтАФ" She shrugs. "Too delicate?"
I laugh and pull her close.
 "Just-" She hesitates. "Not like the other times? Don't take this seriously, okay?"
In my want I forget the other occasions. "Okay."
Each of us adds to the other's pleasure, and it's better than the other times. But even when she
comes, she stares through me, and I wonder whose face she's seeingтАФno, not even that: how many
faces she's seeing. Babe, no man can fill me like they do.
And then I come also andтАФbrieflyтАФit doesn't matter.
My long coat is wrapped around the two of us, and we watch each other inches apart. "So much
passion, Rob. ... It seems to build."
I remember the stricture and say, "You know why."
"You really like me so much?" The little-girl persona.
"I really do."
"What would you do for me, if I asked you?"
"Anything."
"Would you kill for me?"