"Nicola Griffith - Yaguara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Griffith Nicola)

not me, IтАЩmтАж other.тАЭ
тАЬOther?тАЭ
тАЬHere, now, I have a sense of self, I know who I am. I can
use symbols. ItтАЩsтАжтАЭ She frowned. тАЬItтАЩs hard to describe. Look at it
this way.тАЭ She patted the table. тАЬI know this table is made of wood,
that wood comes from trees, and that this wood is pine. Underlying
all that knowledge is the ability to work in symbolsтАФtree,
furniture, woodтАФthe ability to see beyond specifics. When IтАЩm
changed, symbols, wordsтАж they become meaningless. Everything
is specific. A barba jalote is a barba jalote, and a chechem is a
chechem. TheyтАЩre distinct and different things. ThereтАЩs no way to
group them together as тАШtree.тАЩ The world becomes a place of
mysteryтАФunknowable, unclassifiableтАФand understanding is
intuitive, not rational.тАЭ
She toyed absently with the leaf.
тАЬIтАЩm guided by signs: the feel of running water, the smell of
brocket deer. The world is unpredictable.тАЭ She paused, sighed, laid
her hands on the table. тАЬI just am,тАЭ she said simply.


The rainy season was not far off. The days were hotter, more
humid, and Jane worked harder than before because when she was
busy she did not have to deal with Cleis, did not have to look at
her, think about how her skin might feel, and her hair. She did not
have to worry about getting Cleis to a hospital.
The nights were different.
They would sit outside under the silky violet sky, sipping rum,
talking about the jungle.
тАЬThe jungle is a siren,тАЭ Cleis said. тАЬIt sings to me.тАЭ Sweat
trickled down the underside of her arm. Jane could smell the rich,
complex woman smells. тАЬEspecially at night. IтАЩve started to wonder
how it would be during the rains. To pad through the undergrowth
and nose at dripping fronds, to smell the muddy fur of a paca
running for home and know its little heart is beat beat beating, to
almost hear the trees pushing their roots farther into the rich mud.
And above, the monkey troops will swing from branch to branch,
and maybe the fingers of a youngster, not strong enough or quick
enough, will slip, and itтАЩll come crashing down, snapping twigs,
clutching at leaves, landing on outflung roots, breaking its back.
And itтАЩll be frightened. ItтАЩll lie there eyes round, nose wet, fur
spattered with dirt and moss, maybe bleeding a little, knowing a
killer is coming through the forest.тАЭ CleisтАЩs nostrils flared.
Jane sipped her rum. She could imagine the jaguar snuffing at
the night air, great golden eyes half closed, panting slightly; could
taste the thin scent molecules of blood and fear spreading over her
own tongue, the anticipation of the crunch of bone and the sucking
of sweet flesh. She shivered and sipped more rum, always more
rum. When the sun was up and she looked at the world through a
viewfinder she did not need the numbing no-think of rum, but
when there was just her and Cleis and the forestтАЩs nightbreath,