"Charles L. Harness - The Rose" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

"Yes. All right, boys and girls. Let's be on our way. Anna and I will follow shortly."

Chapter Seventeen
Now it was a mild evening in late June, in the time of the full blooming of the roses, and the Via floated in
a heady, irresistible tide of attar. It got into the tongues of the children and lifted their laughter and shouts
an octave. It stained the palettes of the artists along the sidewalks, so that, despite the bluish glare of the
artificial lights, they could paint only in delicate crimsons, pinks, yellows and whites. The petalled current
swirled through the side-shows and eternally new exhibits and gave them a veneer of perfection; it eddied
through the canvas flap of the vendress of love philters and erased twenty years from her face. It brushed
a scented message across the responsive mouths of innumerable pairs of lovers, blinding them to the
appreciative gaze of those who stopped to watch them.

And the lovely dead petals kept fluttering through the introspective mind of Ruy Jacques, clutching and
whispering. He brushed their skittering dance aside and considered the situation with growing
apprehension. In her recurrent Dreams, he thought, Anna had always awakened just as The Nightingale
began her death song. But now she knew the death song. So she knew the Dream's end. Well, it must
not be so bad, or she wouldn't have returned. Nothing was going to happen, not really. He shot the
question at her: There was no danger any more, was there? Surely the ballet would be a superb success?
She'd be enrolled with the immortals.

Her reply was grave, yet it seemed to amuse her. It gave him a little trouble; there were no words for its
exact meaning. It was something like: "Immortality begins with death."

He glanced at her face uneasily. "Are you looking for trouble?"

"Everything will go smoothly."

After all, he thought, she believes she has looked into the future and has seen what will happen.

"The Nightingale will not fail The Student," she added with a queer smile. "You'll get your Red Rose."

"You can be plainer than that," he muttered. "Secrets...secrets...Why all this you're-too-young-to-know
business?"

But she laughed in his mind, and the enchantment of that laughter took his breath away. Finally he said: "I
admit I don't know what you're talking about. But if you're about to get involved in anything on my
account, forget it. I won't have it."

"Each does the thing that makes him happy. The Student will never be happy until he finds the Rose that
will admit him to his Dance. The Nightingale will never be happy until the Student holds her in his arms
and thinks her as lovely as a Red Rose. I think we may both get what we want."

He growled: "You haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Yes I have, especially right now. For ten years I've urged people not to inhibit their healthy inclinations.
At the moment I don't have any inhibitions at all. It's a wonderful feeling. I've never been so happy, I
think. For the first and last time in my life, I'm going to kiss you."

Her hand tugged at his sleeve. As he looked down into that enchanted face, he knew that this night was