"Zenna Henderson - Holding Wonder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Zenna)

He smiled his little lip-lift. "When you look at one of us kids without a word
and your left eyebrow goes up-what do you mean?"
"Well, that depends on what who's doing," I flushed.

"If it's for me, I know what you mean. And I stop it. So do the other kids
about themselves. That's the way I know this." He started back to his desk.
"I'd better get my spelling done."

"Is that the one that's orbiting?" I asked hopefully, wanting to tie something
to something.

"Orbiting?" Vincent was busily writing. "That's the sixth word. I'm only on
the fourth."

That afternoon I finally put aside the unit tests I'd been checking and looked
at the clock. Five o'clock. And at my hands. Filthy. And assessed the ache
across my shoulders, the hollow in my stomach, and decided to spend the night
right where I was. I didn't even straighten my desk, but turned my weary back
on it and unlocked the door to the teacherage.

I kicked off my shoes, flipped on the floor lamp and turned up the thermostat
to take the dank chill out of the small apartment. The cupboards yielded
enough supplies to make an entirely satisfying meal. Afterwards, I turned the
lights low and sat curled up at one end of the couch listening to one of my
Acker Bilke records while I drank my coffee. I flexed my toes in blissful
comfort as I let the clear, concise, tidy notes of the clarinet clear away my
cobwebs of fatigue. Instead of purring, I composed another strophe to my
Praise Song:

Praise God for Fedness-and Warmness-and Sheltered ness--and Darkness-and
Lightness-and Cleanness--and Quietness-and Unharriedness-

I dozed then for a while and woke to stillness. The stereo had turned itself
off, and it was so still I could hear the wind in the oak trees and the far,
unmusical blat of a diesel train. And I also could hear a repetition of the
sound that had wakened me.

Someone was in the schoolroom.

I felt a throb of fright and wondered if I had locked the teacherage door. But
I knew I had locked the school door just after four o'clock. Of course, a
bent bobby pin and your tongue in the correct corner of your mouth and you
could open the old lock. But what-who would want to? What was in there? The
stealthy noises went on. I heard the creak of the loose board in the back of
the room. I heard the yaaaawn of the double front door hinges and a thud! and
clatter on the front porch.

Half paralyzed with fright, I crept to the little window that looked out onto
the porch. Cautiously I separated two of the slats of the blind and peered out