"Robin Hobb - Cut" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hobb Robin)

A word of warning:
There are scenes in this story that may be disturbing to some.


Patsy sits on a bar-stool at my breakfast counter. She is sipping a glass of
soy milk through a straw. I glance at her, then look away at my rainforestcam
on the wallscreen behind her. My granddaughter had an incisor removed so that
she could drink through the straw with her mouth closed. She claims it is more
sanitary and less offensive to other people. I don├Жt know about "other
people." It offends the hell out of her grandmother.

"So. SAT├Жs next week?" I ask her hopefully.

"Uh-huh," she confirms and I breathe a small sigh of relief. She had
contemplated refusing to take them, on the grounds that any college who wanted
to rate her on a single test score was not her kind of place anyway. She
swings her feet, kicking the rungs of her stool. "I├Жm still debating
Northwestern versus Peterson University."

I try to recall something about Peterson, but I don├Жt think I├Жve ever heard of
it. "Northwestern├Жs good," I hedge. As I set a plate of cookies within her
reach, I notice a bulge in the skin on her shoulder blade just above the
fabric of her tank top. An irritated peace sign seems to be emblazoned on it.
"What├Жs that? New tattoo?"

She glances over her shoulder at it, then shrugs. "No. Raised implant. They
put a stainless steel piece under your skin. Works best when there├Жs bone
backing it up. Mine didn├Жt come out very good. Grandma, you know I can├Жt eat
those things. If the fat doesn├Жt clog up my heart, the sugar will send me into
a depression and I├Жll kill myself."

She nudges the plate of cookies away. I smile and take one myself. "I think
that├Жs a bit of an exaggeration. I├Жve been eating chocolate chip cookies for
years."

"Yeah, I know. And Mom, too. Look at her."

"Doesn├Жt it hurt?" I ask, nodding at her implant. I evade the topic of her
mom. It is not that I expect my granddaughter to always get along with my
daughter. It is that I don├Жt want to be wedged into the middle of it. I tell
myself that this is not cowardice. By standing apart from their
mother-daughter friction, I keep the lines of communication open between Patsy
and myself.

My gambit is successful. "This?" She tosses her head at her implanted peace
sign. "No. A little slit in the skin, then they free the skin layer from the
tissue underneath it, slide in the emblem, put in a couple of stitches. It
healed in two days, and now it├Жs permanent. Besides. Women have always been
willing to suffer for beauty. Inject collagen into your lips. Get breast
implants. Have your ribs removed to have a smaller waist."