"Alice Hoffman - The Ice Queen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoffman Alice)

an hour late for her birthday dinner, then an hour; then her friend Betsy called the police. The next
morning when our grandmother came to tell us the news, I braided my own hair for the ?rst time, then
cut it off with a pair of gardening shears. I left it behind for the bats. I didnтАЩt care. IтАЩd started to wonder
if my brother had been right all along. DonтАЩt feel anything. DonтАЩt even try.

After the funeral, Ned and I moved into our grand-motherтАЩs house. We had to leave some of our things
behind: my brother his colony of ants, and I left all my toys. I was too old for them now. My
grandmother called what IтАЩd done to my hair a pixie cut, but could she give a name to what IтАЩd done to
my mother? I knew, but I wasnтАЩt saying. My grandmother was too kind a person to know who was living
under her roof. IтАЩd destroyed my mother with words, so words became my enemy. I quickly learned to
keep my mouth shut.

At night I told myself a story, wordless, inside my head, one I liked far better than those in my books.
The girl in my story was treated cruelly, by fate, by her family, even by the weather. Her feet bled from
the stony paths; her hair was plucked from her head by blackbirds. She went from house to house,
looking for refuge. Not a single neighbor answered his door, and so one day the girl gave up speaking.
She lived on the side of a mountain where every day was snowy. She stood outside without a roof,
without shelter; before long she was made of ice тАФ her ?esh, her bones, her blood. She looked like a
diamond; it was possible to spy her from miles away. She was so beautiful now that everyone wanted
her: people came to talk to her, but she wouldnтАЩt answer. Birds lit on her shoulder; she didnтАЩt bother to
chase them away. She didnтАЩt have to. If they took a single peck, their beaks would break in two. Nothing
could hurt her anymore. After a while, she became invisible, queen of the ice. Silence was her language,
and her heart had turned a perfect pale silver color. It was so hard nothing could shatter it. Not even
stones.

impossible,тАЭ my brother said the one time I dared to tell him the story. such low temperatures, her heart
would actually freeze and then burst. SheтАЩd wind up melting herself with her own blood.тАЭ

I didnтАЩt discuss such things with him again.

I knew what my role was in the world. I was the quiet girl at school, the best friend, the one who came in
second place. I didnтАЩt want to draw attention to myself. I didnтАЩt want to win anything. There were words
I couldnтАЩt bring myself to say; words like ruin and love and lost made me sick to my stomach. In the
end, I gave them up altogether. But I was a good grandchild, quick to tasks, my grandmotherтАЩs favorite.
The more tasks, the less time to think. I swept, I did laundry, I stayed up late ?nishing my homework. By
the time I was in high school, I was everyoneтАЩs con; I knew how to listen. I was there for my friends, a


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 The Ice Queen

tower of strength, ever helpful, especially when it came to their boyfriends, several of whom slept with
me in senior year, grateful for my advice with their love lives, happy to go to bed with a girl who asked
for nothing in return.

My brother went to Harvard, then to Cornell for his graduate degree; he became a meteorologist, a
perfect choice for someone who wanted to impose logic onto an imperfect world. He was offered a
position at Orlon University, in Florida, and before long he was a full professor, married to a
mathematician, Nina, whom he idolized for her rational thought and beautiful complexion. As for me, I
looked for a career where silence would be an asset. I went to the state university a few towns over, then