"Nina Kiriki Hoffman - A Red Heart of Memories" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoffman Nina Kiriki)

but all mute against the wet shrubs and vanishing distance. The people who had come here to commune
with the dead had all died, too; no fresh dreams troubled the stillness. This was as close to nature as she
liked to get, a tamed wilderness only a short walk away from a town where she could go to find warmth
and comfort after she had had her supper. Here, there were still plenty of human-made things she could
talk with if she wanted conversation, but she could see a forest too, gauzed in mist and twilight.
She unwrapped one of the sandwiches and sniffed it. Roast beef and yellow cheese. It smelled fine.
She took a sample bite, waited to see if her stomach would tell her anything, and then ate the rest of the
sandwich. The bread was dry and the edges of the cheese hard, but it was better than a lot of other
things she had eaten.
Her stomach thanked her. She opened another sandwich, ham and Swiss, tested it, and ate it.
She was sitting and feeling her own comfort when she noticed there was some dreaming going on to
her left, a quiet swirl of leafy images emerging from the layers-thick ivy on the wall. She wondered if she
were seeing the dream of a plant. She had never seen a plant dream before, though she could see what
people dreamed, and what things shaped by people dreamed. This seemed like a strange time to start
understanding plants.
She turned to get a better look at the dream, and it changed. The leaves wove together into green
skin, the skin smoothed and formed a man, and then a man all green stepped away from the wall, shaking
his head slowly.
Some texture in the sound and smell of him told her he was no dream at all.
Matt grabbed the loose plastic wrap on the bench beside her and asked it if it would cover the manтАЩs
face if she threw it. It said yes. If he came at her ... she touched the bench she was sitting on. It was too
old and sleepy to mobilize. She put her feet on the ground and tensed to run.
The man blinked. His face looked like a mannequinтАЩs, no real expression, no movement of the tiny
muscles, a polished and unreal perfection to the features. He turned and stared at her.
тАЬWho are you?тАЭ she asked after the silence had stretched.
тАЬEdmund,тАЭ he said.
тАЬWhat do you want?тАЭ
тАЬNothing,тАЭ he said.
тАЬNothing? WhyтАЩd you move if you donтАЩt want anything? You could of just stayed in the wall.тАЭ She
had never met anybody who wanted nothing.
тАЬIt was time to move,тАЭ he said. Something was happening to his skin in the waning light; the green
faded, left tan behind. His clothes and curly hair stayed green. She hadnтАЩt noticed the clothes until the rest
of him changed. T-shirt, pantsтАФgreen, mossy even; tan arms and face, hands and feet. It was freezing,
but he didnтАЩt seem to feel the cold.
тАЬWant a sandwich?тАЭ she said.
He stretched and yawned. He came closer. She had thought his expression was wooden, but now
she saw it was more like ice, frozen ... though thaw was coming. He blinked. He finally smiled. It
changed her image of him completely: he looked friendly and almost goofy.
Still gripping the plastic wrap just in case, she scooted over, leaving room on the bench. He sat
down.
She peered into the brown paper bag. тАЬLooks like I got a tuna and a ham-and-cheese left. The tuna
might be bad. Fish goes bad faster than cured meat.тАЭ
тАЬIтАЩll try the ham-and-cheese,тАЭ he said. тАЬThanks.тАЭ
She gave him the sandwich. He struggled with the plastic wrap. His fingers didnтАЩt bend right yet. She
grabbed the sandwich and unwrapped it for him. тАЬHow long you been part of a wall, anyway?тАЭ
тАЬI donтАЩt know,тАЭ he said. тАЬI wonder if my car will run.тАЭ He bit the sandwich and chewed, abstracted,
as though he were listening to his mouth. тАЬHmm.тАЭ
 тАЬItтАЩs Christmas Eve,тАЭ Matt said when he had finished the sandwich and sat watching her, smiling
faintly.
тАЬHuh,тАЭ he said. тАЬBeen a wall a couple months then, I guess.тАЭ