"Kennedy, Leigh - Belling Martha" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kennedy Leigh)

The door shut behind her with another jangle, then a bolt slipped into place.

She sank down, only then realizing her weariness. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw the ghost of her hand against a rough blanket. Voices and footsteps scattered randomly around her. Someone went up the stairs above her.

She was hungryЧawfully hungryЧnow. Beyond her door were so many people.

She knew her own ribs and hip bones and spine as hard places on her body. But there were those in the house who were not so lean. She could crawl from mat to mat and search for their hip bones and find none so sharp as her own.

"People are not food," Brother Guy had said to her on her second day in the camp. "When God gave Moses the laws, he said, 'Thou shalt not kill.' It's better to die of hunger than to kill your fellow man. It is wrong, Martha, wrong. You will pay for doing wrong by torment of eternal fire, eternal pain, eternal sorrow in the depths of lonely Hell if you don't get on your knees right this moment and swearЧswear!Чto God that you were wrong. That you will no longer eat the flesh of humans. That you were an innocent child of circumstances. That you beg His forgiveness. That you repent with a soul full of anguish and remorse. That you will face hunger with a heartful of love for Him! On your knees and pray, Martha! Pray for your soul!"

And Martha had gotten to her knees and prayed, hoping that would relieve all the fear. But over the years, she'd come to recognize that Brother Guy didn't see the world the way she did. In fact, he saw things differently from almost everyone else. Her hope of salvation and fear of an infinite Hell broke little by little, until she behaved the way they expected her to merely out of customЧand respect for the supper table.

Now she was free of that.

When Aunt Jenny fetched her from the closet in the morning, she dragged Martha to a tiny room with a disconnected bathtub. Tepid water still stood from probably two or three others' baths. Martha didn't relish wallowing in scummy water, or that dampness after washing. They hadn't made her wash but once a week at the camp.

"Wash your hair, too," Jenny said, closing the door.

She obeyed out of habit. Halfway through her bath, someone tossed in a shirt and pair of pants for her, which were slightly large when she dressed. Outside the room, Switzer sat on the floor, apparently waiting for her. "Hungry?" he asked.

Martha knew that her face changed with the suggestion of food. Switzer led the way back to the kitchen. Six or seven people crowded the room, fixing their breakfasts, washing up, or passing through and chatting.

Switzer motioned for her to sit. Taking the edge of the bench at the table, she noticed the lull in the conversation. A boy stared at her, but the weak-chinned man resumed eating, and the woman stared out of the window. Switzer returned with two bowls of white mealy soup and a chunk of bread. He tore the bread, gave her half, and began to eat rapidly.

As she began to spoon in the cereal, the man glanced toward her with a studied casualness, as if curious about the table manners of her kind.

She didn't waste time on manners.

As she stuffed the last of the bread in her mouth, Switzer said, "Let's go."

"Go?"

"C'mon." He strode across the room. In the entry hall, he put on a coat and knitted cap; his fair hair stuck out around his collar. He wrapped his throat with a cloth sack. Martha found her own coat on a peg.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they walked away from the house. The day was clear but for a few grey clouds in the south, but the sunlight was dulled by a persistent chill breeze.

"Scavenging," he said. He looked at her sidelong. "You've gone scavenging, haven't you? Yesterday I brought home a whole door." He sensed Martha's skepticism and touched the bag around his neck. "I chopped it up first, of course." And then he opened his coat and showed her a small axe hanging in the lining of the coat.

They walked without conversation for a long while. All the uninhabited houses she saw had been plundered. Inedible and non-fuel trash hugged chain-link fences. Ahead was the tall yellow tower she'd often seen in the distance.

"This used to be the University," Switzer said.

They passed into an open area which was crowded with hand-built shacks.

"There used to be trees everywhere," he continued. "I've seen pictures of this place where all this was green grass except for the walkways, and there were trees.Е"

Martha had seen an area covered with trees outside of Smithville once.

"Maybe it will warm up before we have to ruin everything." Switzer said.