"Garry Kilworth - The Sculptor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kilworth Garry)

belong to him. The love of the lady though, no matter how savagely he
battled, could never be his. If she withheld it, could not feel such for
him, then he was helpless, because he could never in a million years
wrench love from her grasp like a water bottle.
A craft came along the river, silently, the helmsman apparently happy for
the most part to let it follow the current. The cargo was sheltered from
the sun by a palmleaf thatched cabin, which covered the deck with an
arch-shaped tunnel. The sail was down, unnecessary, even a hindrance in
the fast flow.
As the boat went by, NiccolЄ was able to peer inside, through a
window-hole in the thatch. A giant of a man sat in the dimness within: a
clumsy-looking fellow, appearing too big for his craft, but a man with
peace, contentment, captured in his huge form. He was knitting. His great
hands working the wooden needles while his elbow occasionally twitched the
tiller, as if he could steer sightlessly.
It seemed he knew the river so well - the meanders, the currents, the
sandbars and rapids - had travelled this long watery snake for half a
century - he needed no eyes. Maybe he could feel the flow and know to a
nautical inch, a fraction of a fathom, where he was in time and space?
Perhaps he navigated as he knitted woollen garments, both by feel, on his
way to the sea.
NiccolЄ signalled to the man, and received a reply.
Afterwards he made camp by the river that wound beneath the star patterns
visible in the clear sky. The campfire sent up showers of sparks, like
wandering stars themselves, and though NiccolЄ did not know it they gave
someone hope. A lost soul was out there, in the desert, and saw the glow
in the heavens.
The following morning, NiccolЄ woke to the sound of camels grumbling,
kicking their hobbled legs, shaking their traces. The horse took no part
in this minor rebellion. A nobler creature (in its own mind) it held
itself aloof from dissident camels. NiccolЄ fed the camels, then he and
the horse ate together, apart from the other beasts.

Three days out into the desert, NiccolЄ came across the woman. Her lips
were blistered and he had trouble forcing water past them. When she opened
her eyes she said, "I knew you would come. I saw your fire," then she
passed out again.
In the evening he revived her with some warm jasmine tea, and soon she was
able to sit up, talk. She was not a particularly pretty woman. At a guess
she was about the same age as he was, in her very early thirties. Her skin
had been dried by the sun, was the colour of old paper, and though it was
soft had a myriad of tiny wrinkles especially around the eyes and mouth.
Her stature was slight: she could have been made of dry reeds. She wore
only a thin cotton dress.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked her.
"Looking for water," she said, sipping the tea, staring at him over the
rim of the mug.
He gestured irritably.
"I can see that, but how did you get lost? Were you part of a caravan?"
She shook her head, slowly.