"Nancy Kress - Phillipa's Hands" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kress Nancy)

He glanced at her hands. Philippa laid them defiantly on the dashboard, side by side. тАЬIt wasn't from
loneliness.тАЭ That was true.

He considered this. She breathed in the smell of his shirt, cigarettes and 30-weight oil and fabric
softener. Finally he said, тАЬYou needed rescuing."

Rescuing! Hysterical laughter rose in her, heady as whiskey. Rescuing! Her! When it was she who had
saved . . . single-handedly . . . single-handedly . . . Philippa put her palm over her mouth and leaned
forward against the dashboard. As soon as she shifted, the moth flew towards the porch light.

тАЬPhilippa,тАЭ Sam said, тАЬPhilippa тАФтАЭ She knew then it was all he would ever say, all he would ever ask,
and that she didn't have to answer. It was all right if she never answered. She shifted the other way, to
lean against his shoulder.

тАЬSometimes there just isn't any choice,тАЭ she said.

тАЬUh huh,тАЭ he agreed and laid his hand on her breast, and she heard the sudden laughter in his slow voice.


They came at dawn, three days before Philippa's wedding. The window was open, and the room
smelled of a heavy rich August night too warm for dew. Three glowing nebulous figures at the foot of the
bed, welling with rosy tears. Philippa woke and her spine went rigid.

The one on the left laid the newspaper clipping on the bed. The bedspread was new, a frivolous green
quilted in shiny squares and edged with six inches of eyelet ruffle. Sam was painting the bedroom green.
Through the outlines of the wailing women Philippa could see the outlines of the paint cans, both ghostly
against the bare plaster Sam had already stripped and washed.

This time the clipping was large, more than half a page, the headline in thick black letters. Right and left
edges were clean, top and bottom torn. The top, Philippa thought: where the name of the newspaper
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would be. She never would find out what it was called. Against the bright shiny green of the bedspread
the paper looked unnaturally white, like someone about to faint.

no no no no no no

Philippa's feet slid out of bed. The carpet had been rolled up for the painting. Bare wide-planked
hardwood floor was cool enough to make her toes curl under. The newspaper felt light and dry in her
hand, even lighter than paper should feel. Without turning on the light, Philippa carried the clipping across
the room to the window, where there was just barely enough light to read it.

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