"Marc Laidlaw - Jane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laidlaw Marc)

head full of warm orange light, he held an ax.

тАФBack to bed, Jane, she told me.

The sight of the ax meant less than the look of tender love. Nor did I fully
wake to the sharp sounds that came soon after, while my mother stroked my hair
and told me that our Father loved us more than anything and had taken every step to
see we lived in safety, and would do whatever he must to make sure no one ever
threatened that, or us.

We were his sweet, sweet angels.

That night I dreamt I was an angel, flying in the clear night air, and around my
neck I wore a tinkling silver bell, and around my ankles leather cuffs with silver rings
that bore my name. And in the morning, the travelers were gone. We found mother
washing the floor and cleaning up after having fed them early and sent them on their
way. She scrubbed the house so thoroughly that soon there was no sign they had
ever passed through, and for once she did not insist that Anna and I share the chores
but bid us go amuse ourselves outside. We went as far as the bamboo thicket, I
leading Anna by the hand as she could not be unhooded until our FatherтАЩs return,
since the hooding was always and only at his discretion. I thought to look for the
departed travelersтАЩ tracks. Then Anna said she heard something, and I stopped and
listened with her. From far off we heard sounds that continued through much of the
morning, rising and falling but never going any farther, never coming any closer until
some time past noon when we heard our Father and brothers crashing through the
jungle from a direction I had never associated with the road. We had been listening
to them all along.

тАФWe took the long way round, my brother Olin said. The river was in flood
and forced a detour.

тАФYes, our Father said. But we saw them off all right in the end.

Olin and Father chuckled, but Ash looked angry and threw aside the machete
he carried for cutting through undergrowth. He stormed off, with our Father
glowering after him. We were all used to his moods.

Our Father scooped up Anna and unhooded her, to cover her rosy cheeks
with kisses; and Olin took my hand; and we turned to see mother waiting on the
porch, smiling as we crossed the grass. It was the kind of moment I had always
known. It was as if the visitors had never come. But everything had changed without
my knowing it.

For the next few weeks, our Father forbade Olin and Ash to hunt, although
with winter coming on, this made no sense to me. Already there were fewer birds,
the great migrations having passed; and the prey available to our FatherтАЩs falcon was
scarce. Ash began to stomp about, and although he never spoke against our Father,
his anger became a thing you could almost touch, though it would burn your fingers.

Our Father finally eased his restrictions when mother wept about the state of