"Jean Lorrah - Best of Fools" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lorrah Jean)

BEST OF FOOLS

Jean Lorrah
"Why do you introduce me as Tonyo?" demanded Zhag Paget's young
protege. "My name is Tony."
"That's a Gen name," Zhag replied.
"In case you hadn't noticed, I am Gen."
"I mean, it's an out-Territory name," Zhag explained.
"In case you hadn't noticed..." Tonyo repeated, voice and energy field
dripping sarcasm.
Zhag sighed. "It makes you sound like a Wild Gen."
Annoyance resonated in the boy's field as he threatened, "You want to
see wild? Dammit, Zhag, I'm me , you don't own me, and you can't change my
identity!" Abruptly he got up and stomped out, a frequent response to their
disagreements. Was Tonyo used to someone who wouldn't listen?
The Gen went only as far as the woodpile. Zhag picked up his shiltpron
and went to sit on the rickety steps of his house. Snatches of melody churned
up in his mind, disconnected phrases that would not form a tune. He plucked
the notes anyway, knowing that music often soothed away his Gen's
annoyance.
Tonyo was chopping wood for the cookstove Zhag had never used--the
extent of his "cooking" was to make tea over an oil burner. The Sime had
learned to avoid disparaging comments about Gens and sharp instruments.
He didn't want to provoke the boy again, but he was relieved when Tonyo
carried the wood inside and returned to sit at the other end of the step.
Tonyo's nager--the field of life energy that surrounded all humans, Simes like
Zhag and Gens like Tonyo--precisely echoed the notes Zhag played.
Zhag let go of the senses he shared with Gens, except for hearing, and
zlinned the boy with Sime senses. Perhaps Tonyo's golden field would provide
the inspiration to compose something. Anything. Just one more song before
he died.
Or killed.
Zhag was prepared to die, but if he were to kill again--
That's need depression talking, he told himself. The loss of creative
energy was the worst effect of Zhag's chronically unsatisfied need. When
Tonyo was nearby--and not frustrated--he could almost...almost...feel normal.
But normal for Zhag was creating new music, not merely playing at
Milily's Shiltpron Parlor. Since Tonyo had joined him, he frequently felt well
enough to improvise--as the Gen was doing now, vocalizing variations around
 Zhag's new riff. But Tonyo had not warmed up his voice. He reached
for a note--and missed. His field followed his voice out of tune, a jolt to
Zhag's wide open systems. When he next skidded flat, Zhag stopped playing.
"Follow your nager with your voice."
"What?" Gen confusion.
"Your nager has perfect pitch," Zhag explained. "You think of yourself
as a singer, Tonyo, but it's your field Simes 'listen' to."
"I know that," the boy said.
"You know it, but you don't feel it," Zhag told him. The way I know I
will never kill again, but can't feel it--can't trust that I'm not deluding myself.
"Well, I'm Gen!" Tonyo protested. "I can't zlin."