"Barry N. Malzberg - Jobs Partner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Malzberg Barry N)

"Sort of like interstellar Boy Scouts? Or Social Workers?"

"Something like that."

The tears winked in the light, casting little splotches of rainbow across the
diabolically green floor. "But why my baby? There's a nursery in Building B --
across the hall, down the elevator, through the courtyard, up to second floor, I
had my other kids there -- and you'll see lots of babies. Rows and rows of
babies, all snug and neat in their little plastic cribs. Just help yourselves
and leave me alone."

"And leave some bereaved mother to go to pieces when she finds out her child has
been abducted?"

"What about me?" The cry burst forth, as the waters would burst forth from her
womb next month -- but foul, stinking waters, prelude to stillbirth and death.

"You'll never worry, where is my child? You'll know."

"No!" She rocked back and forth, balancing her belly awkwardly between her legs.
"Why? Why choose me? There are millions of other women in the world who are
pregnant!"

The Tall One cocked his head (or the top of him anyway, that kind of resembled a
head). "Oh come, now, you mean you don't know?

"She shook her head violently.

"Your openness," said one of the Short Ones. "To ideas, possibilities, flights
of heart and spirit."

"Your vision," said the other Short One. "For a world where humanity shall dwell
in peace and none shall make him afraid."

"Your dreams," said the Tall One. "To be the mother of the Messiah."

She closed her eyes. Old Mrs. Martex loomed before her--sixth grade. Iron hair,
steel eyes, red X's dripping as blood from her pen. "Judith, daydreaming again,
eh? Always off on some other planet, aren't you." A sharp jab with the pointer,
still chalky from the geography assignment on the blackboard. "Wouldn't you like
to share your dream with the rest of us?" Hot cheeks, wet eyes, stammers, amid
the giggles and titters of the others. "I was thinking about -- I mean wishing
for --" How to open the golden chest, locked in her heart, lined with velvet,
limned with light, refuge and vision? To spill its secrets before the icy words
and dark laughter of Mrs. Martex and the others? The golden fields through which
her winged feet carried her to the glowing Baby, surrounded by angels and
shepherds and Beings of Light, proclaiming, "behold our Lord," and whispering,
pointing, "behold His mother."