"David Marusek - The Earth Is On The Mend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marusek David)

The Earth Is On The Mend
by David Marusek
Asimov's Science Fiction, May 1993
ААААААААААААААААААААThe old man in the squirrel-pelt parka stopped to pull
the club from his belt. The malemute, harnessed to the small sled, stopped
behind him. The man stepped off the trail and wallowed through deep snow
to the thicket of scrub willow. The dog, mindful of her traces, tamped
snow underfoot, made one tight circle, and lay down. Before she could nap,
the man returned with a frozen snowshoe hare. "Three!" he said to the dog.
"What does that mean, eh?" He scratched the dog behind an ear. "It means
the Earth is on the mend, it does. And what does the dog say to that?" The
dog stood up and wagged her tail. "I see," said the old man, "the dog says
this time you'd better not piss it all away."
ААА
The next snare lay alongside the trail. The hare was still alive. It
huddled calmly at the end of its tight necklace. "Four," whispered the old
man as he stepped slowly next to it. "Ah, little bunny," he crooned, "we
came quick as we could." The hare stared with bright brown eyes. "And what
does the bunny say?" The man raised his club. "The bunny says, 'I know; I
know. Just do it.'"
ААА
Black spruce trees teetered drunkenly under the load of snow. The land
beneath the ridge lay in shadow. There, on the white expanse of a frozen
lake, moved a black shape. "A moose?" said the old man. "Nah, dream on."
He studied the shape's movements.
"A man!"
He led the dog down to a rocky promontory overlooking the lake, careful
not to break cover. He watched the man push a mound of snow off a fishing
hole, chip away the new ice lens, and check the line. Empty. "It's a
fisherman who wears a bearskin parka," he told the dog. "Nice mukluks
too."
The next hole was near their hiding place, so the old man put his arm
around the dog's neck and stroked her muzzle. "I thought we checked this
lake," he whispered into her ear. After a minute he added, "We did. It's
dead." When the fisherman pulled a long, black fish out of the hole, the
old man craned to see. "Ling cod," he whispered. "My oh my."
The fisherman checked fifteen more holes, adding another fish to his catch
before leaving the lake. It was dusk when the old man led the dog to the
nearest hole. He cleared it and pulled up the line. The line was made from
sinew, except for the leader which was a yard of monofilament. He showed
it to the dog. "Look at this, will you. And this." The hook was made of
stainless steel and baited with a quarter trout. "Dolly Varden." He
dropped the line back into the hole, changed his mind, and pulled it up
again. "Don't you dare tell anyone," he said as he removed the bait, bit
off a mouthful, and tossed the remainder to the dog.
ААА
The fisherman's trail weaved among snow-choked hills. When darkness fell,
the old man let the dog lead the way. The smell of woodsmoke told him they
were near.
The hut was built of poles and caribou skins and heaped with earth. A