"Fear" - читать интересную книгу автора (McGarry Terry)

which stung because it meant that Father did it. He had said she was unwanted,
she was the third child, Mother broke the rules, Mother was a Catholic and they
were bad and stupid but nobody wanted any more trouble so they pretended that
Great-great-grandfather hadn't smuggled Great-great-grandmother down here,
taking the Compact in bad faith, and Father pretended he wasn't sorry because
everyone had to marry according to genetics and lots of times it didn't work out
and no one else complained, and he worked extra hard as if it could make up for
the extra mouth to feed, and the one good thing about ascension was being rid of
Them....
"You're half one if what you say is true," Glenn had said with bovine,
implacable logic from the pile of cloth into which David had pushed him. David
had had a tantrum then and Mrs. Simmons had come in and scolded them for not
being at tea and Bridget had squeezed her leprechaun tightly and looked up from
the sewing benches and fiber recyclers to the smooth gray walls and lighting
tubes above, above, where there wouldn't be any fighting anymore.


***

"It's not that they're bad and we're good, Bridget," Mother had
whispered later, fastening the hangings over the alcove opening and switching on
the white-noise generator. Bridget associated the fuzzy hiss with the rows it
was turned up loud to drown out--rows about her. "It's just that we're
different; we're the ones they were trying to keep out when the capsules were
made, and although most of these people are good people, and our friends, there
are some who still resent us even after all this time. Hate dies hard, love."
She had smoothed Bridget's hair back and braided it, deftly, gently. "Now say a
Hail Mary for me."
"I'd rather say a poem. I read it in a book about the fairies. 'Up the
airy mountain, down the rushy glen, we daren't go a-hunting, for fear of
little--'"
"You and the fairies. You're as bad as my mother was. Still, it's our
tradition, and if we don't preserve it no one will."
"We're the last, aren't we, Mam?" Bridget had said quietly, the poem
forgotten.
"Ah, now, Bridget, I don't know that. We're the last in this cap,
anyway."
"And David and Anne? Glenn said..."
"Glenn's a good lad but he doesn't know everything. No, I was young
when David and Anne were born, I let the Compact have them. I was afraid they'd
do to me what they did to your grandmother when they found out she was teaching
me the old ways. You're our last chance, Bridget. That's why I had you and
that's why you must remember the words and prayers."
"I'm afraid, Mam."
Her mother had made a clucking sound. "What can they do, with
ascension so soon? The whole cap knows about us anyway, and there's bad feeling
about what was done to your grandmother." She had paused, and swallowed.
"Do you think...above..." Bridget had wanted to ask about the fairies,
but her mother had misunderstood her.
"No one knows, mo chroэ. But I'll tell you what I think. Our people