"Robin McKinley - Water" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

crept forward to peer into the pool.
She lost count of the cries and splashes while he stared, but when at length he backed away and
turned she saw that his eyes were glistening with a new, excited light. He climbed down, helped her to
follow, chalked his mark onto the rock and led her up the beach.
тАЬThe Lord has indeed provided,тАЭ he whispered. тАЬBlessed be His name. Now you must stand guard
while I fetch nets and men to bring this thing home. If anyone comes, you must tell them that the find is
mine. See how excellent are His ways! This very week He brings the fair to town! Stay here. Do not go
back up the rock. It must not see you.тАЭ
He strode off, walking like a younger man, picking his way easily across the broken rocks. Pitiable
sat on a sea-worn slab and waited. She felt none of ProbityтАЩs excitement. She was now appalled at what
she had done. Probity and his helpers would catch the sea-child and sell herтАФfrom what she had seen,
Pitiable was almost sure it was a girlтАФsell her to the showmen at the fair. That in itself was dreadful. The
People had no dealings with the fair that came each autumn. It was an occasion of frivolity and
wickedness, they said. But now Probity was going to take the sea-child to them and haggle for a price.
More than anything else, more than the ruined farm, more even than her own beatings, this made Pitiable
see how much he had changed.
Obediently she sat and watched him go. When he came to Oyster Bay, he turned back, shading his
eyes, so she stood and waved and he waved back and vanished into the dip, leaving her alone with the
sea and the shore and the strange, sad cries from the pool. By now Pitiable was again too wrapped in her
own misery to hear them as anything more than cries, as meaningless to her as the calling of the gulls. It
struck her perhaps that Probity would perhaps not sell the sea-girl, but would join the fair, taking Pitiable
with him, and show her himself. She would be dead by then, of courseтАФin Charity GoodrichтАЩs story the
sea-people could not live long out of waterтАФbut people would pay money to see even a dead sea-child.
The cries and splashes stopped for a while. Probably the sea-child was resting for a fresh attempt,
and yes, when it came the swirl of the water was stronger and the slap of the body against the rock was
louder, and the wail as the child fell back yet more despairing than beforeтАФso lost, so hopeless, that this
time Pitiable heard it for what it was, and when it came again she felt it was calling to her, to her alone, in
a language she alone knew, the language of a child trapped in a pit of despair by things too powerful for
her to overcome.
Weeping, she realised that she could not bear it.
She dried her eyes and rose and climbed back up to the pool. This time as she watched the
sea-childтАЩs desperate leapings she saw that there must be something wrong with the other arm, which
dangled uselessly by the slim body as it shot from the water. Still, one arm should be enough, if Pitiable
could lean far enough to reach it, so she made her way round to the sloping rock, knelt and craned over.
The sea-girl was on the point of leaping again. For a moment Pitiable gazed down at the wan, drawn
face with its too-small mouth and its too-large dark eyes, but then the sea-girl twisted from her leap and
plunged back below the surface, leaving nothing but the swirl of her going. Pitiable reached down, calling
gently and kindly, telling the girl she wanted to help her, though they must hurry because her grandfather
would soon be back. But the girl hid in the depths, invisible behind the sky-reflecting surface, and did not
stir.
Pitiable stood up and looked along the Scaurs, but there was still no sign of Probity. He must have
reached Home Beach by now, but perhaps the men there were too busy with their boats to listen to him.
Well, she thought, though I cannot swim, if the girl will not come to me, I must go to her. At its
shoreward end the pool narrowed almost to a slit, into which a few boulders had fallen and wedged, so
she made her way round, sat down and took off all her clothes. Then she lowered herself into the slimy
crack and, using the boulders for footholds, climbed down to the water.
Despite the hot summer it was chill from the storm, which had churned up the underdeeps and
thrown them here ashore. The salt stung the weals where ProbityтАЩs belt had cut, but she forced herself
down and down, clutching a jag of rock beside her. With her chin level with the water she spoke.
тАЬPlease come. Please trust me. I want to help you. I will take you back to the sea.тАЭ