"Judith Merril - Wish Upon a Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merril Judith)

"Survival Ship," back in 1951, had led JM into some explorations of sex-role behavior toward
a novel that never got written entire, but some stories out of her future history appeared; e.g.,
F&SFтАФDecember, 1958.

Wish Upon a Star
I WISH, I WISH, I WISH . . .
Sheik sat under the shadow of a broad-leaf shrub, his head back, eyes closed against the glare from
overhead, mouth open for a shout of protest he could never voice.
He stifled the thought with the sound, pushed it out of his head as he pushed his body backward,
throwing his weight straight-armed on the flat palms of his hands behind him. Flexing his calves below
bent knees, he pulled against the long thigh sinews and tightened the slanting muscles of his back, driving
all tension from his mind into his body as he raised his buttocks up off the ground and hung suspended,
arching from knees to elbows, hands and feet rooted to the soil. Wholly intent on the immedate physical
effort, he stayed so till the blood rushing to his head choked in his throat, and arms and legs were
trembling beyond control. Then with a last summoning of purpose, he flipped over and sprawled
contentedly collapsed on chest and stomach, head turned so one cheek also rested on the resilient
softness of the granular stuff that made the plant beds. With each great breath of air his nostrils sucked up
the rich sweet damp aroma of the roots.
For a moment there was peace; and then, again, I wish, I wish, I wish ...
Tears filled his eyes. He sat up and angrily and brushed them off. He was too old for crying. Crying
wouldn't help. He was too old to be sitting idle here, wasting time, wasting wishes on absurdities. Old
enough not to be bothered by anything Naomi said or did . . . but not yet old enough (smart enough?) to
know better than to try to tell her anything.
She had listened so meekly, watched so quietly, while he repaired the rootpack she had broken,
holding the torn partsтАФjust soтАФtogether, tamping the soil downтАФjust soтАФaround the fiber, explaining
as he worked why it was just this way. He let her silence fool him; well, it was no one's fault but his own.
He should have known better by now.
When he was finished, she smiled, very sweetly. "It', so comforting to know you'll be here, Sheik,"
she said, "when I'm in charge. You're so efficient." Then a quick glance at the chrono, which she must
have been watching all the time from the corner of her eye, or she couldn't have timed it all so perfectly.
"Oh-OOOh! I better run! I'm late for Sessions now . . ." And she was off, flashing a hand free of dirt or
work, leaving him, trowel in hand, to realize he had just finished doing her job for her.
It wasn't fair. Naomi was twelve and a half, more than a year younger than he was. In Standard
School she was behind him in almost everything; and never, never as long as she lived, would she be able
to handle a plant, to feel it and understand it, as he did. But she was the one in Special Sessions classes
now, learning the things he ought to know. They'd make her read all the books he wanted, whether she
cared or not, and put her to learn in the lab, mastering all the mysteries and intricacies of advanced
Bichem. While he, Yashikazu, would go on day after day, trowel in hand, taking her jibes now, and
laterтАФmuch later, when he replaced Abdur in charge of the plantroomтАФtaking her orders as Ab took
his orders from Lieutenant Johnson.
It just wasn't fair!
I wish, I wish I was ...
He stopped it, cut it off sharply. He was not going to think that way any more. I wish Sarah was
here, he finished the thought instead. Tonight, maybe, she would ask him again. He had nursery duty, but
if he told Bob . . . if she asked him, that was . . . well, if she did, he'd get off duty somehow ...
Without even closing his eyes, he could see her there now, as she had been the night before last,
sprawled on the rootpacks beside him, her shining long legs golden under the ultras, her face in the
shadow of the leafy shrub a deep dark brown, but somehow giving out the gold-glow, too. Her eyes
were closed and her hand, smooth and cool, soft and small, lay inside his as he watched her in warm and
perfect comradeship.