"John Morressy - The Juggler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morressy John)

to duplicate it with his hands. On the first few at-tempts the balls collided in midair, but he finally learned
to toss one slightly under the other. He prac-ticed with a single ball first, accustoming his hands to the
motion, and then he tried two. Learning to handle the third one was difficult. Sometimes he managed to
get all three going and catch them, but then he could not repeat the motion without dropping one, or two, or all
three, and sometimes when this happened he felt that he would never learn. But he persisted, and fi-nally,
after many days of frustration, he was able to keep three balls in the air.
He practiced every day in secret. As he improved, he took less care to keep his skills hidden. When he was sure
of himself, he demonstrated his newfound ability to Rolf. His brother was surprised by Beran's skill, but he had no praise for
him.
"Why do you want to do that?" Rolf said. "It will only cause trouble."
"How can juggling cause trouble?"
"You'll try to leave the village. You said so."
"No, I won't. I'll stay right here."
"And what good is juggling here in the village?"
"When I get really good, I'll go to Sir Morier and show him what I can do. He'll want me to live at the
castle, and juggle for him and his friends and visi-tors."
"If you go to Sir Morier with your tricks, he'll have you beaten for your idleness."
Beran said nothing more. Rolf was always like this, always cautious and worried about anything that was
not just the way things had always been. He wanted to stay here in the village for the rest of his life and live as his parents and
neighbors did, and their parents before them.
Beran had never thought much about the future be-fore, but now that he had learned this new skill, he
thought that he might do something different from everyone else. He had put aside his thoughts of leaving the village.
Rolf was right about that. Sir Morier would never grant him permission, and the penalty for leav-ing without it
would fall heavily on his family. Be-sides, the world beyond the village, though it held interesting sights and
strange people, was full of dan-gers both known and unknown. It would be good to live at the castle and
perform for Sir Morier and other great folk.
Beran did not shirk his duties. When he was not working, he practiced. It was difficult at first, but he
improved with time. By the next spring he could jug-gle four balls. He had carved them for himself out of
light wood, dyeing them in bright colors like the ones used by the man at the market.
His skill became known throughout the village. His parents at first disapproved, but when they found that
others admired him, they relented. In the fields, the others called upon him to juggle for them while they ate
and rested. In return, they did a share of his work. Beran was pleased with the way things were working
out. He felt that Sir Morier, once he returned for the winter, would surely take notice of him, and then he
would be called to the castle.
One autumn day, toward the end of the harvest, Beran was working in the outermost field. He left the
others to fetch water from a spring at the top of a nearby hill. The afternoon was sultry, and even on the
heights the air was almost still. The climb tired him, and when he reached the top, he crept into the shade of
a low thicket to rest for a time. He went to sleep almost at once.
He awoke at the sound of horses' hooves. They were moving slowly and cautiously over the bare rock of
the hilltop. He lay unmoving, listening closely. There were many horses, and they were all around him.
He heard voices, and his heart almost stopped when he realized that they were speaking in a tongue he
had never heard before. They were strangers, and the com-ing of strangers always meant trouble for the
village. He tried to look out, but the thicket was too dense. He could only listen. He heard the jingling of
harness, the splash of water, men speaking, and some laughter. It was hard, cold laughter with no trace of
humor in it. Then the hoofbeats, still slow and stealthy, moved off on all sides.
When some time had passed without any sound of the intruders, he crawled from the thicket. No one
was to be seen, but there were hoofprints everywhere and the ground all around the spring was churned
up. Keeping low, Beran looked down the hillside to see where the horsemen had gone. They were
spreading out along the line of trees, and as he watched, they disappeared into the greenery.
Beran did not know what to do. Sir Morier had been summoned away and taken many of his men with