"Christopher Priest - The Inverted World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

Santos.
A few minutes after sunset one of the men put a light to the dry tinder
at the base of the pile of wood, and bright flame crackled through and up. The
children danced and jumped, crying to each other as the timber popped and spat
sparks.
Men and women sat or lay on the ground near the fire, passing flagons of
the dark, rich local wine. Two men sat apart from the others, each lightly
fingering a guitar. The music was soft, played for its own sake, not for
dancing.
 Elizabeth sat near the musicians, drinking some of the wine whenever a
flagon was passed to her.
Later, the music became louder and more rhythmic, and several of the
women sang. It was an old song, and the words were in a dialect Elizabeth
could not follow. A few of the men climbed to their feet and danced, shuffling
with arms linked, very drunk.
Responding to the hands that reached out to pull her up, Elizabeth went
forward and danced with some of the women. They were laughing, trying to show
her the steps. Their feet threw up clouds of dust that drifted slowly through
the air before being caught and swept up in the vortex of heat above the fire.
Elizabeth drank more wine, danced with the others.
When she stopped for a rest she realized that dos Santos had appeared.
He was standing some distance away, watching the festivities. She waved to
him, but he made no response. She wondered if he disapproved, or whether he
was simply too reserved to join in. He was a shy, gauche young man, ill at
ease with the villagers and as yet unsure of how they regarded him. Like
Elizabeth he was a newcomer and an outsider, although Elizabeth believed that
she would overcome the villagers' suspicions faster than he would. One of the
village girls, seeing Elizabeth standing to one side, took her hand and
dragged her back to the dance.
The fire burned down, the music slowed. The yellow glow thrown by the
flames dwindled to a circle about the fire itself, and the people sat on the
ground once more, happy and relaxed and tired.
Elizabeth refused the next flagon that was passed to her, and instead
stood up. She was rather more drunk than she had realized, and she staggered a
little. As some of the people called out to her she walked away, leaving the
centre of the village, and went out into the dark countryside beyond. The
night air was still.
She walked slowly and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. There
was a way she had walked in the past, across the low hills that surrounded the
village, and she went that way now, lurching slightly on the irregularities of
the ground. At one time this had probably been rough pastureland, but now
there was no agriculture to speak of in the village. It was wild, beautiful
country, yellow and white and brown in the sunlight; now black and cool, the
stars brilliant overhead.
After half an hour she felt better, and headed back towards the village.
Walking down through a grove of trees just behind the houses, she heard the
sound of voices. She stood still, listening . . . but she heard only the
tones, not the words.
Two men were conversing, but they were not alone. Sometimes she heard
the voices of others, perhaps agreeing or commenting. None of it was her