"Robert Reed - Birdy Girl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

Finally, in a whisper, I ask, "So was it fun?"

"Everything's fun," she tells me.

And I warn her, flat out, "Don't ever tell me anything about it. Ever.
Please?"




┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖


The girl doesn't eat, but she can taste. Her little pink tongue leaves marks
on my lunch. I don't know why, but I like that. I find it charming, somehow.
She says, "It's all good," and I admit, "That's the one place that I like AIs.
When they're cooks." My wife and I bought a top-of-the-line chef last winter.
"Can you smell, too?" I ask, and she makes a show of sniffing, then breaks
into a soft barking cough, one tiny hand over her mouth in a ladylike
fashion.
Like yesterday, she leaves through the cat door. I don't know where she's
going. But when I'm outside, weeding the front lawn, she's suddenly standing
next to me. I'm not sure when she showed up. Smiling as I work, I tell her,
"This has to be boring for you." She watches my hands tugging at the weeds,
and she nods, and says, "But it's fun, too. If I let it be." Then an idea hits
me. "There's a job that needs doing," I explain, "and it might be exciting."
She wants to know what it is. "I bet you could climb that tree, if I started
you with a boost." I point at the big locust in the middle of the yard.
"Squirrels stripped the bark off that high branch, killing itтАФ"
"You want me to kill your squirrels?" she says. Jokes.

"Maybe later," I tell her. "Today, let's just trim that dead limb off. Okay?"

She weighs nothing, nearly. I could practically throw her to where she needs
to be. And she's stronger than seems right, moving up from the low branches,
carrying my diamond-edged saw by the strap, holding the strap between her big
white teeth.

The cutting part is easy. She uses both hands and works the blade through the
soft dead wood, the pink of her tongue showing as she concentrates. Then comes
the splitting crack when there's not enough wood holding up the rest, and
that's when she loses her balance. The jerk of the saw takes her by surprise,
pitching her forwards, and I'm watching her let go of the saw, both of them
tumbling now, and before I can think, I'm jumping. I'm reaching out. I guess
my plan is to catch her and save her. But she weighs so little that the air
slows her down, and while she's squealing with pleasure, I'm slamming my hands
into the tree trunk, then landing too hard on my shoulder. I'm lying there,
moaning, when the saw hits next to me and she plops down on my back. With
concern, she asks, "Are you all right?" I grunt something about being tough.