"Chris Roberson - Wishes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Chris)

explained). He told them of a young girl in Kansas who wanted nothing more in this life than to be a
doctor, and to heal, and that as he sat listening to her story he could see the stern face of her father, and
the sad eyes of her mother, and that he could almost watch the wish slipping away form the girl. He told
them of a rancherтАЩs son in the Rockies, who wises with every inch of him to move east and act on the
stage. He told them of an old widow in Wyoming, who wished that she might see her son, disappeared
years before, once more before she died. All of these and more he told them, until the night grew much
older, and it was time for sleep.

The smith and his wife took to their bed near the fire, and gave the man a pallet of blankets and quilts for
himself on the other side of the room. They slept peacefully that night, the three of them, in the dark
warmth of the cabin, until the morning light shone through the windows.

They breakfasted together, there in the early morning light, heavy biscuits and pork sausage and gravy
and strong black coffee. They ate in silence, enjoying the meal and the quiet company, and when they
had done the man spoke again.

Another fine meal, and a clean dry place to sleep, he said, and I owe you again.

The smith and his wife went to argue, to say he owed them nothing, but the man wouldnтАЩt hear it.

IтАЩve told you some of the wishes, he said, such as I have to tell. Now, before I go, IтАЩll ask you for your
wishes, if you have any, and to repay you IтАЩll keep them with me always.

The smith and his young wife sat quietly for a time, each looking inside themselves, seeing what they
might have hidden there. It was the smithтАЩs wife who spoke first, and shared what she had.

For myself, she said, I wish for only what I have. For it not to go away. A comfortable house, good
neighbors, a faithful and loving husband. I donтАЩt care for enchantments, or beauty, or the fancies of the
world. I just want what I have, and thatтАЩs all.

The man sat, listening, and nodded. Then he turned to the smith.

I have a wish, I suppose, the smith said, but itтАЩs a simple thing, and of little consequence. I donтАЩt wish to
hear other menтАЩs thoughts, or to have strength to lift a horse, or any of those such things. I want only,
someday, for my wife and I to have a son, or a daughter, or both. I want for that child, or those children,
to grow up healthy, and to live until they are old. I want them here, in this home, to share our lives. I want
to pass things on to them, to raise them right, to send them out into the world to make their own lives and
to be happy. ItтАЩs a simple wish I suppose, and not much for remembering, but thatтАЩs what I want.

The man smiled at them, and touched them each on the hand. Without a word he rose from the table, put
on his hat, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and took up his staff. He walked to the door, where he
paused and turned.

IтАЩll remember, he told them both, still sitting there at the table. IтАЩll never forget.

And then he turned, and walked out the door, and out of the town.

The man never passed through the town or was heard from again. But the smith and his wife remembered
him, and would talk of him occasionally, out on the porch under a starry sky. And when their children
were born, a son and two daughters, they told them about the man, and what heтАЩd said about wishes.