"Kim Stanley Robinson - A History Of The Twentieth Century2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

Stenness, and Maes Howe. Brodgar and Stenness were two rings of standing stones; Maes Howe was a
nearby chambered tomb. The Ring of Brodgar was a big one, three hundred and forty feet across. Over
half of the original sixty stones were still standing, each one a block of roughly dressed sandstone,
weathered over the millennia into shapes of great individuality and charisma, like Rodin figures. Following
the arc they made, he watched the sunlight break on them. It was beautiful. Stenness was less impressive,
as there were only four stones left, each tremendously tall. It roused more curiosity than awe: how had
they stood those monsters on end? No one knew for sure. From the road, Maes Howe was just a
conical grass mound. To see the inside he had to wait for a guided tour, happily scheduled to start in
fifteen minutes. He was still the only person waiting when a short stout woman drove up in a pickup
truck. She was about twenty-five, and wore Levi's and a red windbreaker. She greeted him and
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unlocked a gate in the fence surrounding the mound, then led him up a gravel path to the entrance on the
southwest slope. There they had to get on their knees and crawl, down a tunnel three feet high and some
thirty feet long. Midwinter sunsets shone directly down this entryway, the woman looked over her
shoulder to tell him. Her Levi's were new. The main chamber of the tomb was quite tall. "Wow," he said,
standing up and looking around. "It's big isn't it," the guide said. She told him about it in a casual way.
The walls were made of the ubiquitous sandstone slabs, with some monster monoliths bracketing the
entryway. And something unexpected: a group of Norse sailors had broken into the tomb in the twelfth
century (four thousand years after the tomb's construction!) and taken shelter in it through a three-day
storm. This was known because they had passed the time carving runes on the walls, which told their
story. The woman pointed to lines and translated: "'Happy is he who finds the great treasure.' And over
here: 'Ingrid is the most beautiful woman in the world.'" "You're kidding." "That's what it says. And look
here, you'll see they did some drawing as well." She pointed out three graceful line figures, cut
presumably with axe blades: a walrus, a narwhale, and a dragon. He had seen all three in the shops of
Kirkwall, reproduced in silver for earrings and pendants. "They're beautiful," he said. "A good eye, that
Viking." He looked at them for a long time, then walked around the chamber to look at the runes again. It
was a suggestive alphabet, harsh and angular. The guide seemed in no hurry, she answered his questions
at length. She was a guide in the summer, and sewed sweaters and quilts in the winter. Yes, the winters
were dark. But not very cold. Average temperature around thirty. "That warm?" "Aye it's the Gulf Stream
you see. It's why Britain is so warm, and Norway too for that matter." Britain so warm. "I see," he said
carefully. Back outside he stood and blinked in the strong afternoon light. He had just emerged from a
five-thousand-year-old tomb. Down by the loch the sta nding stones were visible, both rings. Ingrid is the
most beautiful woman in the world. He looked at Brodgar, a circle of black dots next to a silver sheen of
water. It was a memorial too, although what it was supposed to make its viewers remember was no
longer clear. A great chief; the death of one year, birth of the next; the planets, moon and sun in their
courses. Or something else, something simpler. Here we are.
It was still midafternoon judging by the sun, so he was surprised to look at his watch and see it was six
o'clock. Amazing. It was going to be just like his therapy! Only better because outdoors, in the sunlight
and the wind. Spend summer in the Orkneys, winter in the Falklands, which were said to be very
similar.... He drove back to Kirkwall and had dinner in a hotel restaurant. The waitress was tall,
attractive, about forty. She asked him where he was from, and he asked her when it would get busy
(July), what the population of Kirkwall was (about ten thousand, she guessed) and what she did in the
winter (accounting). He had broiled scallops and a glass of white wine. Afterward he sat in the Sierra and
looked at his map. He wanted to sleep in the car, but hadn't yet seen a good place to park for the night.
The northwest tip of Mainland looked promising, so he drove across the middle of the island again,
passing Stenness and Brodgar once more. The stones of Brodgar stood silhouetted against a western sky