"Kim Stanley Robinson - Forty Signs of Rain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

needed. Now he splayed out and let the water wash him back and forth, feeling the sandy surges lift and
push him. Grooming by ocean. As it ran back out to sea the water sifted the fine black flakes in the sand,
mixing them into the rounded tan and white grains until they made networks of overlapping black VтАЩs.
Coursing patterns of natureтАФ

тАЬAre you okay?тАЭ

He jerked his head up. It was Marta, on her way out.

тАЬOh, hi. Yeah IтАЩm okay.тАЭ

тАЬWhatтАЩs this, stalking me now?тАЭ

тАЬNo,тАЭ then realizing it might be a little bit true:тАЬNo!тАЭ

He stared at her, getting angry. She stared back.

тАЬIтАЩm just catching some waves,тАЭ he said, mouth tight. тАЬYouтАЩve got no reason to say such a thing to me.тАЭ

тАЬNo? Then why did you ask me out yesterday?тАЭ

тАЬA mistake, obviously. I thought it might do some good to talk.тАЭ

тАЬLast year, maybe. But you didnтАЩt want to then. You didnтАЩt want to so much that you ran off to NSF
instead. Now itтАЩs too late. So just leave me alone, Frank.тАЭ

тАЬI am!тАЭ

тАЬLeave me alone.тАЭ

She turned and ran into the surf, diving onto her board and paddling hard. When she got out far enough
she sat up on her board and balanced, looking outward.

Women in wetsuits looked funny, Frank thought as he watched her. Not just the obvious, but also the
subtler differences in body morphology were accentuated: the callipygosity, the shorter torso-to-leg ratio,
the 0.7 waist-to-hip ratioтАФwhatever it was, it was different, and it drew his eye like a magnet. He could
tell the difference from as far away as he could see people at all. Every surfer could.
What did that mean? That he was in thrall to a woman who despised him? That he had messed up the
main relationship of his life and his best chance so far for reproductive success? That sexual dimorphism
was a powerful driver in the urge to reproduction? That he was a slave to his sperm, and an idiot?

All of the above.

His good mood shattered, he hauled himself to his feet. He stripped off the booties and long john,
toweled off at his rental car, drove back up to his storage unit, and dropped off his gear. Returned to his
hotel room, showered, checked out, and drove down the coast highway to the airport, feeling like an
exile even while he was still here on his own home ground.

Something was deeply wrong.