"Kim Stanley Robinson - Mother Goddess of the World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

MOTHER GODDESS
OF THE WORLD
Kim Stanley Robinson




I

My life started to get weird again the night I ran into Freds
Fredericks, near Chimoa, in the gorge of the Dudh Kosi. I was
guiding a trek at the time, and was very happy to see Freds. He was
traveling with another climber, a Tibetan by the name of Kunga
Norbu, who appeared to speak little English except for тАЬHelloтАЭ
and тАЬGood morning,тАЭ both of which he said to me as Freds
introduced us, even though it was just after sunset. My trekking
group was settled into their tents for the night, so Freds and Kunga
and I headed for the cluster of teahouses tucked into the forest by
the trail. We looked in them; two had been cleaned up for trekkers,
and the third was a teahouse in the old style, frequented only by
porters. We ducked into that one.
It was a single low room; we had to stoop not only under the
beams that held up the slate roof, but also under the smoke layer.
Old-style country buildings in Nepal do not have chimneys, and
the smoke from their wood stoves just goes up to the roof and
collects there in a very thick layer, which lowers until it begins to
seep out under the eaves. Why the Nepalis donтАЩt use chimneys,
which I would have thought a fairly basic invention, is a question
no one can answer; it is yet another Great Mystery of Nepal.
Five wooden tables were occupied by Rawang and Sherpa
porters, sprawled on the benches. At one end of the room the stove
was crackling away. Flames from the stove and a hissing Coleman
lantern provided the light. We said Namaste to all the staring
Nepalis, and ducked under the smoke to sit at the table nearest the
stove, which was empty.
We let Kunga Norbu take care of the ordering, as he had
more Nepalese than Freds or me. When he was done the Rawang
stove keepers giggled and went to the stove, and came back with
three huge cups of Tibetan tea.
I complained to Freds about this in no uncertain terms.
тАЬDamn it, I thought he was ordering chang!тАЭ
Tibetan tea, you see, is not your ordinary LiptonтАЩs. To make it
they start with a black liquid that is not made from tea leaves at all
but from some kind of root, and it is so bitter you could use it for
suturing. They pour a lot of salt into this brew, and stir it up, and
then they dose it liberally with rancid yak butter, which melts and
floats to the top.
 It tastes worse than it sounds. I have developed a strategy for
dealing with the stuff whenever I am offered a cup; I look out the
nearest window, and water the plants with it. As long as I donтАЩt do