"Bruce Holland Rogers - Don Ysidro" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

each one. The people took me away from my house, pot by pot, and I entered their houses with them. In
my former home, they left only the pot that Susana had made in my style.
From that night forward, I was all over the village. People stored corn in me, or rice, or beans. They used
me to carry water. And I spread out from there, for if tourists came to buy pots and happened to admire
me, the potter would say, тАЬOh, that's don Ysidro.тАЭ And the tourist would nod and perhaps buy the pot
that he thought was merely made by don Ysidro.

I am still in my little village, but I am in Stockholm, too, and Seattle. I am in Toronto and Buenos Aires.
Some of me is in Mexico, the capital, though I am mostly still at home here in the village where I grew up,
grew old, and died. I sit on Susana's shelf where I can watch her make ordinary tortillas for her breakfast
or clay tortillas for her pots. She is old, but her hands are still quick as birds. Sometimes she knows that I
am watching her, and she looks over her shoulder and laughs. Whether she can hear it or not, my
answering laughter is deep and full and round like a great big pot in the manner of don Ysidro.

тАФENDтАФ

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