"Allen Steele - Shepherd Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

Milos didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. For a time he simply stared
at the canvas, then he slowly turned around until he was looking at her. She
couldn't see his face behind the silvered faceplate of his helmet; all she could
see was her own distorted reflection.

"You won't reconsider?" he asked.

She was surprised that he didn't ask the reason why. On the other hand, he was
not an insensitive man, for all his other faults; he must have picked up on her
dissatisfaction, perhaps even before she realized it herself.

"No," she replied. "I've already made the arrangements. When I get back, I'll
live in our apartment in Brussels . . . at least for a while. You can reach me
there."

His narrow shoulders moved slightly; he was nodding his head within his helmet.
"I see." A pause. "Will you be filing for a divorce?"

A good question. "I don't know yet," she said truthfully. "I don't think so . .
. at least, not if I think you're coming home soon." She shrugged, feeling her
shoulders chafe against the inside of the suit. "Call it a separation."

"A separation. Yes." She heard him sigh through the comlink. "It may be some
time. I have much to do here before I can. . . "

"Oh, goddammit, Milos, before you can do what?" She pointed at the half-finished
canvas. "Complete this painting? Then what? Start another one, and another one
after you've finished that? You've painted the same bloody thing sixteen times
already!"

She hadn't intended to lose her temper. This was not how she had imagined the
confrontation, in all the many sleepless nights when she had lain in bed,
listening to the dull murmur of the ceiling conduits as she gazed into the
darkness. But here it was; she was shrieking at her husband like an angry
charwoman, and despite herself she felt a surge of pleasure.

"When was the last time you made love to me?" she demanded. "For Christ's sake,
when was the last time you even looked me in the eye? I never see you, never
touch you . . . you're always out here, painting this damn planet again and I
can't take it anymore!"

She took a long ragged breath, hearing her heart banging in her ears. "I want
out, Milos," she said, forcing herself to lower her voice. "I want out, and I
want out now. And that's all."

But that wasn't all. She had said everything she needed to say, and then some
things she hadn't expected to say. She could have walked away. Yet she wanted --
she needed -- to hear his response.

He was silent for a few moments. "Very well," he said quietly. "If this is what