"Michael Swanwick - Mother Grasshopper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

against what it takes to keep one alive. So much food, so many people. If the
one's smaller than the other, you starve. And the children wanted to live. The
folks in the shed didn't."

"They could go back! Nobody has to live out in the middle of nowhere trying to
scratch food out of nothing!"

"I counted one suicide for every two waking adults. Just how welcome do you
think they'd be, back to the oculus, with so many suicides living among them?
More than likely that's what drove them out here in the first place."

"Well...nobody would be starving if they didn't insist on having so many damn
children."

"How can you stop people from having children?" I asked.

There was no possible answer to that and we both knew it. Victoria leaned her
head against the cab window, eyes squeezed tight shut, as far from me as she
could get. "You could have woken them up! But no, you had your bag of goodies
and you wanted to play. I'm surprised you didn't kill me when you had the
chance."

"Vickie..."

"Don't speak to me!"

She started to weep.

I wanted to hug her and comfort her, she was so miserable. But I was driving,
and I only had the one good arm. So I didn't. Nor did I explain to her why it
was that nobody chose to simply wake the suicides up.

That evening, as usual, I got out the hatchet and splintered enough chitin for a
campfire. I was sitting by it, silent, when Victoria got out the jug of rough
liquor the settlement folks had brewed from ichor. "You be careful with that
stuff," I said. "It sneaks up on you. Don't forget, whatever experience you've
had drinking got left behind in your first life."

"Then you drink!" she said, thrusting a cup at me. "I'll follow your lead. When
you stop, I'll stop."

I swear I never suspected what she had in mind. And it had been a long while
since I'd tasted alcohol. So, like a fool, I took her intent at face value. I
had a drink. And then another.
Time passed.

We talked some, we laughed some. Maybe we sang a song or two.

Then, somehow, Victoria had shucked off her blouse and was dancing. She whirled
around the campfire, her long skirts lifting up above her knees and occasionally