"Sheri S. Tepper - Gate to Women's Country" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

On three sides of the plaza, the colonnades. On the fourth side, the towering wall, high-braced with
buttresses, glimmering with mosaics, pierced by the DefendersтАЩ Gate, the Battle Gate, and the Gate of the
Warriors' Sons, which comprised a triptych of carved timbers and contorted bronze depicting scenes of
triumph and slaughter. The Defender's Gate was at the left of this lofty arrangement, and she stood close
to it for a long time, perceiving herself before it as though from a front-row-center seat, the compliant
lines of her cloak melting before the obdurate metal, before reaching out with her staff to knock the
requisite three times, not loudly. They would be waiting for her.
The small door at the base of the great portal swung open; she walked with every appearance of calm
down the short corridor beyond. In the assembly room she found an honor guard. And Dawid, of course.
How could she have forgotten he was fifteen? Well, she hadnтАЩt. She was thirty-seven, so he was
fifteen. She had been twenty-two when . . . when everything. All this pretense that the summons was
unexpected was really so much playacting, a futile attempt to convince herself that something unforeseen
might happen despite her knowing very well what the plot required. Despite Dawid's ritual visits on
holidays, his twice-yearly home-comings during which the initial shyness of the original separation had
turned to fondness, then to shyness again, finally becoming the expected, though no less wounding,
alienation. Despite all that, she had chosen to go on thinking of him as she had when he was five and had
gone into the hands of the warriors.
So, now, she must guard against speaking to that child, for this was no child confronting her in his
polished breastplate and high helmet, with pouted lips out-thrust. No child anymore.
тАЬDawid,тАЭ she said formally, bowing a little to indicate the respect she bore him. And тАЬGentlemen,тАЭ
for the respect she bore these others, also. One had to grant them that; one could grant so little else. She
risked one raking glance across the ranked faces above the shining armor, subconsciously thinking to see
faces that she knew could not be there. Those that were there were young. No old faces. No old faces at
all.
тАЬMadam,тАЭ intoned one member of the host. Marcus, she thought, examining what she could see of his
visage between the cheek and nose guards of his helmet; Marcus, probably, though it might have been
another of her sister Myra's sons, all three looked disconcertingly alike and had, even as babies.
тАЬMadam,тАЭ he said, тАЬyour warrior son greets you.тАЭ
тАЬI greet my warrior son,тАЭ the actor Stavia said while the observer Stavia annoyed herself by weeping,
though inwardly and silently, as befitted the occasion.
тАЬI challenge you, madam,тАЭ said Dawid. His voice was light, very light, almost a child's voice, still,
and she knew he had been practicing that phrase in the shower room and in corners of the refectory, no
doubt listening with heartbreaking attention for the vibrant echo of command. Still, it quavered with a
child's uncertainty.
тАЬOh?тАЭ she questioned, cocking her head. тАЬHow have I offended?тАЭ
тАЬDuring my last homecomingтАЭ, he gave the word the aversive twist she had believed only a mature
warrior could give it, тАЬhomecoming,тАЭ as though it were something dirty; well, perhaps it was, тАЬyou made
a suggestion to me which was unworthy of my honor.тАЭ
тАЬDid I, indeed?тАЭ The actor Stavia was properly puzzled. тАЬI cannot remember any such.тАЭ
тАЬYou said,тАЭ his voice quavered. тАЬYou said I would be welcome to return to my mother's house
through the Gate to WomenтАЩs Country.тАЭ
тАЬWell, and so you would be,тАЭ she said calmly, wishing this farce were done with so she might go
home and weep. тАЬSo are any of our sons.тАЭ
 тАЬMadam, I summoned you here to tell you that such a suggestion offends my honor! I am no longer
your son. I am proud to name myself a son of the warriors. 1 have become a Defender!тАЭ
So, and well, and what had she expected? Still, for a moment she could not respond. The observer
Stavia held the actor in thrall, just for this moment, seeking in that face the face of the five-year-old
Dawid, mighty hunter of grasshoppers, thunderer on the toy drum, singer of nursery rhymes, leading
contender in the skipping race from home to candy shop. That level-browed, serious-eyed, gentle-lipped
child. No more.