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

No, it was all bronze and leather now. The Marthatown garrison tattoo was on his upper arm. He had
a cut on his chin where he had shaved himself, though his skin looked like a baby's. Still the arms and
chest were muscular and almost adult, almost a manтАЩs body. Fit for love. Fit for slaughter.
Get on with it, wept the observer Stavia.
тАЬThen I relinquish all claim to you, Dawid, son of the warriors. You need not visit us again.тАЭ A pause
for the words which were not obligatory but which she was determined upon. Let him know, even now,
that it cut both ways. тАЬYou are not my son.тАЭ She bowed, believing for a moment that the dizziness which
struck her would prevent her getting her head up, but then the actor had her up and wheeling about,
finding her way almost by instinct. Women could not return through the Defender's Gate. There was a
corridor here to the left, she told herself, remembering what she had been told and managing to get into it
with level tread, not breaking stride, not hurrying or slowing. Even the hiss behind her did not hurry her
steps. A serpentтАЩs hiss, but by only a few, possibly only one set of lips, and those not Dawid's. Stavia had
played by the rules since Dawid was born, and all those metal-clad automatons knew it. They could not
hiss her in good conscience, and only zealots would do it. Despite them, she would not hurry. No, no, and
no, the thing must be done properly if it had to be done at all.
And then, ahead of her at the end of the narrow corridor she saw it for the first time, the gate that all
the fuss was about, narrow and quite unprepossessing. The Gate to WomenтАЩs Country, as described: a
simple sheet of polished wood, with a bronze plaque upon it showing the ghost of Iphigenia holding a
child before the walls of Troy. On the right was a bronze latch in the shape of a pomegranate, set low, so
that even a small woman could reach it easily. Her eyes sought it, her thumb pressed it down, and the door
swung open smoothly, as though well used, well oiled.
In the plaza arcade, where the gate opened, old Septemius Bird was waiting for her with his nieces,
Kostia and Tonia, their twinned exoticism long since become familiar and dear. Though not friends of her
childhood, they were neighbors now, and Morgot must have told them the summons had come. Beneda
was there as well, even though Stavia didnтАЩt really want to see her, not right now. But Beneda was a
neighbor, too, and she had found out about Dawid somehow. Well, she had a right, in a sense. Besides,
Beneda always found out about such things.
тАЬAlone?тАЭ she now asked. Beneda had become fond of rhetorical questions and purely exclamatory
phrases, needing to fill all silences with little explosions of sound, like a string of firecrackers which once
lit could not keep itself from popping, set off no doubt to keep her own demons away. So she repeated
herself, тАЬAh well, Stavia, so you return alone, as I have done, as we all have done. We grieve, Stavia. We
grieve.тАЭ
Stavia, who had loved her dearly once and still did, wanted to tell her to be quiet for heavenтАЩs sake,
but instead merely smiled and reached for her hand, hoping Beneda would silence herself for lack of
anything to say. What was there to say? HadnтАЩt they all said it to one another, over and over again.
Septemius, on the other hand, knew how to be comforting. тАЬCome on along, Doctor. I'm sure itтАЩs no
more than you expected, and these girls of mine have been to the Well of Surcease for a kettle-full.
ThereтАЩs a nice cup of tea waiting.тАЭ His arm around her shoulders was firm and wiry, as though it belonged
to someone half his age. Next to Corrig, who as a servitor could not appear in the plaza with her,
Septemius was the one she found most comfort in.
 As they returned through the empty streets, the observer Stavia, now in command of herself once
more, noted the quality of light. What she had thought was nostalgic and sweetly melancholic was now
livid and bruised. The light was a wound, and like a wound it throbbed and pulsed. If it had not been for
the old manтАЩs arm about her shoulders, Stavia might not have managed the last few steps into her own
house where Morgot and Corrig waited with the tea, where Stavia's daughters, Susannah and Spring
waited with questions.
тАЬSo Dawid chose to stay with the warriors, Mother.тАЭ Susannah was thirteen now, her face already
firming into a womanтАЩs face, with serious dark eyes and a strong jaw.
тАЬYes, Susannah. As we thought he would,тАЭ said Stavia, telling them the truth she had refused to tell
herself. She had not really let herself think he would stay with the warriors, even though both Joshua and