"Sheri S. Tepper - Raising the Stones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

reference to sacrifice.

"Necessary?" the linguist had asked, relying heavily upon his Alsense translation stage to convey the
meaning of the word. The question had been directed to the last surviving Owlbrit in its tiny round house
near the temple.

"Not necessary," the Old One had scraped with his horn-tipped tentacles in a husky whisper. "What is
necessary? Is life necessary? Necessary to what? No, sacrifice is not necessary, it is only recommended.
It is a way, a convenience, a kindness."

It took the Owlbrit about thirty seconds to scrape, in a sound like wood being gently sawn, but it had
taken the last thirty years for the xenolinguists to argue over. They were still disputing over way,
convenience, and kindness, with the reconstruction school arguing strongly that the delicate rasp of the
Old One's tentacles actually conveyed the meanings of system, lifestyle, and solace. No matter what it
meant, sacrifice of a few mouselike ferfs every month or so had been instituted no later than the third year
of the settlement and had been carried on regularly since, with the ritual gradually gaining complexity as
the Ones Who added flourishes. One Who, these days, since Vonce Djbouty had died the previous year.
The only One Who who was left was Birribat Shum.

A Birribat who had lately been rather more evident and importunate than usual.

"I tell you Bondru Dharm is dying," he said to Samasnier Girat, the Topman, meantime wringing his hands
and sticking his knees and elbows out at odd angles, making himself look like some ungainly bird. "Sam,
he's dying!"

Young Birribat (no longer at all young, but called so out of habit) had been saying the God was dying for
some time, though not heretofore with such urgency.

Samasnier Girat looked up from the crop report which was already several days late, from the set of
planter-and-furrower repair-part requisitions which needed to go to Central Management on the
following morning, furrowed his handsome brow in executive irritation, and said, "Give it a few ferfs."

Birribat made a gesture. The movement had no meaning so far as Sam was concerned, being a kind of
swoop with the left hand, and a grab with the right, as though Birribat caught hold of a loose line
someone had left flapping in the wind. The gesture obviously had meaning for Birribat, however, for it
ended with the hands gathered together in prayer position and with Birribat gulping uncomfortably as he
said, "Please, Sam, don't. Don't say disrespectful things like that. Please. It makes it very hard for me."

Sam gritted strong white teeth and held onto his patience. "Birribat, you go find Sal. Tell Sal whatever it is
that's got you in an uproar. I'll talk to Sal about it tonight." Or next week, or next year. The God had
been squatting in its temple since Settlement, thirty some odd years now, without showing any evidence
of "doing anything" whatsoever. Sam Girat had the evidence of his own observation for that; he spent
time in the temple himself, mostly at night and for his own private reasons. However, he didn't believe the
God was truly "alive," and the thought of its dying did not greatly perturb him. Still, as Topman, he had to
keep in mind that anything Birribat said was likely to create unexpected reverberations among the
credulous, of whom there were more than enough in the settlementтАФin all eleven of the settlements.

Birribat took himself off, and a moment later Sam saw his angular form lurching along the street toward
the recreation center. When Sam looked up from his information stage again, it was to see Birribat and
Sal striding in the opposite direction, toward the temple.