"Sheri S. Tepper - Shadow's End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

Though it sounds like an echo, it is being sung by the songfather of Damanbi. From where I stand I can
hear light welcomed not only from Damanbi but also from beyond it, from Dzibano'as and Hamam'n.
When the wind blows from the east, we hear the song from Chacosri, around the corner in Black-soil
canyon.

I am not the only listener. Inside the hive everyone is gathered behind the doorskins listening, waiting the
time of release. Children jitter impatiently. Some men and women paint their faces to ready themselves
for the day. Old people with many tasks confronting them stand stolidly, wishing the welcome finished.

And I, Saluez? I wish it could go on forever. I wish the moment could stand frozen in time and not move
at all.

"See her rise,"sings Hallach."See her dance in garments of fire. See dark withdraw, exposing the
world to her grace."

It is planting season, a time to consider fecundity; so songfather sings now to Brother Big Rain, begging
for storm upon the heights, and to Sister Deep Rain, begging for long slow drizzle that will wet the
canyons and fill the springs. He mentions the top spring and pool, the lower spring and pool, the waterfall
that spreads its moist lace over the rock, the wetness of the bottomland where the summer crops will
grow. He sings to Weaving Woman of the pattern of foods eaten at different seasons.

No doubt songfather is eager for summer food, as we all are. We are all sick of winter-fungus,
life-bread, grown in the hives during cold time, using the warmth of our bodies, the waste of our bodies
to feed itself. It has no taste. It keeps us alive, but it gives no pleasure. During winter, all the pleasurable
food must be saved for others, for there are worse things than mere tastelessness.

But soon the time of winter-fungus will be past. First-water has already been carried to the fruit trees, to
wake them from winter. Now songfather sings of damp soil, the feel of it, the perfume of unfolding
blossoms, continuing this litany until light falls on his face. He opens his soft, fleece outer robe and his
patterned cotton inner robe, exposing bare flesh to the light, closing his eyes as he feels the warmth move
from chest to belly to thigh. When it reaches his knees, he looks downward through slitted lids, not to
miss the moment the sun touches his feet. The final words of the song must be timed properly.

" тАж even as she has commanded, step into her day! Go forth!"

The song ends as all morning songs end, when light lies on the feet of the singer. Hah-Hallach, songfather
of Cochim-Mahn, turns and steps forward onto daylight, seeing the way clearly. The musicians on the
roof of the song-study house have been waiting for this. The bone flute shrieks, the panpipes make their
breathy sound, the gongs tremble, the little drums, with a final flourish, tum-te-tum into silence. Only then
the poisoned doorskins are set aside by careful hands, and people pour from the hive, the sound of day
voices bubbling up like water in the spring. Now are talking voices, voices for the light, stilled since dark
came. They speak of planting maish and melons. They ask who left a water bowl outside all night. They
rise in annoyance at children, and children's voices respond after the manner of children.

And I? I wait until songfather sees me standing there, where I have been since before light, my head bent
down, trying not to tremble, for it would not be fitting for songfather to see me tremble.

"Songfather," I murmur.

"Girl," says Hah-Hallach, who until yesterday called me Saluez, sweet Sally-girl, who until yesterday was