"Lisa Tuttle - Ghosts and Other Lovers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuttle Lisa)

She tried not to think of it. It was too silly. What could his hands possibly have to do with hers? Was
there such a thing as a cold in the hands that she might have caught from him? She had never heard of
such a thingтАФa cold in the head, a cold in the chest, but not the handsтАФbut that didnтАЩt mean it wasnтАЩt
possible. A doctor would know . . . but doctors were expensive. Her father, seeing her perfectly healthy,
would not countenance a visit to a doctor. If she tried to explain to her father she was certain his idea of a
тАЬcureтАЭ would be the same as MildredтАЩs: more hard work, less idle dreaming. She didnтАЩt try to tell him, or
anyone. Embarrassed by this odd problem, she washed her hands often, and kept a supply of pocket
handkerchiefs.

One afternoon as she helped her sister shake out and fold clean linen from the drying line, Mildred
suddenly screwed up her face and said sharply, тАЬEustacia! Have you a runny nose?тАЭ

тАЬNo, sister.тАЭ She felt her face get hot.

тАЬWhere do you suppose this came from?тАЭ There on the stiff, freshly washed whiteness of the sheet
glistened four little blobs of mucus. On the other side, Eustacia had no doubt, would be found a fifth, the
imprint left by her thumb. She stood mute, blushing.

тАЬHave you lost your pocket handkerchief? тАЩTis a filthy, childish habit, Eustacia, to blow your nose into
your fingers; something I would not have expected from you, careless though you often are in your
personal habits. And so unhealthy! You should think of others.тАЭ

тАЬI didnтАЩt! My nose isnтАЩtтАФ! I didnтАЩt, Mildred, honestly!тАЭ

Mildred might have believed her since Eustacia, for all her faults, was no liar, but she couldnтАЩt stop, was
scarcely aware of, the little furtive gestures by which she attempted to dry and hide her hands.

MildredтАЩs eyes narrowed. тАЬShow me your hands.тАЭ

There was a kind of relief in being caught, in being forced, at last, to share her dirty secret. Despite her
having just wiped them, her hands were already moist again. Welling up from the ball of each finger,
pooling in the palms, was something thicker, stickier, and less liquid than the perspiration she had, for
several days, believedтАФor wishedтАФit to be.

Face twisting in disgust, Mildred held her sisterтАЩs hands and examined them. Something nasty. But it had
to be as obvious to Mildred as it was to Eustacia herself that the substance had not been blown or wiped
onto the hands but was being producedтАФexcretedтАФthrough the skin of the hands themselves.

тАЬI donтАЩt know what it is,тАЭ Eustacia said. тАЬItтАЩs been happening . . . several days now. I told you my hands
were cold. You can feel that. At first it was only the cold . . . then, they seemed to be wetтАФand now . . .
this. I donтАЩt know what it is; I donтАЩt know how to make it stop.тАЭ She burst into tears.

Tears were always the wrong tactic with Mildred. Scowling, she flung EustaciaтАЩs hands back at her, and
wiped her own harshly in her apron. тАЬStop bawling, girl, it doesnтАЩt pain you, does it?тАЭ

Still sobbing, Eustacia shook her head.

тАЬWell, then. ItтАЩs nothing. No moreтАЩn a runny nose. Go wash yourself. Wash your hands well, mind. And
keep them warm and dry. Maybe you should rest. ThatтАЩs it. Lie down and keep warm. You can have a