"Ian Watson - Slow Birds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

"Now don't you go wasting Master Tarnover's time. Happen he hasn't
given it a moment's thought, all his born days."
"Oh, but I have," Tarnover said.
"Well?" the boy insisted.
"Well . . . maybe they don't go anywhere at all."
Mrs. Babbidge chuckled, and Tarnover flushed.
"What I mean is, maybe they just stop being in one place then suddenly
they're in the next place."
"If only you could skate like that!" Jason laughed. "Bit slow, though . . .
Everyone would still pass you by at the last moment."
"They must go somewhere," young Dan said doggedly. "Maybe it's
somewhere we can't see. Another sort of place, with other people. Maybe
it's them that builds the birds."
"Look, freckleface, the birds don't come from Russ, or 'Merica, or
anywhere else. So where's this other place?"
"Maybe it's right here, only we can't see it."
"And maybe pigs have wings." Tarnover looked about to march towards
the cider and perry stall; but Mrs. Babbidge interposed herself smartly.
"Oh, as to that, I'm sure our sow Betsey couldn't fly, wings or no wings.
Just hanging in the air like that, and so heavy."
"Weighed a bird recently, have you?"
"They look heavy, Master Tarnover."
Tarnover couldn't quite push his way past Mrs. Babbidge, not with his
sail impeding him. He contented himself with staring past her, and
muttering, "If we've nothing sensible to say about them, in my opinion it's
better to shut up."
"But it isn't better," protested Daniel. "They're blowing the world up. Bit
by bit. As though they're at war with us."
 Jason felt humorously inventive. "Maybe that's it. Maybe these other
people of Dan's are at war with usтАФonly they forgot to mention it. And
when they've glassed us all, they'll move in for the holidays. And skate
happily for ever more."
"Damn long war, if that's so," growled Tarnover. "Been going on over a
century now."
"Maybe that's why the birds fly so slowly," said Daniel. "What if a year
to us is like an hour to those people? That's why the birds don't fall. They
don't have time to."
Tarnover's expression was almost savage. "And what if the birds come
only to punish us for our sins? What if they're simply a miraculous
proofтАФ"
"тАФthat the Lord cares about us? And one day He'll forgive us? Oh
goodness," and Mrs. Babbidge beamed, "surely you aren't one of them? A
bright lad like you. Me, I don't even put candles in the window or tie knots
in the bedsheets anymore to keep the birds away." She ruffled her younger
son's mop of red hair. "Every one dies sooner or later, Dan. You'll get used
to it, when you're properly grown up. When it's time to die, it's time to
die."
Tarnover looked furiously put out; though young Daniel also seemed
distressed in a different way.
"And when you're thirsty, it's time for a drink!" Spying an opening, and