"Kate Wilhelm - Funeral" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

and stopped shaking. Madam Trudeau had pasty white skin, with peaked black eyebrows, sharp black
eyes, black hair. Her mouth was wide and full, her nose long and narrow. As she studied the girl before
her, it seemed to Carla that something changed in her expression, but she couldn't say what it was, or
how it now differed from what it had been a moment earlier. A new intensity perhaps, a new interest.

"Carla, I've been looking over your records. Now that you are fourteen it is time to decide on your
future. I shall propose your name for the Teachers' Academy on the completion of your current courses.
As my protтАЪgтАЪe, you will quit the quarters you now occupy and attend me in my chambers.." She
narrowed her eyes. "What is the matter with you, girl? Are you ill?"

"No, Madam. I. I had hoped. I mean, I designated my choice last month. I thought."

Madam Trudeau looked to the side of her desk where a records screen was lighted. She scanned the
report, and her lips curled derisively. "A Lady. You would be a Lady!" Carla felt a blush fire her face,
and suddenly her palms were wet with sweat. Madam Trudeau laughed, a sharp barking sound. She
said, "The girls who attended Madam Westfall in life shall attend her in death. You will be on duty in the
Viewing Room for two hours each day, and when the procession starts for the burial services in
Scranton, you will be part of the entourage. Meanwhile, each day for an additional two hours
immediately following your attendance in the Viewing Room you will meditate on the words of wisdom
you have heard from Madam Westfall, and you will write down every word she ever spoke in your
presence. For this purpose there will be placed a notebook and a pen in your cubicle, which you will use
for no other reason. You will discuss this with no one except me. You, Carla, will prepare to move to
my quarters immediately, where a learning cubicle will be awaiting you. Dismissed."

Her voice became sharper as she spoke, and when she finished the words were staccato. Carla bowed
and turned to leave.

"Carla, you will find that there are certain rewards in being chosen as a Teacher."

Carla didn't know if she should turn and bow again, or stop where she was, or continue. When she
hesitated, the voice came again, shorter, raspish. "Go. Return to your cubicle."

├║├║├║├║├║

The first time, they slaughtered only the leaders, the rousers,. would be enough to defuse the bomb,
leave the rest silent and powerless and malleable..

Carla looked at the floor before her, trying to control the trembling in her legs. Madam Westfall hadn't
moved, hadn't spoken. She was dead, gone. The only sound was the sush, sush of slippers. The green
plastic floor was a glare that hurt her eyes. The air was heavy and smelled of death. Smelled the Lady,
drank in the fragrance, longed to touch her. Pale, silvery-pink lips, soft, shiny, with two high peaks on
the upper lip. The Lady stroked her face with fingers that were soft and cool and gentle.

. when their eyes become soft with unspeakable desires and their bodies show signs of womanhood,
then let them have their duties chosen for them, some to bear the young for the society, some to become
Teachers, some Nurses, Doctors, some to be taken as Lovers by the citizens, some to be.

Carla couldn't control the sudden start that turned her head to look at the mummy. The room seemed to
waver, then steadied again. The tremor in her legs became stronger, harder to stop. She pressed her
knees together hard, hurting them where bone dug into flesh and skin. Fingers plucking at the coverlet.