"Kate Wilhelm - Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

doing any of the chores that so few had done before. Everyone wanted to become a doctor or a
biologist, Walt grumbled. He was sleeping more now, and the fatigue lines on his face were
smoothing out. Often he would nudge David and tow him along, away from the nursery, propel him
toward his own room in the hospital, and see to it that he remained there for a nightтАЩs sleep. One
night as they walked side by side back to their rooms, Walt said, тАЬNow you understand what I meant
when I said this was all that mattered, donтАЩt you?тАЭ
David understood. Every time he looked down at the tiny, pink new Celia he understood more
fully.


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Chapter 7


It had been a mistake, David thought, watching the boys from the window in WaltтАЩs office.
Living memories, thatтАЩs what they represented. There was Clarence, already looking too pudgyтАФheтАЩd
be fat in another three or four years. And a young Walt, frowning in concentration over a problem
that he wouldnтАЩt put on paper until he had a solution to add. Robert, too pretty almost, but
determinedly manly, always trying harder than the others to endure, to jump higher, run faster,
hit harder. And D-4, himself . . . He turned away and pondered the future of the boys, all of an
age; uncles, fathers, grandfathers, all the same age. He was starting a headache again.
тАЬTheyтАЩre inhuman, arenтАЩt they?тАЭ he said bitterly to Walt. тАЬThey come and go and we know
nothing about them. What do they think? Why do they hang so close to each other?тАЭ
тАЬRemember that old clich├й, generation gap? ItтАЩs here, I reckon.тАЭ Walt was looking very old.
He was tired, and seldom tried to hide it any longer. He looked up at David and said quietly,
тАЬMaybe theyтАЩre afraid of us.тАЭ
David nodded. He had thought of that. тАЬI know why Hilda did it,тАЭ he said. тАЬI didnтАЩt at the
time, but now I know.тАЭ Hilda had strangled the small girl who looked more like her every day.
тАЬMe too.тАЭ Walt pulled his notebook back from where he had pushed it when David had entered.
тАЬItтАЩs a bit spooky to walk into a crowd thatтАЩs all you, in various stages of growth. They do cling
to their own kind.тАЭ He started to write then, and David left him.
Spooky, he thought, and veered from the laboratory, where he had been heading originally.
Let the damn embryos do their thing without him. He knew he didnтАЩt want to enter because D-l or D-
2 would be there working. The D-4 strain would be the one, though, to prove or disprove the
experiment. If Four didnтАЩt make it, then chances were that Five wouldnтАЩt either, and then what? A
mistake. Whoops, wrong, sir. Sorry about that.
He climbed the ridge behind the hospital, over the cave, and sat down on an outcrop of
limestone that felt cool and smooth. The boys were clearing another field. They worked well
together, with little conversation but much laughter that seemed to arise spontaneously. A line of
girls came into view, from nearer the river; they were carrying baskets of berries. Blackberries
and gunpowder, he thought suddenly, and he remembered the ancient celebrations of the Fourth of
July, with blackberry stains and fireworks, and sulfur for the chiggers. And birds. Thrushes,
meadowlarks, warblers, purple martins.
Three Celias came into view, swinging easily with the weight of the baskets, a stair-step
succession of Celias. He shouldnтАЩt do that, he reminded himself harshly. They werenтАЩt Celias, none
of them had that name. They were Mary and Ann and something else. He couldnтАЩt remember for a