"Walter Jon Williams - Prayers On The Wind (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

To be reincarnated as humans, with the possibility of Enlightenment. "We will dispose of the bodies, if you prefer," Jigme said.
"They dishonored their masters," said !urq. "You may do what you like with them."
As Jigme and the Ambassador walked through the snowy streets toward the Punishment Grounds, they were met with grins and waves from the population, who were getting ready for the New Year celebration. !urq acknowledged the greetings with graceful nods of her antennae. Once the population heard what had just happened, Jigme thought, the reception might well be different.
"I will send monks to collect the bodies. We will cut them up and expose them on hillsides for the vultures, Afterward their bones will be collected and perhaps turned into useful implements."
"In my nation," !urq said, "that would be considered an insult."
"The bodies will nourish the air and the earth," said Jigme. "What finer kind of death could there be?"
"Elementary. A glorious death in service to the state."
Two Masker servants, having met several times with a Jesuit acting apparнently without orders from his superiors, had announced their conversion to Buddhism. !urq had promptly denounced the two as spies and had them shot out of hand. The missionary had been ordered whipped by the superiors in his Order. !urq wanted to be on hand for it.
Jigme could anticipate the public reaction. Shakyamuni had strictly forbidнden the taking of life. The people would be enraged. It might be unwise for the Sang to be seen in public for the next few days, particularly during the New Year Festival, when a large percentage of the population would be drunk.
Jigme and the Ambassador passed by a row of criminals in the stocks. Offerings of flowers, food, and money were piled up below them, given by the compassionate population. Another criminal--a murderer, probably--shackled in leg irons for life, approached with his begging bowl. Jigme gave him some money and passed on.
"Your notions of punishment would be considered far from enlightened in my nation," !urq said. "Flogging, branding, putting people in chains! We would consider that savage."
"We punish only the body," Jigme said. "We always allow an opportunity for the spirit to reform. Death without Enlightenment can only result in a return to endless cycles of reincarnation."
"A clean death is always preferable to bodily insult. And a lot of your flogging victims die afterward."
"But they do not die during the flogging."
"Yet they die in agony, because your whips tear their backs apart."
"Pain," said Jigme, "can be transcended."
"Sometimes "!urq said, antennae twitching "you humans are terrifying and I say this in absolute and admiring sincerity."
There were an unusual number of felons today, since the authorities wanted to empty the holding cells before the New Year. The Jesuit was among them--a calm, bearded, black-skinned man stripped to the waist, waiting to be lashed to the triangle. Jigme could see that he was deep in a meditative trance.
Suddenly the gray sky darkened. People looked up and pointed. Some fell down in obeisance, others bowed and thrust out their tongues.
The Incarnation was overhead, sitting on a wide hovercraft, covered with red paint and hammered gold, that held a small platform and throne. He sat in a full lotus, his elfin form dressed only in a light yellow robe. Snow melted on his shoulders and cheeks.
The proceedings halted for a moment while everyone waited for the Incarнnation to say something, but at an impatient gesture from the floating throne things got under way. The floggings went efficiently, sometimes more than one going on at once. The crowd succored many of the victims with money or offers of food or medicine. There was another slight hesitation as the Jesuit was brought forward--perhaps the Incarnation would comment on, or stay, the punishment of someone who had been trying to spread his faith--but from the Incarnation came only silence. The Jesuit absorbed his twenty lashes without comment, was taken away by his cohorts. To be praised and promoted, if Jigme knew the Jesuits.
The whipping went on. Blood spattered the platform. Finally there was only one convict remaining, a young monk of perhaps seventeen in a dirty, torn zen. He was a big lad, broad-shouldered and heavily-muscled, with a malformed head and a peculiar brutal expression--at once intent and unfoнcused, as if he knew he hated something but couldn't be bothered to decide exactly what it was. His body was possessed by constant, uncontrollable tics and twitches. He was surrounded by police with staves. Obviously they considered him dangerous.
An official read off the charges. Kyetsang Kunlegs had killed his guru, then set fire to the dead man's hermitage in hopes of covering his crime. He was sentenced to six hundred lashes and to be shackled for life. Jigme susнpected he would not get much aid from the crowd afterward; most of them were reacting with disgust.
"Stop," said the Incarnation. Jigme gaped. The floating throne was moving forward. It halted just before Kunlegs. The murderer's guards stuck out their tongues but kept their eyes on the killer.
"Why did you kill your guru?" the Incarnation asked.
Kunlegs stared at him and twitched, displaying nothing but fierce hatred. He gave no answer.
The Incarnation laughed. "That's what I thought," he said. "Will you be my disciple if I remit your punishment?"
Kunlegs seemed to have difficulty comprehending this. His belligerent expression remained unaltered. Finally he just shrugged. A violent twitch made the movement grotesque.
The Incarnation lowered his throne. "Get on board," he said. Kunlegs stepped onto the platform. The Incarnation rose from his lotus, adjusted the man's garments, and kissed him on the lips. They sat down together.
"Short Path," said the Incarnation. The throne sped at once for the Library Palace.
Jigme turned to the Ambassador. !urq had watched without visible expresнsion.
"Terrifying," she said. "Absolutely terrifying."

Jigme sat with the other Cabinet members in a crowded courtyard of the Palace. The Incarnation was about to go through the last of the rituals required before his investiture as the Gyalpo Rinpoche. Six learned elders of six different religious orders would engage the Incarnation in prolonged debate. If he did well against them, he would be formally enthroned and take the reins of government.
The Incarnation sat on a platform-throne opposite the six. Behind him, gazing steadily with his expression of misshapen, twitching brutality, was the murderer Kyetsang Kunlegs.
The first elder rose. He was a Sufi, representing a three-thousand-year-old
intellectual tradition. He stuck out his tongue and took a formal stance. "What is the meaning of Dharma?" he began.
"I'll show you," said the Incarnation, although the question had obviously been rhetorical. The Incarnation opened his mouth, and a demon the size of a bull leapt out. Its flesh was pale as dough and covered with running sores. The demon seized the Sufi and flung him to the ground, then sat on his chest. The sound of breaking bones was audible.
Kyetsang Kunlegs opened his mouth and laughed, revealing huge yellow teeth.
The demon rose and advanced toward the five remaining elders, who fled in disorder.
"I win," said the Incarnation.
Kunlegs' laughter broke like obscene bubbles over the stunned audience. "Short Path," said the Incarnation.

"Such a shame," said the Ambassador. Firelight flickered off her ebon feaнtures. "How many man-years of work has gone into it all? And by morning it'll be ashes."
"Everything comes to an end," said Jigme. "If the floats are not destroyed tonight, they would be gone in a year. If not a year, ten years. If not ten years, a century. If not a century..."
"I quite take your point, Rinpoche," said !urq. "Only the Buddha is eternal."
"So I gather."
The crowd assembled on the roof of the Library Palace gasped as another of the floats on Burning Hill went up in flames. This one was made of figures from the opera, who danced and sang and did combat with one another until, burning, they came apart on the wind.
Jigme gratefully took a glass of hot tea from a servant and warmed his hands. The night was clear but bitterly cold. The floating throne moved silently overhead, and Jigme stuck out his tongue in salute. The Gyalpo Rinpoche, in accordance with the old Oracle's instructions, had assumed his title that afternoon.
"Jigme Dzasa, "may I speak with you?" A soft voice at his elbow, that of the former Regent.