"Gene Wolfe - Peritonitis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

Peritonitis
GENE WOLFE
Now this is the story Greylock told before the Men of the Neck were
scattered forever, before the great exodus and the wandering in the cold
lands of hunger. Once (so said Greylock, my father's mother heard him)
the Men of the Neck ruled all the World and were all the world, and there
was nothing between Heel and Finger-tip that was not theirs. In those
times a virgin might dine at the Calf and drink at the Eyes and sleep
where she would and none would harm her. Then every man said
"Brother" or "Sister" when he met a child, and the old were respected.
How many were born in those times, and lived each moment of life in
those times, and dying rolled away, and never dreamed that the World
would not be thus forever? Who can say? Their spirits have gone to the
Hair. The dark followed the light for them, and the wettings came and
some perished; but this, as all knew, was good lest the People wax too
great.
I myself was born into lesser times, but even so not until even those
lesser days were nearly ended. I tell you this that you may remember, and
know in your despair that God has in times past been good. All is his, all
belongs to him alone. Never in the coming time shall you say among
yourselves that he has robbed you--what he takes is his; it cannot be
otherwise.
No man can now comprehend the joy of those times. There was no bad
food anywhere; every morsel was filled with strength, and a happiness
indescribable. When the old--yes, even as I am now--ate of that meat their
backs straightened and their eyes grew bright; then the grand-sire of a
thousand might take the goodwife beneath the shade of some soft roof.
And the children of those first times ate, and eating danced in the light,
and sang songs that came to them as they sang, one word following
another, and played a score of merry games now forgotten, games that
grandmothers only mumbled of, forgetting both the names and the rules,
even when I myself was but a child; games of running, jumping, hiding
and finding, games of hopping, climbing, and singing; games of holding
hands in chains.
Again I say, none now can know the joy of those times, and the greatest
of them was this--that every man and woman saw, as light came and dark,
then light again, and time grew heavy upon them, that that World that
was their children's children's waxed.
You do not believe me. Ah, there is no blame in that to you. How could
you, who have seen it wane all your lives, yes, and heard your fathers say
that it has waned all theirs? But it was true--larger it grew and fairer, the
warmth increasing. Then those we call still the New Mountains first began
to grow, lifting, very gently then, their slopes above the level plain.
At that time there came a change to the nature of the meat, and none
(so have I heard) could well prove whether it was for good or ill--nor can I
now say. Happiness it brought indeed, but in that happiness there were a
thousand sorrows; yet it was said by many, weeping, that it was a sweeter
joy. Then the eaters sang not, but chanted, making of the old,
mouth-smoothed words new and unfamiliar things, chants that brought
happiness or tears or terror even to those who fasted. And this was called