"Jane Yolen - The White Babe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yolen Jane)

Hush little mountain cat,
Sleep in your den,
IтАЩll sing of your mother
Who cradled Fair Jen.

IтАЩll sing of your mother
Who covered JenтАЩs skin.
Flesh of your flesh
Did sweet Jenna lay in.

Sleep, little catkin,
Perchance you shall dream
Of rabbit and pheasant
And trout in the stream.

But Jenna will dream
Of the dark and the light
Your mother will shelter her
From the cold night.


The Story:
 There were cradles scattered around the Great Hall, some of oak with the grain running like rivers to
the sea, and some of white pine, so soft the marks of a babyтАЩs nails could be seen, like runes, on the
headboards.
But for some reason Selna did not put the child in any of them. She kept it on her breast when she
showed it in the Great Hall and all the rest of the day, hoping the steady beat of her heart would comfort
it.
It was not unusual for a new fosterling to be kept, swaddled, at one breast or another. The women of
AltaтАЩs-hame shared the care of them, though Selna had never before shown any interest in fostering. The
stink of the babes and their high, cranky crying had always put her off. But this one was different. She
smelled not of sour milk and spittle but of mountain cat, moonshine, and blackthorn, that being the tree
she had been wedged in when the cat had struck her mother. She had cried only twice, each time at a
death, which Selna thought an omen. Surely the child must be hungry or fearful or cold. Selna was ready
to put her away at the first sign of fretting. But the babe had stared at her with eyes the color of a spring
sky, as if reading her very soul. And so Selna had kept her heart to heart far into the morning. By then
everyone had noticed and commented so that she could notтАФfor fear of being shamedтАФlet her small
burden go. Physical abuse had never bothered Selna. Indeed she was proud of her ability to withstand
the worst punishments. She was always in the forefront of any battleline, she was the last to the fire, the
first into a cold stream. But she could never stand the tauntings of the women in her Hame.
By mid morning, though, the child was hungry and let her know with small pipings, like a chick in the
henyard. She fed the babe as best she could with one of the Eastern bottles so prized by the kitcheners.
Both she and the babe were thoroughly splattered in the process, and so Selna took the child down to
the baths, heated the water well below her usual steaming, and holding the naked child against her own
bare shoulder, plunged in.
At the waterтАЩs touch, the child cooed contentedly and fell asleep. Selna sat on the third step of the
bath so that only their heads showed above the water. She stayed until her fingers had wrinkled and the
water began to grow chill and her hand around the child cramped. Then she got out reluctantly, dried the
sleeping babe, and wrapped toweling around herself for the long walk back to her room. This time there
were no comments even though she passed many of her hamemates. Whether she willed it or not, the