"Robert F. Young - Goddess in Granite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

overall color of the VirginтАЩs body remained the sameтАФa grayish-white,
permeated with pink, startlingly suggestive of a certain hue of human skin.
Marten found himself thinking of her sculptors, and for the thousandth time
he speculated as to why they had sculptured her. In many ways, the problem
resembled such Earth enigmas as the Egyptian pyramids, the Sacsahuaman
Fortress, and the Baalbek Temple of the Sun. For one thing, it was just as
irresolvable, and probably always would be, for the ancient race that had once
inhabited Alpha Virginis IX had either died out centuries ago, or had migrated
to the stars. In either case, they had left no written records behind them.
Basically, however, the two enigmas were different. When you contemplated
the pyramids, the Fortress, and the Temple of the Sun, you did not wonder why
they had been builtтАФyou wondered how they had been built. With the Virgin, the
opposite held true. She had begun as a natural phenomenonтАФan enormous
geological upheavalтАФand actually all her sculptors had done, herculean though
their labor had undoubtedly been, was to add the finishing touches and install
the automatic subterranean pumping system that, for centuries, had supplied
her artificial lakes of eyes with water from the sea.
And perhaps therein lay the answer, Marten thought. Perhaps their only
motivation had been a desire to improve upon nature. There certainly wasnтАЩt
any factual basis for the theosophical, sociological, and psychological
motivations postulated by half a hundred Earth anthropologists (none of whom
had ever really seen her) in half a hundred technical volumes. Perhaps the
answer was as simple as that. . . .
The southern reaches of the shoulder-slope were less eroded than the
central and northern reaches, and Marten edged closer and closer to the south
rim. He had a splendid view of the VirginтАЩs left side, and he stared,
fascinated, at the magnificent purple-shadowed escarpment stretching away to
the horizon. Five miles from its juncture with the shoulder-slope it dwindled
abruptly to form her waist; three miles farther on it burgeoned out to form
her left hip; then, just before it faded into the lavender distances, it
blended into the gigantic curve of her thigh.
The shoulder was not particularly steep, yet his chest was tight, his lips
dry, when he reached the summit. He decided to rest for a while, and he
removed his pack and sat down and propped his back against it. He raised his
canteen to his lips and took a long cool draught. He lit another cigarette.
From his new eminence he had a much better view of the VirginтАЩs head, and
he gazed at it spellbound. The mesa of her face was still hidden from him, of
courseтАФexcept for the lofty tip of her granite nose; but the details of her
cheek and chin stood out clearly. Her cheekbone was represented by a rounded
spur, and the spur blended almost imperceptibly with the chamfered rim of her
cheek. Her proud chin was a cliff in its own right, falling sheerlyтАФmuch too
sheerly, Marten thoughtтАФto the graceful ridge of her neck.
Yet, despite her sculptorsтАЩ meticulous attention to details, the Virgin,
viewed from so close a range, fell far short of the beauty and perfection they
had intended. That was because you could see only part of her at a time: her
cheek, her hair, her breasts, the distant contour of her thigh. But when you
viewed her from the right altitude, the effect was altogether different. Even
from a height of ten miles, her beauty was perceptible; at 75,000 feet, it was
undeniable. But you had to go higher yetтАФhad to find the exact level, in
factтАФbefore you could see her as her sculptors had meant her to be seen.