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

and sipped the cool blueness of his Martian julep. тАЬWhy is she impossible?тАЭ
тАЬBecause sheтАЩs not a woman,тАЭ Lelia said. тАЬSheтАЩs a symbol.тАЭ
тАЬA symbol of what?тАЭ
тАЬIтАФI donтАЩt know. Anyway, sheтАЩs not human. SheтАЩs too beautiful, too perfect.
SheтАЩs a criterion, really.тАЭ
тАЬYou look just like her,тАЭ Marten said.
She dropped her eyes then, and for a while she was silent. Presently:
тАЬThereтАЩs an ancient clich├й that bears mentioning at this point,тАЭ she said:
тАЬ тАШIтАЩll bet you tell that to all the girlsтАФтАЩ But somehow I donтАЩt think you
do.тАЭ
тАЬYouтАЩre right,тАЭ Marten said. тАЬI donтАЩt.тАЭ Then: тАЬItтАЩs so close in here, canтАЩt
we go walking somewhere?тАЭ
тАЬAll right.тАЭ
Old York was an anachronism kept alive by a handful of literati who doted
on the prestige lent by old buildings, old streets and old ways of life. It
was a grim, canyonesque grotesquerie compared to its pretty new cousin on
Mars; but during the years, parts of it had taken on some of the coloring and
some of the atmosphere once associated with the Left Bank of Paris, and if the
season was spring and you were falling in love, Old York was a lovely place in
which to be.
They walked through the dreaming desuetude of ancient avenues, in the cool
shadows of buildings mellowed by the passage of time. They lingered in the
wilderness of Central Park, and the sky was blue with spring, the trees
adorned with the pale greenness of nascent leaves. . . . It had been the
loveliest of afternoons and, afterward, the loveliest of evenings. The stars
had never shone so brightly, nor had the moon ever been so full, the hours so
swift, the minutes so sweet. MartenтАЩs head had been light, seeing Lelia home,
his footsteps unsteady; but it wasnтАЩt till later, sitting on his apartment
steps, that he had realized how hungry he was, and simultaneously realized
that he hadnтАЩt eaten a morsel of food since morning. . . .

Deep in the alien night, Marten stirred, awakened. The strange star
patterns shocked him for a moment, and then he remembered where he was and
what he was going to do. Sleep tiptoed back around him and he turned dreamily
in the warmth of his electronic cocoon. Freeing one arm, he reached out till
his fingers touched the reassuring surface of the star-kissed cliff. He
sighed.

III

Dawn wore a pink dress and crept across the land like a timid girl. Her
sister Morning followed, dressed in blue, the sun a dazzling locket on her
breast.
There was a tightness in Marten, a tightness compounded of anticipation and
dread. He did not permit himself to think. Methodically he ate his
concentrated breakfast, packed his sleeping bag. Then he began a systematic
examination of the VirginтАЩs chin.
In the morning light, the cliff did not seem nearly so awesome as it had
the night before. But its pitch had not varied, nor had its sheer, smooth
surface. Marten was both relieved and chagrined.