"George Zebrowski - Wound the Wind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zebrowski George)

my team recruit, тАЬwe're sure to see the main group.тАЭ

тАЬWhy тАШsure'?тАЭ he asked, peering through the shimmering heat, face shadowed by the wide brim of his
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hat.

тАЬBecause they've been in their plot of forest a long time now, living off the wildlife. They have to move.тАЭ

тАЬQuite right,тАЭ he said, then was quiet for a while, reluctant to say whatever he wanted to say to me, as if
the heat were trying to squeeze an unwelcome thought out of him. I felt his rivalry with me, but he seemed
only distantly aware of his feelings.

тАЬWhy bother,тАЭ he said finally. тАЬThey don't want our help. Never did.тАЭ

There were such pockets left all over the world, of people who still didn't want to live on beyond the old
human lifespans, as we did, making up our lives as we went along as we tried to mold the indefinite
futures. It was hard for the majority to which I now belonged to see why these backwards hid from us,
why they didn't greet us with open arms.

тАЬThey don't want us,тАЭ O'Connor said again, this time with a hint of reproach in his voice.

тАЬThen why are you here?тАЭ I asked, thinking of the strange missionary I had become, bringing the gospel
of longlife back to the nature dwellers.

тАЬNo ... why areyou here?тАЭ he mumbled, hiding under his hat. тАЬYou've been at this longer than I have.тАЭ

I knew why. I had always known why. тАЬIt may trouble you to understand,тАЭ I said, тАЬbut their existence
still tells us who we are. It makes us think about who they are, and why they are here, and why we have
left them behind.тАЭ

He squinted at me from under his brim. тАЬAnd that's your reason?тАЭ

тАЬOne of them. There is strength in these people that we should not lose.тАЭ

тАЬPretty abstract. I thought that somehow ... you cared, emotionally, I mean.тАЭ

тАЬI do.тАЭ

тАЬI don't see the care in your face,тАЭ he said.

тАЬThey're like us, as most of us were not so long ago. Still more like us than not.тАЭ

I looked out across the veldt to the forest that sat halfway to the horizon as if it had been driven to clump
there by the arid emptiness of the plain. Behind his show of detachment, O'Connor probably cared too
much, or too little. I couldn't tell which. Like most of us, he had too much life ahead of him to be
disturbed by anything near-term.