"Elizabeth Moon. The Speed of Dark " - читать интересную книгу автора

that way. But feeling my ears stuffed up doesn't help me see better.
Don swaggers out, epee tucked under his arm, buttoning his fancy
leather doublet. Sometimes I wish I had one like that, but I think I do
better with plain things.
"Did you stretch?" Lucia asks him.
He shrugs. "Enough."
She shrugs back. "Your pain," she says. She and Cindy start fencing. I
like to watch them and try to figure out what they're doing. It's all so
fast I have trouble following it, but so do normal people.
"Hi, Lou," Marjory says, from behind me, I feel warm and light, as if
there were less gravity. For a moment I squeeze my eyes shut. She is
beautiful, but it is hard to look at her.
"Hi, Marjory," I say, and turn around. She is smiling at me. Her face
is shiny. That used to bother me, when people were very happy and their
faces got shiny, because angry people also get shiny faces and I could not
be sure which it was. My parents tried to show me the difference, with the
position of eyebrows and so on, but I finally figured out that the best way
to tell was the outside corners of the eyes. Marjory's shiny face is a
happy face. She is happy to see me, and I am happy to see her.
I worry about a lot of things, though, when I think about Marjory. Is
autism contagious? Can she catch it from me? She won't like it if she does.
I know it's not supposed to be catching, but they say if you hang around
with a group of people, you'll start thinking like them. If she hangs
around me, will she think like me? I don't want that to happen to her. If
she were born like me it would be fine, but someone like her shouldn't
become like me. I don't think it will happen, but I would feel guilty if it
did. Sometimes this makes me want to stay away from her, but mostly I want
to be with her more than I am.
"Hi, Marj," Don says. His face is even shinier now. He thinks she is
pretty, too. I know that what I feel is called jealousy; I read it in a
book. It is a bad feeling, and it means that I am too controlling. I step
back, trying not to be too controlling, and Don steps forward. Marjory is
looking at me, not at Don.
"Want to play?" Don says, nudging me with his elbow. He means do I
want to fence with him. I did not understand that at first. Now I do. I
nod, silently, and we go to find a place where we can line up.
Don does a little flick with his wrist, the way he starts every bout,
and I counter it automatically. We circle each other, feinting and
parrying, and then I see his arm droop from the shoulder. Is this another
feint? It's an opening, at least, and I lunge, catching him on the chest.
"Got me," he says. "My arm's really sore."
"I'm sorry," I say. He works his shoulder, then suddenly leaps forward
and strikes at my foot. He's done this before; I move back quickly and he
doesn't get me. After I get him three more times, he heaves a great sigh
and says he's tired. That's fine with me; I would rather talk to Marjory.
Max and Tom move out to the space we were using. Lucia has stopped to rest;
Cindy is lined up with Susan.
Marjory is sitting beside Lucia now; Lucia is showing her some
pictures. One of Lucia's hobbies is photography. I take off my mask and
watch them. Marjory's face is broader than Lucia's. Don gets between me and