"Brin, David - Natulife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

Gaia emerged from her closet wearing a bright cotton shift over her blossoming
figure, sorting through a cloth bag slung over one shoulder. "Where are you
going?" I tried asking, but the life-sized matron on the wall was doubly loud.

" . . . we should eat like our ancestors, who caught meat but twice a week or
so. All other food was gathered by skilled women . . . . "

I tugged Gaia's elbow, repeating my question. She startled, then smiled at me.
"NatuBirth class, Sweetheart. Lots to learn before I'm ready. Just two months
left, you know."

"But I thought . . . "

" . . . Fats and sweets were rare back then, hence our cravings. Now
self-discipline must take the place of scarcity -- "

I shouted. "Computer! Shut off that noise!"

The priestess's mouth moved silently. Gaia looked reproving.

"I don't like being left out," I complained.

Gaia stroked my face. "Oh Toms, don't be off-baud. We're just covering nest and
birthing methods, tonight. A man would be bored."

Hm. Maybe. Femismo says there are some things men can't understand. Quite a
shift from the way old-fashioned feminism preached sharing all life's duties. My
dad used to proudly tell of cutting the cord, the day I was born. I kind of
liked that idea, but now they call it unnatural. Birth has always been a female
ritual. That's what they say.

"You just stay home, be good, and . . . " Gaia pressed against me,
affectionately, her eyes lighting. "You had a good hunt, didn't you? I can tell.
It always leaves you frisky."

I pulled away. "Mph. Go to class, then. I'll be okay."

She tiptoed to kiss my chin. "Look by the console for a present . . . something
to show I haven't forgotten you." Gala blew another kiss from the front door,
and was gone.

I wandered over to the master house controller and picked up a brightly colored
program plaq, still tacky where Gaia must have peeled off a discount sticker
from the NatuLife Store. Something for the Hunter, the title read, and I
snorted. Right. Something to keep the man of the house distracted beating drums
with a bunch of make-believe comrades, while a wife's attention turns to serious
matters -- nesting and the continuity of life. The blyware gift might have been
meant as a loving gesture, but right then it made me feel superfluous, more left
out than ever.