"Ellen Datlow - SciFiction Originals vol 3" - читать интересную книгу автора (Datlow Ellen)

Twice she had pulled it off, and twice Kind Lips had replaced it, each time making signs with her fingers.
There were signs she could read and signs she couldn't. The signs that stood for her, the single finger to the
lips followed by the downward-held fist, she could read. The man in white who made the cooking smells and
banged the huge silver pots said the signs said "Silent Her." She did not believe him because no one had
such a silly name.
Kind Lips wasn't making those signs. Kind Lips was holding up fingers, holding down fingers, making fists,
and looking very worried. She thought Kind Lips was playing, so she reached out and pulled the veil from her
head once again. She laughed without voice as Kind Lips sat back upon her heels.
She felt a hard slap upon her buttocks. It stung and she cried. The veil was placed upon her head by an
unseen hand, and she cried as she saw the tall one in white dusting off his hands as he went back to the
sink. The one in white had a word-name, and it was Onan. The other man, Nabil, had called him that.
Onan turned and looked down at Kind Lips. "It's the only way Silent'll ever learn." Onan dried his hands
and returned to the huge silver pots he was supervising as he gave orders to three helpers with names and
four helpers without names.
Kind Lips reached within the folds of her black dress and withdrew something. She held it out, but the one
whose name was a finger held to the lips followed by a downward-held fist could only look through her tears
and hold her hands upon her bottom.
After a moment she sniffed and looked at the object in Kind Lips's hand. It was a beautiful golden thing
with a six-pointed star enclosing a cross with a curved point on the bottom. There was a thin golden chain
with it. She wanted to look at it more closely and she drew it beneath her veil. It was so shiny. Kind Lips
reached beneath the child's veil and put the chain around the child's neck.
"If you keep giving that brat presents every time it gets paddled, she'll never learn anything."
Kind Lips stood up and walked away. Onan stirred at a pot and soured up his face as he said,
"Fuzzywriggles! May the Messengers carry word of my suffering."
He took a wooden spoon and dipped it into one of the silver pots. Bringing the spoon out, he sniffed at it,
wrinkled up his nose, and blew upon it.
"Here, girl." Onan lifted the front of her veil and touched the spoon to her lips. She tasted the hot liquid and
it was sharp-flavored, but sweet. It filled her nose with heady aromas.
"I guess you like it. I suppose it's all right then for the Fuzzywriggles." He placed the spoon in a drip boat
and went to a counter where he began chopping things with his huge, wicked-looking knife. In the middle of
his chopping, he stopped and glared at her.
"Girl, have you ever laid eyes on one of those fuzzywriggles?"
She shook her head.
Onan nodded. "You pray from Abraham to Kamil that you never meet one. They eat little girls."
She shook her head. That was too horrible to be true. No one ate little girls.
The cook raised his eyebrows. "We can't keep a veil on her head, and now she questions a man's word.
You have Magda's salt in you, and that's the truth."
Onan dried his hands on a cloth and said, "Come with me, girl. I'll show you what the fuzzywriggles eat."
He went to another counter. "You see, tonight your father is entertaining many important men, including
his friend the new first minister, Mikael Yucel." His hands swept together some things on the counter. He
glanced over his shoulder at the girl. "There'll be five fuzzywriggles there, too, and I've been given my orders to
feed 'em proper."
He swung around and held out a handful of silky brown threads. He thrust the bundle into her face and
shouted, "Hair! This is hair, girl! Dozens of pigtails I had to lop off the heads of little girls before I boil 'em up!"
The cook leered as he said, "The fuzzywriggles can't abide the hair, see? It makes the eyeballs hard to
digest."
He bellowed out his laughter as she crawled between the hot iron ranges to a place dark and safe next to
the wall. With Onan still laughing at his fine joke, she noticed a number of the fine brown strands on the
polished stone floor. She crept between the hot ranges until she could reach out a hand and pinch up a bit of
the hair.