"Kathleen Ann Goonan - The Bones of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goose Mother)

The world seemed to recede. The Korean restaurant across the
street, an old Japanese man carrying a net bag of groceries half a
block ahead of her, the sky-filling mountains rising sharply straight
ahead, the shriek and clatter of the garbage truck were all blurred
and distant. Drenched with sweat, she grabbed at a half-rotten
fencepost next to her, which crunched and gave slightly as she
leaned against it, breathing hard. The pain was like nothing she
had felt before. She saw a line of dark blood running down the
inside of her thigh, below her shorts; one drop fell onto the
sidewalk.
Almost hidden behind thick mango trees was one of the tiny
frame houses like Nana’s, built ages ago for immigrant workers.
But Nana’s was utterly neat and trim, square and painted gray with
glossy black trim. This one looked haunted—unpainted, with a
crooked porch. The rest of the house was concealed by a tiny, private
jungle. Red and yellow hibiscus rioted through vines that hung from
mimosas, still wet from the morning shower. Not a patch of lawn
was visible.
Lynn tried to straighten. She pushed open the gate hanging
crooked from the decrepit picket fence and forced herself to walk up
the overgrown concrete walk. She was on the first step when the
screen door swung open and slammed against the house.
Dizzy with pain, Lynn stared. The Bach was still playing. Lynn
yanked off her sunglasses and threw them down. They clattered on
the steps.
The beautiful boy seemed so perfect he must be a vision. His skin
was a deep golden brown. His eyes were large and intelligent,
fringed with long black lashes. Curly dark hair framed his oval
face. He wore a pair of loose white shorts and his feet were bare. His
body, too, was perfect—smooth and unblemished, as lovely in
proportion as a living statue, framed by yellow-flowering vines that
wandered across the weathered boards around the door. She thought
he must be fifteen or sixteen.
His eyes widened as he looked down and saw Lynn’s shoes, now
splattered with blood.
Her impressions took only seconds. The pain seized her again.
“Call an ambulance,” Lynn said and sank onto the step. “I’m
having a miscarriage.” When the boy just stood there in seeming
shock she yelled, “Hurry! Is there anyone else here?” She tried to
stand, but could not straighten up and staggered to the door,
shoving the boy aside. She shouted down the dark corridor,
“Anybody home?”
First an old man, then a younger woman, emerged from different
doors in the hallway. In the dim light, they looked at each other, at
her, and then toward the front door where the boy still stood.
“Get in here!” the woman said, her black hair falling almost to
the back of her knees, longer than her yellow muu-muu. “What were
you thinking of?” She rushed past Lynn.
The boy said, “But she’s hurt.”
“I need an ambulance,” said Lynn. “Please.”