"Nancy Kress - Nebula Awards Showcase 2003" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kress Nancy)

BEST SCRIPT

O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Ethan Coen and Joel Coen (Touchstone/Universal)

X-Men, Tom DeSanto and Bryan Singer (story) David Hayter (screenplay), (20th Century Fox)

(winner)Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon , James Schamus, Kuo Jung Tsai, and Hui-Ling Wang
(Sony Pictures Classics)
The Body, Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayerepisode)

SEVERNA PARK




“Severna Park” is the pseudonym of an artist in two media: ceramics and words. She lives in Maryland
with her partner of almost twenty years and makes her living teaching ceramics, but her literary output is
obviously far more than a sideline. Severna’s first novel,Speaking Dreams (1992), was a finalist for SF’s
Lambda Award. Her second novel,Hand of Prophecy (1998) was a Tiptree Award finalist.The
Annunciate (2001) made finalist for both awards. And in 2001, Severna’s short story “The Golem” was
on the final Nebula ballot.

And now, after all these finalists, Severna has won for a story about an unexpected peril of genetic
engineering. “The Cure for Everything” is notable for not only its thought-provoking story but also for its
rain forest atmosphere. Severna says that she has never actually been to the Amazon jungle, but she does
have “a well-thumbed collection ofNational Geographic s and a burning desire to dance the lambada in
Rio.” Clearly, those sufficed.

THE CURE FOR EVERYTHING
Severna Park




Maria was smoking damp cigarettes with Horace, taking a break in the humid evening, when the truck
full of wild jungle Indians arrived from Ipiranga. She heard the truck before she saw it, laboring through
the Xingu Forest Preserve.

“Are we expecting someone?” she said to Horace.

Horace shook his head, scratched his thin beard, and squinted into the forest. Diesel fumes drifted with
the scent of churned earth and cigarette smoke. The truck revved higher and lumbered through the Xingu
Indian Assimilation Center’s main gates.

Except for the details of their face paint, the Indians behind the flatbed’s fenced sides looked the same as
all the other new arrivals; tired and scared in their own stoic way, packed together on narrow benches,
everyone holding something—a baby, a drum, a cooking pot. Horace waved the driver to the right,
down the hill toward Intake. Maria stared at the Indians and they stared back like she was a three-armed
sideshow freak.