"R. A. MacAvoy - Damiano's Lute" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

After a moment he asked, "Is it done yet, Raphael?"
Wings clapped together in what might have been consternation. "Done, Dami? I
have scarcely begun. There are a lot of knots here, you know."
The young man dared a peek at one of the broken lines, to find that the whole
thing had been relied: the flax joined to the hemp rope with a neat series of
square knots, while the leather {which had to slide) had been linked in with a
bowline.
Damiano had to laugh. "I thought you were going tfl use magic."
There was a pause before Raphael answered. "I'm not a witch, Damiano. I don't
really possess much magic, but my... my fingers are clever enough."
Damiano took this statement for what he thought it was worth and, grinning, he
raised his hand to scratch his head.
"Ouch. Are they clever enough to get this mat out of my hair, Seraph?"
Smooth fingers felt around the elf-lock. "Well, I can certainly make some
improvement, Dami. Have you got a knife?"
The last remnants of a former vanity caused Damiano to cringe. "You mean
you'll have to cut after all?"
Damiano's Lute
27
The angel chuckled. "Yes. The harness was one thing, but this land of neglect
is another. But I think I can do it without leaving too much of a hole."
Damiano sat perched on the wagon seat, being barbered with his shaving razor.
He kept his eyes closed. Raphael did not stop when he had removed the matted
patch in the back, but took this opportunity to shape the whole head according
to his personal taste.
"Phew," spat the mortal. "Hair in my mouth. Gaspare won't know me, when I do
find him. I haven't had my hair cut since last autumn."
"Why not?" asked the angel, as black hairs floated through his stainless
radiance.
"No money," replied Damiano, but even as he spoke he knew it wasn't the truth.
Gaspare badgered him weekly to let him cut his hair in the style in which he
arranged his own orange locks. Damiano, who could not imagine himself looking
like Gaspare, had steered clear.
"Or rather, Raphael, I am beyond caring what I look like."
"Why so?" The angel's voice seemed preoccupied.
Damiano hesitated before answering. It was not a subject that made easy
conversation. "Because, Seraph, I have been told not... to expect..." His head
was gently pressed forward while attention was paid to the nape of his neck.
"... to expect to live much longer."
With absolutely no change of tone Raphael murmured, "One is told a great
number of things by a great number of people. I'd be careful whom I believed."
The razor swished near Damiano's left ear. "Besides, Dami. Even if your
appearance doesn't matter to you, it matters to the girls. The pretty girls:
they care what you look like."
Damiano jerked around and almost looked at the angel. "What kind of thing is
that for you to say? You—an angel of God!"
"Is there something wrong with girls, Dami? Why should you not want to please
them, when I know they try so hard to look pleasing to you?"
Damiano shook a great dark cloud into the air. "Have you no... no regard for
chastity, Archangel?"