"When I Was Miss Dow by Sonya Dorman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nebula Award Stories 2)

"Dr. Proctor," I ask him one morning. "Is it possible for
you to radiograph my koota? She's very fine, from the fastest
stock available, and I'd like to breed her."
"Yes, yes, of course," he promises with his quick, often
absent, smile. "By all means. You wish to breed only the
best." It's typical of him to assume we're all as dedicated as
he.
My Uncle's not pleased. "There's nothing wrong with your
koota," he says. "What do you want to X-ray her for?
Suppose he finds something is wrong? You'll be afraid to race
or breed her, and she won't be replaced. Besides, your interest
in her may make him suspicious."
"Suspicious of what?" I ask, but my Uncle won't say, so I
ask him, "Suppose she's bred and her pups are cripples?"
The Warden says, "You're supposed to have your mind on
your work, not on racing. The koota was just to amuse you
when you were younger,"
I lean down and stroke her head, which is beautiful, and
she breathes a deep and gentle breath in response.
"Oh, let him go," my Uncle says wearily. He's getting
disgusted because they didn't intend for me to bury myself in
a laboratory or a computer room, without making more
important contacts. But a scholar is born with a certain
temperament, and has an introspective nature, and as I'm
destined to eventually replace the Warden, naturally I prefer
the life of the mind.
"I must say," my Uncle remarks, "you look the image of a
Terran female. Is the work interesting?"
"Oh, yes, fascinating," I reply, and he snorts at my lie,
since we both know it's dull and routine, and most of the time
is spent working out the connections between my two brain
lobes, which still present me with some difficulty.
My koota bitch is subjected to a pelvic radiograph. After-
wards, I stand on my heels in the small, darkened cubicle,
looking at the film on the viewing screen. There he stands,
too, with his cheekbones emerald in the peculiar light, and his
hair, which is silver in daylight, looks phosphorescent. I resist
this. I am resisting this Doctor with the X-ray eyes who can
examine my marrow with ease. He sees Martha's marrow,
every perfect corpuscle of it.
You can't imagine how comforting it is to be so transpar-
ent. There's no need to pretend, adjust, advance, retreat or
discuss the oddities of my planet. We are looking at the X-ray
film of my prized racer and companion to determine the
soundness of her hip joints, yet I suspect the Doctor, platinum-
green and tall as a tower, is piercing my reality with his
educated gaze. He can see the blood flushing my surfaces. I
don't need to do a thing but stand up straight so the crease of
fat at my waist won't distort my belly button, the center of it
all.