"Brian Plante - Drawn Words" - читать интересную книгу автора (Plante Brian)

paper, and they stand for things just like spoken words stand for things.
Instead of saying ‘the cow went into the barn’ I can draw a few shapes like
this." Ewen quickly sketched tiny shapes for "cow" and "barn", with a dashed
line between them, and held it up to his mother and father to see. Mairi’s
breath caught in her throat. Gow snatched the sheaf of papers away from the
boy and examined them. "Listen to me well," he said, turning them over, one by
one. "You never drew these." When he reached the end of the collection he
walked over to the fireplace and dropped the stack on the flaming logs. Ewen
started to rise when he realized what his father was doing, but Mairi held his
wrist firmly and gave him a leave-it-be look that he knew better than to
challenge. He looked to his brother for support, but Geordie knew when to stay
out of it and had quietly gone back to his basketwork. When Gow was finished
at the fireplace, he turned to face his son with a look that was more
frightened thanangry. "Ewen, you have to promise your mother and me that you
will never make these drawn words again. Never." Ewen looked over to his
mother, but she nodded in agreement. "But why? With drawn words I can make a
whole story instead of just showing one scene at a time. It’s like talking on
paper." "I know what it’s like, and I won’t allow it in this house." "But
it’s just words. What’s the harm?" Gow’s face grew very serious. "Drawn words
are against the law. It used to be called writing, and it has been banned for
over a century." "Writing," Ewen repeated, trying out the unfamiliar word.
"Well, couldn’t I just make the . . . writing . . . for myself? Nobody else
has to see them." "No. Absolutely not. Do you know what they do to people who
write?" "I didn’t even know there was such a thing as writing, so how could I
know what the penalty is?" "Don’t talk back to your father," Mairi said, a
trickle of tears beginning in both eyes. "Writing is a serious offense, with
grave consequences," Gow said. Ewen stared at his father. "For drawing words?
But it’s a good thing, isn’t it? Stories could be saved on paper instead of
having to remember them. People could trade stories like they trade vegetables
and crafts. What’s wrong with that?" "People used to do just that sort of
thing all the time before the Holy War," Gow said. "Men used writing to
remember things that were best forgotten, and bartered the sweat of their brow
for scraps of paper with writing on them. Writing caused our ancestors nothing
but grief, and it was a blessing when their wicked society was
destroyed." Ewen was beginning to cry. "B-b-but I just wanted to draw good
words about the farm, and you, and mother. Words aren’t evil!" Gow put his
hands on Ewen’s shoulders and looked him squarely in the eyes, "Ewen, you have
to promise me from now on that you will only make proper drawings, or else we
just won’t be able to barter for any more paper for you. Is that
clear?" "Yes, sir," Ewen said. He couldn’t imagine not having any more paper
to work on. "Do I have your word on it?" "I g-guess so." "Good. Now why
don’t you draw us a nice, normal chicken with feathers and such?" Gow said,
handing Ewen a fresh sheet of the precious paper. Ewen began working on a
meticulously accurate rendering of a Dorking fowl in the barnyard, being extra
careful to capture even the most minute of details. No one could argue that
the drawing skimped in any way, it was so lifelike. In the background, a
chopping block and ax were plainly visible, but the happy chicken seemed
oblivious to the danger. * * * Ewen tried to keep his promise, but drawing
objects the way they appeared in life no longer interested him. For every
three conventional drawings he made, mostly to be traded away in town for