"Kim Stanley Robinson - Forty Signs of Rain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

The old man stepped free of the group and bowed to the four walls of the atrium, his hands held together
before him. He dipped his chin and sang, his chant as low as any of the horns, and split into two notes,
with a resonant head tone distinctly audible over the deep clear bass, all very surprising coming out of
such a slight man. Singing thus, he walked to the doorway of the travel agency and there touched the
doorjambs on each side, exclaiming something sharp each time.

“Rig yal ba! Chos min gon pa!”

The others all exclaimed“Jetsun Gyatso!”

The old man bowed to them.

And then they all cried“Om!” and filed into the little office space, the brassmen angling their long horns to
make it in the door.

A young monk came back out. He took a small rectangular card from the loose sleeve of his robe,
pulled some protective backing from sticky strips on the back of the card, and affixed it carefully to the
window next to the door. Then he retreated inside.

Anna approached the window. The little sign said

EMBASSY OF KHEMBALUNG

An embassy! And a country she had never heard of, not that that was particularly surprising, new
countries were popping up all the time, they were one of the UN’s favorite dispute-settlement strategies.
Perhaps a deal had been cut in some troubled part of Asia, and this Khembalung created as a result.

But no matter where they were from, this was a strange place for an embassy. It was very far from
Massachusetts Avenue’s ambassadorial stretch of unlikely architecture, unfamiliar flags, and expensive
landscaping; far from Georgetown, Dupont Circle, Adams-Morgan, Foggy Bottom, East Capitol Hill, or
any of the other likely haunts for locating a respectable embassy. Not just Arlington, but the NSF building
no less!

Maybe it was a scientific country.

Pleased at the thought, pleased to have something new in the building, Anna approached closer still. She
tried to read some small print she saw at the bottom of the new sign.

The young man who had put out the sign reappeared. He had a round face, a shaved head, and a quick
little mouth, like Betty Boop’s. His expressive black eyes met hers directly.

“Can I help you?” he said, in what sounded to her like an Indian accent.

“Yes,” Anna said. “I saw your arrival ceremony, and I was just curious. I was wondering where you all
come from.”

“Thank you for your interest,” the youth said politely, ducking his head and smiling. “We are from
Khembalung.”