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

“Yes, I saw that, but…”

“Ah. Our country is an island nation. We are living in the Bay of Bengal, near the mouth of the Ganges.”

“I see,” Anna said, surprised; she had thought they would be from somewhere in the Himalayas. “I
hadn’t heard of it.”

“It is not a big island. Nation status has been a recent development, you could say. Only now are we
establishing a representation.”

“Good idea. Although, to tell the truth, I’m surprised to see an embassy in here. I didn’t think of this as
being the right kind of space.”

“We chose it very carefully,” the young monk said.

They regarded each other.

“Well,” Anna said, “very interesting. Good luck moving in. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thank you.” Again he nodded.

Anna did the same and took her leave.

But as she turned to go, something caused her to look back. The young monk still stood there in the
doorway, looking across at the pizza place, his face marked by a tiny grimace of distress.

Anna recognized the expression at once. When her older son Nick was born she had stayed home with
him, and those first several months of his life were a kind of blur to her. She had missed her work, and
doing it from home had not been possible. By the time maternity leave was over they had clearly needed
her at the office, and so she had started working again, sharing the care of Nick with Charlie and some
baby-sitters, and eventually a day-care center in a building in Bethesda, near the Metro stop. At first
Nick had cried furiously whenever she left for any reason, which she found excruciating; but then he had
seemed to get used to it. And so did she, adjusting as everyone must to the small pains of the daily
departure. It was just the way it was.

Then one day she had taken Nick down to the day-care center—it was the routine by then—and he
didn’t cry when she said good-bye, didn’t even seem to care or to notice. But for some reason she had
paused to look back into the window of the place, and there on his face she saw a look of unhappy,
stoical determination—determination not to cry, determination to get through another long lonely boring
day—a look which on the face of a toddler was simply heartbreaking. It had pierced her like an arrow.
She had cried out involuntarily, even started to rush back inside to take him in her arms and comfort him.
Then she reconsidered how another good-bye would affect him, and with a horrible wrenching feeling, a
sort of despair at all the world, she had left.

Now here was that very same look again, on the face of this young man. Anna stopped in her tracks,
feeling again that stab from five years before. Who knew what had caused these people to come halfway
around the world? Who knew what they had left behind?

She walked back over to him.

He saw her coming, composed his features. “Yes?”