"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Dancers Like Children" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

didn't move. The Dancers smelled of cinnamon and something tangy, something I
couldn't identify. The bumps on my scalp burned as the Dancers touched them. I
wanted to move my head away, but I didn't.
I heard whistling and low hums. The sounds seemed to follow a pattern,
and felt, after a moment, as familiar as a bird's call. I opened my eyes.
Latona had stepped away from the Dancers a little. She was gesturing and
churring. One of the Dancers touched her face and then whistled three times,
in short bursts.
"He said they would be pleased to have you visit their homes."
I pulled away from the Dancers near me. Even though they were no longer
touching me, I could still feel their rubbery fingers against my skin. I
glanced at Latona and then at the Dancers again. They had no visible,
recognizable sexual characteristics. I wondered how she knew the speaker's
gender. "Thank him."
She did. We walked with the single Dancer through the canopied trees.
My heartbeat slowed. I could feel myself growing calmer. If the Dancers were
going to hurt us, they would have done so when we met them at the edge of the
forest. Perhaps. I was assigning human logic. I shook my head and tried to
clear my mind.
The vegetation grew thicker and the air cooler as we hit areas without
sunlight. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw cloth-like material
stretched around four trees like handmade tents. The Dancer continued talking,
touching things as if he were giving us a tour. Latona did not translate.
We followed him inside one of the tents. There the tangy cinnamon scent
was stronger. I touched the tent material, and it felt like water-proof
canvas. Rugs made from leaves covered the ground, and in the corners sat glass
jars that cast a phosphorescent glow around the room.
"He says he would like to welcome us to his home."
"Tell him we're honored."
She responded. I examined the glass jars. They were crude. The glass
had bubbles, ripples, and waves. The light inside moved as if it were caused
by something living.
Our host whistled and churred. Latona watched me. "What is he saying?"
I asked.
She glanced at the Dancer as if she hadn't heard him. Then she smiled.
"Right now he's saying that if he were a good host, he would give you a jar,
but the jars are valuable, too valuable to give to a guest who will disappear
before the day ends."
"Tell him that I plan to return -- "
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She slipped out of the tent.
"You need to see the rest of the homes."
I followed her into the shaded darkness of outside. "Shouldn't you
thank him?"
"No." She led me toward more of the tent-like structures. Dancers
emerged, hands reaching for our faces. Latona ducked this time. I did, too. I
was a bit more at ease, but I didn't want them to touch me again.
From appearances, the Dancers seemed to be a hunter-gatherer culture.
The entire area lacked permanence. The ground seemed untended and wild. I saw
no signs of cultivation. But then, I didn't know what I was looking for. For
all I knew, the canopied trees were an edible, renewable resource.