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

He glanced over at me, seemingly surprised that someone would talk to
him. "Race."
The children pounded their fists on the ground three times, then made
different hand gestures. They laughed. I watched the muscles bulge in their
arms, wondering what kind of exercise program they were on. One girl rolled
away, stood up, arched her back, and growled. "Limabog!" "Arachni!" "Cat!"
"Illnea!" the children called. At each name the girl shook her head. Finally
someone yelled, "Bear!" She nodded, joined the circle again, and the fist
pounding started all over.
"How do you play?" I asked.
His frown grew until his entire face turned blood-red. "I don't," he
said.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and for a moment I heard the
hushed whispers of former friends gossiping about my failures. I swallowed,
determined to distance myself from the boy. "Don't you play with friends your
own age?"
Michael stopped leaning on the fence. "You're one of the strangers here
for the Salt Juice, aren't you?"
I gave a half-nod, not bothering to correct his misconception.
"You got kids?"
 "No," I said.
He shrugged. "Then it stays the same. I'm the only kid my age. My mom
and dad didn't follow the rules."
The children burst into laughter, and another child rolled away, this
time approaching the group on all fours. Apparently, this colony still
followed the practice of having children in certain age groups, then spacing
the next group at least four years away. It was a survival tactic for many new
colonies.
"So you want to play with the older kids," I said.
"Yeah." I could feel the wistfulness in his voice. He watched from the
outside; I had written papers about other people's work. Michael glanced over
at the children, his hands clenching. "But they won't let me play until I grow
and learn to think like a big kid. Mom says they should take me for who I am."
He looked at me, his mouth set in a thin line. "What do you think?"
Such an easy question, asked to the wrong person. I had always thought
for myself, and it had gained me respect and a following -- until Minar. After
that, I stood at the edge of the roundtable discussions instead of leading
them, waiting for someone to pull back a chair and let me in. If I had said I
was sorry, opened myself up for dissection, perhaps I wouldn't be standing
friendless on an unfamiliar planet
"In the ideal world, your mom is right," I said. "But sometimes you
have to do what the group wants if you're going to be accepted."
Michael crossed his arms in front of his chest, his fists still
clenched. His body language made his thoughts clear: he didn't want to believe
what I said. I wouldn't have, either, in his position, but I hoped he would
take my advice. Standing outside the group, watching, was much more painful
than playing inside.
"Could you explain the game to me?" I asked softly.
"No!" He spun, started down the pathway. "Maybe they will. They talk to
grown-ups."