"James Tiptree Jr - your faces, my sisters, your faces are filled with light" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

"She asked, did I mean dogs? Dogs! 'There is no fear,' she says, 'there is no fear on the whole wide earth.' And she
kept asking me where did I get the horses. I guess that's some word they have, she meant the Buick." "Stoned, I told
you. Poor kid."
"Bee, please. What I say is, a girl like that is asking for it. Just asking for whatever she gets. I don't care what you
say, there are certain rules. I have no sympathy, no sympathy at all." "You can say that again."
—Her sandals are damp but okay. Good leather, she sewed and oiled them herself. When she's real old, she'll
have a little cabin by the road somewhere, make sandals and stuff for the sisters going by. How would I get the
leather, she thinks. She could probably deal with one of the peddler sisters. Or can she tan it herself? It isn't so hard.
Have to look that up
some time.
The rain is still coming down hard; it's nice and cool now. She notices she has been scuffling through drifts of
old paper, making it sail away into
the gusty wind. All kinds of trash, here and everywhere. How they must have lived. The flashing outside is lighting up
a solid wall of ruined build-ings. Big black empty windows, some kind of factory. A piece of paper blows up and sticks
on her neck. She peels it off, looks at it as she walks. In the lightning she can see it's a picture. Two sisters hugging.
Neat. They're dressed in funny old clothes. And the small sister has such a weird look, all painted up and strange. Like
she was pretending to smile. A picture from the troubles, obviously.
As she tucks it in her pocket, she sees there's a light, right ahead be-tween the pillars of the overpass. A
hand-lantern, it moves. Somebody in here too, taking shelter. How great! Maybe they even live here, will have tales to
tell! She hastens toward the light, calling the courier's cry:
"Heyo, Sister! Any mail, any messages? Des Moines and going West!"
Yes—she sees there are two of them, wrapped up in raingear, leaning on one of the old "cars." Probably travelers
too. She calls again.
"Hello?" one of them replies hesitantly. They must be worried by the storm. Some sisters are. She'll reassure them,
nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all. How she loves to meet new sisters; that's the beautiest part of a courier's life.
Eagerly she strides through papers and puddles and comes into the circle of their light.

"But who can we report it to, Don? You aren't even known here, city police wouldn't pay any attention."
He shrugs regretfully, knowing his wife is right.
"One more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importunate, gone to her death."
"What's that from?"
"Oh, Hood. Thomas Hood. When the Thames used to be full of ruined women."
 "Wandering around in this district at night, it's suicide. We're not so safe here ourselves, you know. Do you think
that AAA tow truck will really come?"
"They said they would. They have quite a few calls ahead of us. No-body's moving out there, she'll probably be
safe as long as this downpour lasts, anyway. We'll get inside when it eases up."
"Yes. ... I wish we could have done something, Don. She seemed so, I don't know, not just a tramp."
"We couldn't very well hit her over the head and take her in, you know. Besides, she was a fairly strong-looking
little piece, if you noticed."
"Yes. . . . Don, she was crazy, wasn't she? She didn't hear one thing
102
BYTE BEAUTIFUL
BYTE BEAUTIFUL
103
you said. Calling you Sister. And that ad she showed us, she said it was two women. That's sick, isn't it—I mean,
seriously disturbed? Not just drugs?"
He laughs ruefully. "Questions I'd love to be able to answer. These things interact, it's tough to unscramble. But
yes, for what it's worth, my intuition says it was functional. Of course my intuition got some help, you heard her say
she'd been in a hospital or hostel somewhere. ... If I had to bet, Pam, I'd say post-ECS. That placid waxy cast to the
face. Capillary patches. A lot of rapid eye movement. Typical."