"Jo Walton - The Rebirth of Pan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Walton Jo)

I blink, and I can feel a scream rising from somewhere deep inside me. Did He come to tell me He
had gathered her to Him? That is not the mercy I asked for, Lord! A nurse comes running. Why aren't
there any children here? The room is ominously silent, under my rising scream. "Mrs. Deneet!" the nurse
says, over and over. Why can't English people ever manage my surname? Denuit isn't hard. I've seen this
woman every day for weeks. The room is a blur of tears—where are all the children? It was full of
terminal children, too quiet and too pale, heartbreakingly good, with faces lined with pain which would
never be lined with age. They can't all have died, not all at once. Loving Jesus, did you come to tell me
she is gone? I can't bear it, it is too much. "Eleanor! Eleanor!" I scream. The nurse shakes me, calling her
mispronunciation of my name. Then the doctor is there, Dr. Carol. One of them touches my face. I don't
feel it. Dr. Carol is talking, but I can't hear her voice clearly or understand what she's trying to tell me.
"Terrible thing..." "Breach of security" "Police". "Inform relatives".

"Eleanor!" I call, again and again. Dr. Carol stops trying to shout and speaks quietly and calmly, and
I hear her.

"Mrs. Denuit, please! Your daughter's—we don't know what's happened to her, but she isn't dead
as far as we know!" I draw breath, and stop screaming. For some reason my legs give way and I slide to
the cold floor. The nurse bends over me anxiously.

"Can you understand me, Mrs. Denuit? Marie?" Dr. Carol asks, she is crouching beside me, her
white coat and skirt crumpling, her face concerned. I nod, afraid to speak in case I start to scream again.
"Somebody—we don't know who or how—broke into the ward earlier this afternoon and kidnapped the
patients. Just this ward. All the children were taken. Nobody saw anything. The electricity went down
and it must have happened then. The alarms went off, and the nurse on duty vanished too. The children
still have their tags—Mrs. Denuit?" I nod again. I have heard things about hospital security. "It's such a
terrible thing to do. What sort of people would—We're expecting some kind of ransom demand. The
police have been here. They expect to recover all the children safely. We contacted all the relatives
straight away, except those we couldn't reach. Do you understand?" I nod again, and try to stand. Dr.
Carol helps me up. I sit down on the edge of the bed, both knees together, shaking.

"Kidnapped?" I hear myself saying, sounding echoing and strange and far away. Dear Jesus, who
would kidnap sick children? Possibilities instantly flash through my mind. If Colin knew somehow that she
was dying he would have come and cured her. He might have taken her. If he had—tears are streaming
down my face again, or still, I do not know if they ever stopped or ever will. Jesus Lord, did Colin come
for her? She would be well, but I would be failing my promise to bring her up in the church. Jesus,
answer me! Is she with her father? Once I always knew where Colin was, now I have closed myself to
him and can do nothing. If it was Colin then I must find her and rescue her. If it was not, lunatics maybe,
who else would take her, take my dying child?

A face swims before me, the weasel-faced man wearing a mottled grey cardigan in the heat that
was Siena at Easter years ago, the camera that is a weapon around his neck. He would take Eleanor if he
could, or any child, to try to kill what I most desire to keep alive. Is that memory of his face just memory
or a message from God? No way to tell, any more. I am disarmed, helpless, I have surrendered all my
weapons. I lie across the bed, weeping, and feel Doctor Carol's arm around me, hear her words of
useless comfort. I know nothing, I have no way of knowing, no way of finding out where she is, who has
her, whether she yet breathes. Oh Lord God, who gave your only begotten son to die for our sins, I gave
everything to you for her sake, and all I can do is remind you of it. Doctor Carol is telling me to wait,
sending the nurse for a sedative. This is my punishment for my sin, my unwitting sin, and I knew I should
be punished, Lord, but let it all fall on me, only on me. Think of those other children, Lord, and their
parents. Let them all be safe, and live. And let my cry come unto thee.