Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
“Whoelsecantalkamongthepeopleandmakethembegintounderstandme?”Aliaasked.
“Whatwouldyouhaveherdo?”Jessicaasked.
“Shealreadyknowswhattodo,”Aliasaid.
“Iwilltellthemthetruth,”Harahsaid.Herfaceseemedsuddenlyoldandsadwithitsoliveskindrawnintofrownwrinkles,awitcheryinthesharpfeatures.“IwilltellthemthatAliaonlypretendstobealittlegirl,thatshehasneverbeenalittlegirl.”
Aliashookherhead.Tearsrandownhercheeks,andJessicafeltthewaveofsadnessfromherdaughterasthoughtheemotionwereherown.
“IknowI’mafreak,”Aliawhispered.Theadultsummationcomingfromthechildmouthwaslikeabitterconfirmation.
“You’renotafreak!”Harahsnapped.“Whodaredsayyou’reafreak?”
Again,JessicamarveledatthefiercenoteofprotectivenessinHarah’svoice.
JessicasawthenthatAliahadjudgedcorrectly—theydidneedHarah.ThetribewouldunderstandHarah—bothherwordsandheremotions—foritwasobviousshelovedAliaasthoughthiswereherownchild.
“Whosaidit?”Harahrepeated.
“Nobody.”
AliausedacornerofJessica’sabatowipethetearsfromherface.Shesmoothedtherobewhereshehaddampenedandcrumpledit.
“Thendon’tyousayit,”Harahordered.
“Yes,Harah.”
“Now,”Harahsaid,“youmaytellmewhatitwaslikesothatImaytelltheothers.Tellmewhatitisthathappenedtoyou.”
Aliaswallowed,lookedupathermother.
Jessicanodded.
“OnedayIwokeup,”Aliasaid.
