Поющие в терновнике

           EventuallyhemanagedtoshakefreeofMaryCarsonandrunMeggietoearthinthelittlegraveyardundertheshadowofthepallid,unwarlikeavengingangel.Shewasstaringupintoitsmawkishlyplacidfacewithshrinkingfearwrittenonherown,anexquisitecontrastbetweenthefeelingandtheunfeeling,hethought.Butwhatwashedoinghere,chasingafterherlikeacluckyoldhenwhenitwasreallynoneofhisbusiness,whenitoughttobehermotherorherfathertofindoutwhatwasthematter?Onlythattheyhadn’tseenanythingwrong,thatshedidn’tmattertothemthewayshematteredtohim.Andthathewasapriest,hemustgivecomforttothelonelyorthedespairinginspirit.Hecouldn’tbeartoseeherunhappy,yetheshrankfromthewayhewastyinghimselftoherbyanaccumulationofevents.Hewasmakingawholearsenalofhappeningsandmemoriesoutofher,andhewasafraid.Hisloveforherandhispriestlyinstincttoofferhimselfinanyrequiredspiritualcapacitywarredwithanobsessivehorrorofbecomingutterlynecessarytosomeonehuman,andofhavingsomeonehumanbecomeutterlynecessarytohimself.

           Assheheardhimwalkacrossthegrasssheturnedtoconfronthim,foldingherhandsinherlapandlookingdownatherfeet.Hesatnearher,armslockedaroundhisknees,thesoutaneinfoldsnomoregracefulthantheeasylengthofthebodyinhabitingit.Nosensebeatingaroundthebush,hedecided;ifshecould,shewouldevadehim.

           "What’sthematter,Meggie?"

           "Nothing,Father."

           "Idon’tbelieveyou."