О дивный новый мир
Chapter 8
Andsuddenlythereweremorewords.
Whenheisdrunkasleep,orinhisrage
Orintheincestuouspleasureofhisbed...
Themagicwasonhisside,themagicexplainedandgaveorders.Hesteppedbackintheouterroom."Whenheisdrunkasleep..."Theknifeforthemeatwaslyingonthefloornearthefireplace.Hepickeditupandtiptoedtothedooragain."Whenheisdrunkasleep,drunkasleep..."Heranacrosstheroomandstabbed–oh,theblood!–stabbedagain,asPopéheavedoutofhissleep,liftedhishandtostaboncemore,butfoundhiswristcaught,heldand–oh,oh!–twisted.Hecouldn’tmove,hewastrapped,andtherewerePopé’ssmallblackeyes,veryclose,staringintohisown.Helookedaway.ThereweretwocutsonPopé’sleftshoulder."Oh,lookattheblood!"Lindawascrying."Lookattheblood!"Shehadneverbeenabletobearthesightofblood.Popéliftedhisotherhand–tostrikehim,hethought.Hestiffenedtoreceivetheblow.Butthehandonlytookhimunderthechinandturnedhisface,sothathehadtolookagainintoPopé’seyes.Foralongtime,forhoursandhours.Andsuddenly–hecouldn’thelpit–hebegantocry.Popéburstoutlaughing."Go,"hesaid,intheotherIndianwords."Go,mybraveAhaiyuta."Heranoutintotheotherroomtohidehistears.
"Youarefifteen,"saidoldMitsima,intheIndianwords."NowImayteachyoutoworktheclay."
Squattingbytheriver,theyworkedtogether.
