Read Online The Telling by Ursula K. Le Guin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ursula K. Le Guin
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distract herself from the crazy surge of hatred the Monitor had roused in her. "I see what you mean about level ground," she said.
"There's noâlevelâground," Iziezi jerked out, holding on, but lifting one hand for a moment toward the vast verticalities of Silong, flaring white-gold over roofs and hills already drowned in dusk.
Back in the front hallway of the inn, Sutty said, "I hope I may join your exercise class again soon."
Iziezi made a gesture that might have been polite assent or hopeless apology.
"I preferred the quieter part," Sutty said. Getting no smile or response, she said, "I really would like to learn those movements. They're beautiful. They felt as if they had a meaning in them."
Iziezi still said nothing.
"Is there a book about them, maybe, that I could study?" The question seemed absurdly cautious yet foolishly rash.
Iziezi pointed into the common sitting room, where a vid/ neareal monitor sat blank in one corner. Stacks of Corporation-issue tapes were piled next to it. In addition to the manuals, which everybody got a new set of annually, new tapes were frequently delivered to one's door, informative, educational, admonitory, inspirational. Employees and students were frequently examined on them in regular and special sessions at work and in college.
Illness does not excuse ignorance!
blared the rich Corporational voice over vids of hospitalised workmen enthusiastically partissing in a neareal about plastic molding.
Wealth is work and work is wealth!
sang the chorus for the Capital-Labor instructional vid. Most of the literature Sutty had studied consisted of pieces of this kind in the poetic and inspirational style. She looked with malevolence at the piles of tapes.
"The health manual," Iziezi murmured vaguely.
"I was thinking of something I could read in my room at night. A book."
"Ah!" The mine went off very close this time. Then silence. "Yoz Sutty," the crippled woman whispered, "books..."
Silence, laden.
"I don't mean to put you at any risk."
Sutty found herself, ridiculously, whispering.
Iziezi shrugged. Her shrug said, Risk, so, everything's a risk.
"The Monitor seems to be following me."
Iziezi made a gesture that said, No, no. "They come often to the class. We have a person to watch the street, turn the lights on. Then we..." Tiredly, she punched the air, One! Two!
"Tell me the penalties, yoz Iziezi."
"For doing the old exercises? Get fined. Maybe lose your license. Maybe you just have to go to the Prefecture or the High School and study the manuals."
"For a book? Owning it, reading it?"
"An ... old book?"
Sutty made the gesture that said, Yes.
Iziezi was reluctant to answer. She looked down. She said finally, in a whisper, "Maybe a lot of trouble."
Iziezi sat in her wheelchair. Sutty stood. The light had died out of the street entirely. High over the roofs the barrier wall of Silong glowed dull rust-orange. Above it, far and radiant, the peak still burned gold.
"I can read the old writing. I want to learn the old ways. But I don't want you to lose your inn license, yoz Iziezi. Send me to somebody who isn't her nephew's sole support."
"Akidan?" Iziezi said with new energy. "Oh, he'd take you right up to the Taproot!" Then she slapped one hand on the wheelchair arm and put the other over her mouth. "So much is forbidden," she said from behind her hand, with a glance up at Sutty that was almost sly.
"And forgotten?"
"People remember.... People know, yoz. But I don't know anything. My sister knew. She was educated. I'm not. I know some people who are ... educated.... But how far do you want to go?"
"As far as my guides lead me in kindness," Sutty said. It was a phrase not from the
Advanced Exercises in Grammar for Barbarians
but from the fragment of a book, the damaged page that had had on it the picture of a man fishing from a bridge and four lines of a poem:
Where my guides lead me in kindness
I follow, follow lightly,
and there are no footprints
in the dust
"There's noâlevelâground," Iziezi jerked out, holding on, but lifting one hand for a moment toward the vast verticalities of Silong, flaring white-gold over roofs and hills already drowned in dusk.
Back in the front hallway of the inn, Sutty said, "I hope I may join your exercise class again soon."
Iziezi made a gesture that might have been polite assent or hopeless apology.
"I preferred the quieter part," Sutty said. Getting no smile or response, she said, "I really would like to learn those movements. They're beautiful. They felt as if they had a meaning in them."
Iziezi still said nothing.
"Is there a book about them, maybe, that I could study?" The question seemed absurdly cautious yet foolishly rash.
Iziezi pointed into the common sitting room, where a vid/ neareal monitor sat blank in one corner. Stacks of Corporation-issue tapes were piled next to it. In addition to the manuals, which everybody got a new set of annually, new tapes were frequently delivered to one's door, informative, educational, admonitory, inspirational. Employees and students were frequently examined on them in regular and special sessions at work and in college.
Illness does not excuse ignorance!
blared the rich Corporational voice over vids of hospitalised workmen enthusiastically partissing in a neareal about plastic molding.
Wealth is work and work is wealth!
sang the chorus for the Capital-Labor instructional vid. Most of the literature Sutty had studied consisted of pieces of this kind in the poetic and inspirational style. She looked with malevolence at the piles of tapes.
"The health manual," Iziezi murmured vaguely.
"I was thinking of something I could read in my room at night. A book."
"Ah!" The mine went off very close this time. Then silence. "Yoz Sutty," the crippled woman whispered, "books..."
Silence, laden.
"I don't mean to put you at any risk."
Sutty found herself, ridiculously, whispering.
Iziezi shrugged. Her shrug said, Risk, so, everything's a risk.
"The Monitor seems to be following me."
Iziezi made a gesture that said, No, no. "They come often to the class. We have a person to watch the street, turn the lights on. Then we..." Tiredly, she punched the air, One! Two!
"Tell me the penalties, yoz Iziezi."
"For doing the old exercises? Get fined. Maybe lose your license. Maybe you just have to go to the Prefecture or the High School and study the manuals."
"For a book? Owning it, reading it?"
"An ... old book?"
Sutty made the gesture that said, Yes.
Iziezi was reluctant to answer. She looked down. She said finally, in a whisper, "Maybe a lot of trouble."
Iziezi sat in her wheelchair. Sutty stood. The light had died out of the street entirely. High over the roofs the barrier wall of Silong glowed dull rust-orange. Above it, far and radiant, the peak still burned gold.
"I can read the old writing. I want to learn the old ways. But I don't want you to lose your inn license, yoz Iziezi. Send me to somebody who isn't her nephew's sole support."
"Akidan?" Iziezi said with new energy. "Oh, he'd take you right up to the Taproot!" Then she slapped one hand on the wheelchair arm and put the other over her mouth. "So much is forbidden," she said from behind her hand, with a glance up at Sutty that was almost sly.
"And forgotten?"
"People remember.... People know, yoz. But I don't know anything. My sister knew. She was educated. I'm not. I know some people who are ... educated.... But how far do you want to go?"
"As far as my guides lead me in kindness," Sutty said. It was a phrase not from the
Advanced Exercises in Grammar for Barbarians
but from the fragment of a book, the damaged page that had had on it the picture of a man fishing from a bridge and four lines of a poem:
Where my guides lead me in kindness
I follow, follow lightly,
and there are no footprints
in the dust
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