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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Поющие в терновнике
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- Стр. 491/535
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Someone
thought
of
the
United
States
Air
Force
station
nearby
,
and
ran
for
help
.
Not
thirty
minutes
after
Dane
had
disappeared
a
helicopter
took
off
,
beat
the
air
frantically
and
swooped
in
ever-increasing
circles
outward
from
the
beach
,
searching
.
No
one
expected
to
see
anything
.
Drowned
men
sank
to
the
bottom
and
did
n't
come
up
for
days
.
An
hour
passed
;
then
fifteen
miles
out
to
sea
they
sighted
Dane
floating
peacefully
on
the
bosom
of
the
deep
,
arms
outstretched
,
face
turned
up
to
the
sky
.
For
a
moment
they
thought
he
was
alive
and
cheered
,
but
as
the
craft
came
low
enough
to
throw
the
water
into
hissing
foam
,
it
was
plain
he
was
dead
.
The
coordinates
were
given
over
the
helicopter
's
radio
,
a
launch
sped
out
,
and
three
hours
later
returned
.
Word
had
spread
.
The
Cretans
had
loved
to
see
him
pass
,
loved
to
exchange
a
few
shy
words
.
Loved
him
,
though
they
did
n't
know
him
.
They
flocked
down
to
the
sea
,
women
all
in
black
like
dowdy
birds
,
men
in
old-fashioned
baggy
trousers
,
white
shirts
open
at
the
collar
and
sleeves
rolled
up
.
And
stood
in
silent
groups
,
waiting
.
When
the
launch
came
in
a
burly
master
sergeant
sprang
out
onto
the
sand
,
turned
back
to
receive
a
blanket-draped
form
into
his
arms
.
He
marched
a
few
feet
up
the
beach
beyond
the
water
line
,
and
with
the
help
of
another
man
laid
his
burden
down
.
The
blanket
fell
apart
;
there
was
a
high
,
rustling
whisper
from
the
Cretans
.
They
came
crowding
around
,
pressing
crucifixes
to
weather-beaten
lips
,
the
women
softly
keening
,
a
wordless
ohhhh-hhhh
!
that
had
almost
a
melody
in
it
,
mournful
,
patient
,
earth-bound
,
female
.
It
was
about
five
in
the
afternoon
;
the
barred
sun
was
sliding
westward
behind
the
frowning
cliff
,
but
was
still
high
enough
to
light
up
the
little
dark
cluster
on
the
beach
,
the
long
,
still
form
on
the
sand
with
its
golden
skin
,
its
closed
eyes
whose
lashes
were
spiky
from
drying
salt
,
the
faint
smile
on
the
blued
lips
.
A
stretcher
was
brought
forward
,
then
all
together
Cretans
and
American
servicemen
bore
Dane
away
.
Athens
was
in
turmoil
,
rioting
crowds
overturning
all
order
,
but
the
USAF
colonel
got
through
to
his
superiors
on
a
special
frequency
band
,
Dane
's
blue
Australian
passport
in
his
hand
.
It
said
,
as
such
documents
do
,
nothing
about
him
.
His
profession
was
simply
marked
"
Student
,
"
and
in
the
back
under
next
of
kin
Justine
's
name
was
listed
,
with
her
London
address
.
Unconcerned
by
the
legal
meaning
of
the
term
,
he
had
put
her
name
because
London
was
far
closer
to
Rome
than
Drogheda
.
In
his
little
room
at
the
inn
,
the
square
black
case
which
housed
his
priestly
implements
had
not
been
opened
;
it
waited
with
his
suitcase
for
directions
as
to
where
it
should
be
sent
.
*
*
*
When
the
phone
rang
at
nine
in
the
morning
Justine
rolled
over
,
opened
a
bleary
eye
and
lay
cursing
it
,
vowing
she
would
have
the
bloody
thing
disconnected
.
Because
the
rest
of
the
world
thought
it
only
right
and
proper
to
commence
whatever
they
did
at
nine
in
the
morning
,
why
did
they
assume
the
same
of
her
?
But
it
rang
,
and
rang
,
and
rang
.
Maybe
it
was
Rain
;
that
thought
tipped
the
balance
toward
consciousness
,
and
Justine
got
up
,
slopped
reeling
out
to
the
living
room
.
The
German
parliament
was
in
urgent
session
;
she
had
n't
seen
Rain
in
a
week
and
had
n't
been
optimistic
about
her
chances
of
seeing
him
for
at
least
another
week
.
But
perhaps
the
crisis
had
resolved
,
and
he
was
calling
to
tell
her
he
was
on
his
way
over
.
