"Aldiss, Brian - Saliva Tree, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Aldiss Brian W)

pond. It floated. The boards had dried, and water leaked
through a couple of seams, but not nearly enough to deter him,
Climbing delicately in among the straw and filth, he pushed off.
When he was over the approximate center of the pond, he
shipped his oars and peered over the side. There was an
agitation in the water, and nothing could be seen, although he
imagined much.
As he stared over the one side, the boat unexpectedly tipped
to the other. Gregory swung round. The boat listed heavily to
the left, so that the oars rolled over that way. He could see
nothing. Yethe heard something. It was a sound much like a
hound slowly panting. And whatever made it was about to
capsize the boat.
"What is it?" he said, as all the skin prickled up his back and
skull.
The boat lurched, for all the world as if someone invisible
were trying to get into it. Frightened, he grasped the oar, and,
without thinking, swept it over that side of the rowing boat.
It struck something solid where there was only air.
Dropping the oar in surprise, he put out his hand. It touched
something yielding. At the same time, his arm was violently
struck.
His actions were then entirely governed by instinct. Thought
did not enter the matter. He picked up the oar again and smote
the thin air with it. It hit something. There was a splash, and
the boat righted itself so suddenly he was almost pitched into
the water. Even while it still rocked, he was rowing frantically
for the shallows, dragging the boat from the water, and running
for the safety of the farmhouse.
Only at the door did he pause. His reason returned, his heart
began gradually to stop stammering its fright. He stood looking
at the seamed wood of the porch, trying to evaluate what he
had seen and what had actually happened. But what had
happened?
Forcing himself to go back to the pond, he stood by the boat
and looked across the sullen face of the water. It lay
undisturbed, except by surface ripples. He looked at the boat
A quantity of water lay in the bottom of it. He thought, all that
happened was that I nearly capsized, and I let my idiot fears
run away with me. Shaking his head, he pulled the boat back to
the barn.
Gregory, as he often did, stayed to eat lunch at the farm, but
he saw nothing of the farmer till milking time.
Joseph Grendon was in his late forties, and a few years older
than his wife. He bad a gaunt solemn face and a heavy beard
that made him look older than he was. For all his seriousness,
he greeted Gregory civilly enough. They stood together in the
gathering dusk as the cows swung behind them into their
regular stalls. Together they walked into the machine house
next door, and Grendon lit the oil burners that started the