"Bradbury, Ray - The Illustrated Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradbury Ray)
He took off an immense shoe and peered at it closely. УI usually keep a job about ten days. Then something happens and they fire me. By now every carnival in America wonТt touch me with a ten-foot pole.Ф
УWhat seems to be the trouble?Ф I asked.
For answer, he unbuttoned his tight collar, slowly. With his eyes shut, he put a slow hand to the task of unbuttoning his shirt all the way down. He slipped his fingers in to feel his chest. УFunny,Ф he said, eyes still shut. УYou canТt feel them but theyТre there. I always hope that someday IТll look and they'll be gone. I walk in the sun for hours on the hottest days, baking, and hope that my sweatТll wash them off, the sunТll cook them off, but at sundown theyТre still there.Ф He turned his head slightly toward me and exposed his chest. УAre they still there now?Ф
After a long while I exhaled. УYes,Ф I said. УTheyТre still there.Ф
The Illustrations.
УAnother reason I keep my collar buttoned up,Ф he said, opening his eyes, Уis the children. They follow me along country roads. Everyone wants to see the pictures, and yet nobody wants to see them.Ф
He took his shirt off and wadded it in his hands. He was covered with Illustrations from the blue tattooed ring about his neck to his belt line.
УIt keeps right on going,Ф he said, guessing my thought. УAll of me is Illustrated. Look.Ф He opened his hand. On his palm was a rose, freshly cut, with drops of crystal water among the soft pink petals. I put my hand out to touch it, but it was only an Illustration.
As for the rest of him, I cannot say how I sat and stared, for he was a riot of rockets and fountains and people, in such intricate detail and color that you could hear the voices murmuring small and muted, from the crowds that inhabited his body. When his flesh twitched, the tiny mouths flickered, the tiny green-and-gold eyes winked, the tiny pink hands gestured. There were yellow meadows and blue rivers and mountains and stars and suns and planets spread in a Milky Way across his chest. The people themselves were in twenty or more odd groups upon his arms, shoulders, back, sides, and wrists, as well as on the flat of his stomach. You found them in forests of hair, lurking among a constellation of freckles, or peering from armpit caverns, diamond eyes aglitter. Each seemed intent upon his own activity; each was a separate gallery portrait.
УWhy, theyТre beautiful!Ф I said.
How can I explain about his Illustrations? If El Greco had painted miniatures in his prime, no bigger than your hand, infinitely detailed, with all his sulphurous color, elongation, and anatomy, perhaps he might have used this manТs body for his art. The colors burned in three dimensions. They were windows looking in upon fiery reality. Here, gathered on one wall, were all the finest scenes in the universe; the man was a walking treasure gallery. This wasnТt the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whisky on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful.
УOh yes,Ф said the Illustrated Man. УIТm so proud of my Illustrations that IТd like to burn them off. IТve tried sandpaper, acid, a knife . . .Ф
The sun was setting. The moon was already up in the East.
УFor, you see,Ф said the Illustrated Man, Уthese Illustrations predict the future.Ф
I said nothing.
УItТs all right in sunlightФ he went on. УI could keep a carnival day job. But at nightЧthe pictures move. The pictures change.Ф
I must have smiled. УHow long have you been Illustrated?Ф
УIn 1900, when I was twenty years old and working a carnival, I broke my leg. It laid me up; I had to do something to keep my hand in, so I decided to get tattooed.Ф
УBut who tattooed you? What happened to the artist?Ф
УShe went back to the future,Ф he said. "I mean it. She was an old woman in a little house in the middle of Wisconsin here somewhere not far from this place. A little old witch who looked a thousand years old one moment and twenty years old the next, but she said she could travel in time. I laughed. Now, I know better.Ф
УHow did you happen to meet her?Ф
He told me. He had seen her painted sign by the road: SKIN ILLUSTRATION! Illustration instead of tattoo! Artistic! So he had sat all night while her magic needles stung him wasp stings and delicate bee stings. By morning he looked like a man who had fallen into a twenty-color print press and been squeezed out, all bright and picturesque.
УIТve hunted every summer for fifty years,Ф he said, putting his hands out on the air. "When I find that witch IТm going to kill her.Ф
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