"Bradbury, Ray - The Illustrated Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradbury Ray)

УBut, DaddyЧЧФ

He shoved them through the door and went and fetched a bucket of paint and a stencil and from the garage a long thick hairy rope coil into which he fashioned a hangmanТs knot, very carefully watching the sky while his hands felt their way at their task.

And then they were in the car, leaving bolls of dust behind them down the road. УSlow up, Willie.Ф

УThis is no slowing-up time,Ф he said. УThis is a hurrying time, and IТm hurrying.Ф

All along the road people were looking up in the sky, or climbing in their cars, or riding in cars, and guns were sticking up out of some cars like telescopes sighting all the evils of a world coming to an end.

She looked at the guns. УYou been talking,Ф she accused her husband.

УThatТs what I been doing,Ф he grunted, nodding. He watched the road, fiercely. УI stopped at every house and I told them what to do, to get their guns, to get paint, to bring rope and be ready. And here we all are, the welcoming committee, to give them the key to the city. Yes, sir!Ф

She pressed her thin dark hands together to push away the terror growing in her now, and she felt the car bucket and lurch around other ears. She heard the voices yelling, Hey, Willie, look! and hands holding up ropes and guns as they rushed by! and mouths smiling at them in the swift rushing.

УHere we are,Ф said Willie, and braked the car into dusty halting and silence. He kicked the door open with a big foot and, laden with weapons, stepped out, lugging them across the airport meadow.

УHave you thought Willie?Ф

УThatТs all I done for twenty years. I was sixteen when I left Earth, and I was glad to leave,Ф he said. УThere wasnТt anything there for me or you or anybody like us. IТve never been sorry I left. WeТve had peace here, the first time we ever drew a solid breath. Now, come on.

He pushed through the dark crowd which came to meet him.

УWillie, Willie, what we gonna do?Ф they said.

УHereТs a gun,Ф he said. УHereТs a gun. HereТs another.Ф He passed them out with savage jabs of his arms. УHereТs a pistol. HereТs a shotgun.Ф

The people were so close together it looked like one dark body with a thousand arms reaching out to take the weapons. УWillie, Willie.Ф

His wife stood tall and silent by him, her fluted lips pressed shut, and her large eyes wet and tragic. УBring the paint,Ф be said to her. And she lugged a gallon can of yellow paint across the field to where, at that moment a trolley car was pulling up, with a fresh-painted sign on its front, TO THE WHITE MANТS LANDING, full of talking people who got off and ran across the meadow, stumbling, looking up. Women with picnic boxes, men with straw hats, in shirt sleeves. The streetcar stood humming and empty. Willie climbed up, set the paint cans down, opened them, stirred the paint, tested a brush, drew forth a stencil, and climbed up on a seat.

УHey, there!Ф The conductor came around behind him, his coin changer jangling. УWhat you think youТre doing? Get down off there!Ф

УYou see what IТm doing. Keep your shirt on.Ф

And Willie began the stenciling in yellow paint. He dabbed on an F and an O and an R with terrible pride in his work. And when he finished it the conductor squinted up and read the fresh glinting yellow words: FOR WHITES: REAR SECTION. He read it again. FOR WHITES. He blinked. REAR SECTION. The conductor looked at Willie and began to smile.

УDoes that suit you?Ф asked Willie, stepping down.

Said the conductor, УThat suits me just fine, sir.Ф

Hattie was looking at the sign from outside, and holding her hands over her breasts.

Willie returned to the crowd, which was growing now, taking size from every auto that groaned to a halt, and every new trolley car which squealed around the bend from the nearby town.

Willie climbed up on a packing box. УLetТs have a delegation to paint every streetcar in the next hour. Volunteers?Ф

Hands leapt up.