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

УYes.Ф

WillieТs body loosened somewhat.

УAnd what about that Mr. BurtonТs house and Mr. Burton?Ф

УNo houses at all left, no people.Ф

УYou know Mrs. JohnsonТs washing shack, my motherТs place?Ф

The place where she was shot.

УThatТs gone too. EverythingТs gone. Here are the pictures, you can see for yourself.Ф

The pictures were there to be held and looked at and thought about. The rocket was full of pictures and answers to questions. Any town, any building, any place.

Willie stood with the rope in his hands.

He was remembering Earth, the green Earth and the green town where he was born and raised, and he was thinking now of that town, gone to pieces, to ruin, blown up and scattered, all of the landmarks with it, all of the supposed or certain evil scattered with it, all of the hard men gone, the stables, the ironsmiths, the curio shops, the soda founts, the gin mills, the river bridges, the lynching trees, the buckshot-covered hills, the roads, the cows, the mimosas, and his own house as well as those big-pillared houses down near the long river, those white mortuaries where the women as delicate as moths fluttered in the autumn light, distant, far away. Those houses where the cold men rocked, with glasses of drink in their hands, guns leaned against the porch newels, sniffing the autumn airs and considering death. Gone, all gone; gone and never coming back. Now, for certain, all of that civilization ripped into confetti and strewn at their feet. Nothing, nothing of it left to hateЧnot an empty brass gun shell, or a twisted hemp, or a tree, or even a hill of it to hate. Nothing but some alien people in a rocket, people who might shine his shoes and ride in the back of trolleys or sit far up in midnight theaters

УYou wonТt have to do that,Ф said Willie Johnson.

His wife glanced at his big hands.

His fingers were opening.

The rope, released, fell and coiled upon itself along the ground.

They ran through the streets of their town and tore down the new signs so quickly made, and painted out the fresh yellow signs on streetcars, and they cut down the ropes in the theater balconies, and unloaded their guns and stacked their ropes away.

УA new start for everyone,Ф said Hattie, on the way home in their car.

УYes,Ф said Willie at last. УThe LordТs let us come through, a few here and a few there. And what happens next is up to all of us. The time for being fools is over. We got to be something else except fools. I knew that when he talked. I knew then that now the white manТs as lonely as weТve always been. HeТs got no home now, just like we didnТt have one for so long. Now everythingТs even. We can start all over again, on the same level.Ф

He stopped the car and sat in it, not moving, while Hattie went to let the children out. They ran down to see their father. УYou see the white man? You see him?Ф they cried.

УYes, sir,Ф said Willie, sitting behind the wheel, rubbing his face with his slow fingers. УSeems like for the first time today I really seen the white manЧI really seen him clear.Ф


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The Highway


THE cooling afternoon rain had come over the valley, touching the corn in the tilled mountain fields, tapping on the dry grass roof of the hut. In the rainy darkness the woman ground corn between cakes of lava rock, working steadily. In the wet lightlessness, somewhere, a baby cried.

Hernando stood waiting for the rain to cease so he might take the wooden plow into the field again. Below, the river boiled brown and thickened in its course. The concrete highway, another river, did not flow at all; it lay shining, empty. A car had not come along it in an hour. This was, in itself, of unusual interest. Over the years there had not been an hour when a car had not pulled up, someone shouting, УHey there, can we take your picture?Ф Someone with a box that clicked, and a coin in his hand. If he walked slowly across the field without his hat, sometimes they called, УOh, we want you with your hat on!Ф And they waved their hands, rich with gold things that told time, or identified them, or did nothing at all but winked like spiderТs eyes in the sun. So he would turn and go back to get his hat.

His wife spoke. УSomething is wrong, Hernando?Ф