"Harlan Ellison - Paladin of the Lost Hour" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ellison Harlan)

on the site, just ten blocks away from one that's already there,and you know what's going to happen: this
new one will drain off the traffic from theolder one, and then that one will fall the way they all do when
the next one gets built,you'd think they'd see some history in it; but no, they never learn, And you should
haveseen the crowd by seven-thirty. All ages, even some of those kids painted like aborigines,with torn
leather clothing. Even they came to protest. Terrible language, but at leastthey were concerned. And
nothing could stop it. They just whammed it, and down it went.

"I do so miss you today, Minna. No more good grilled cheese." Said the veryold man to the ground. And
now he was crying softly, and now the wind rose, and the mistrain stippled his overcoat.

Nearby, yet at a distance, Billy Kinetta stared down at another grave. He could see theold man over there
off to his left, but he took no further notice. The wind whipped thevent of his trenchcoat. His collar was
up but rain trickled down his neck. This was ayounger man, not yet thirty-five. Unlike the old man, Billy
Kinetta neither cried norspoke to memories of someone who had once listened. He might have been a
geomancer, sosilently did he stand, eyes toward the ground.

One of these men was black; the other was white.

####

Beyond the high, spiked-iron fence surrounding the cemetery two boys crouched, staringthrough the
bars, through the rain; at the men absorbed by grave matters, by matters ofgraves. These were not really
boys. They were legally young men. One was nineteen, theother two months beyond twenty. Both were
legally old enough to vote, to drink alcoholicbeverages, to drive a car. Neither would reach the age of
Billy Kinetta.

One of them said, "Let's take the old man."

The other responded, "You think the guy in the trenchcoat'll get in the way?"

The first one smiled; and a mean little laugh. "I sure as shit hope so." Hewore, on his right hand, a leather
carnaby glove with the fingers cut off, small roundmetal studs in a pattern along the line of his knuckles.
He made a fist, flexed, did itagain.

They went under the spiked fence at a point where erosion had created a shallow gully."Sonofabitch!"
one of them said, as he slid through on his stomach. It wasmuddy. The front of his sateen roadie jacket
was filthy. "Sonofabitch!" He wasspeaking in general of the fence, the sliding under, the muddy ground,
the universe intotal. And the old man, who would now really get the crap kicked out of him formaking
this fine sateen roadie jacket filthy.

They sneaked up on him from the left, as far from the young guy in the trenchcoat asthey could. The first

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Har...on%20-%20Paladin%20of%20the%20Lost%20Hour.htm (2 of 22) [10/18/2004 4:56:25 PM]
 Harlan Ellison - Paladin of the Lost Hour

one kicked out the shooting stick with a short, sharp, downwardmovement he had learned in his tae kwon
do class. It was called the yup-chagi.The old man went over backward.

Then they were on him, the one with the filthy sonofabitch sateen roadie jacketpunching at the old man's
neck and the side of his face as he dragged him around by thecollar of the overcoat. The other one began