"Foster, Alan Dean - Smart Dragons, Foolish Elves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

sensible forty-five miles per hour. That was about as fast as
he dared go with the bulky U-Haul trailing behind. He
hadn't had much experience driving with a trailer -- he was
a computer salesman, and computer salesmen don't carry
sample computers -- but he got the hang of it pretty fast.
You just had to remember that your vehicle was now a
segmented organism, and make your turns accordingly.
God bless turnpikes, anyhow. Just drive on, straight and
straight and straight, heading toward the land of the sunset
with only a few gentle curves and half a dozen traffic lights
along the way.

The snow thickened some. But the car responded beau-
tifully, hugging the road, and the windshield wipers kept his
view clear. He hadn't expected to buy a foreign car for the
trip at all; when he had set out, it was to get a good solid
Plymouth or Chevvie, something heavy and sturdy to take

6 Robert Silverberg

him through the wide open spaces. But he had no regrets
about this smaller car. It had all the power and pickup he
needed, and with that trailer bouncing along behind him he
wouldn't have much use for all that extra horsepower,
anyway.

He was in a cheerful, relaxed mood. The car seemed
comforting and protective, a warm enclosing environment
that would contain and shelter him through the thousands of
miles ahead. He was still close enough to New York to be
able to get Mozart on the radio, which was nice. The car's
heater worked well. There wasn't much traffic. The snow
itself, new and white and fluffy, was all the more beautiful
for the knowledge that he was leaving it behind. He even
enjoyed the solitude. It would be restful, in a way, driving
on and on through Ohio and Kansas and Colorado or
Arizona or whatever states lay between him and Los
Angeles. Five or six days of peace and quiet, no need to
make small talk, no kids to amuse --

His frame of mind began to darken not long after he got
on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. If you have enough time to
think, you will eventually think of the things you should
have thought of before; and now, as he rolled through the
thickening snow on this gray and silent afternoon, certain
aspects of a trunkless car occurred to him that in his rush to
get on the road he had succeeded in overlooking earlier.
What about a tool kit, for instance? If he had a flat, what
would he use for a jack and a wrench? That led him to a
much more chilling thought: what would he use for a spare