"Robert A. Heinlein - Job, A Comedy of Justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

and could not guess which would be worse. Yet this old woman, skinny as
gnawed bones, stood there quietly, face placid, and with no precautions other
than having tucked up her lava-lava so that it was almost a diaper.
Apparently she fretted about burning her clothes but not about burning her
legs.
Three men with poles had been straightening out the burning logs, making
sure that the bed of the pit was a firm and fairly even footing for the fire
walkers. I took a deep interest in this, as I expected to be walking in. that pit
in a few minutes - if I didnтАЩt cave in and forfeit the bet. It seemed to me that
they were making it possible to walk the length of the fire pit on rocks rather
than burning coals. I hoped so!
Then I wondered what difference it would make recalling sun-scorched
sidewalks that had blistered my bare feet when I was a boy in Kansas. That
fire had to be at least seven hundred degrees; those rocks had been soaking
in that fire for several hours. At such temperatures was there any real choice
between frying pan and fire?
I Meanwhile the voice of reason was whispering in my ear that forfeiting three
hundred was not much of a price to pay to get out of this bind... or would I
rather walk the rest of my life on two barbecued stumps?

Would it help if I took an aspirin?
The three men finished fiddling with the burning logs and went to the end of
the pit at our left; the rest of the villagers gathered behind them - including
those darned kids! What were their parents thinking about, letting them risk
something like this? Why werenтАЩt they in school where they belonged?
The three fire tenders led off, walking single file down the center of the fire,
not hurrying, not dallying. The rest of the men of the village followed them, a*
slow, steady procession. Then came the women, including the young mother
with a baby on her hip.
When the blast of heat struck the infant, it started to cry. Without varying her
steady pace, its mother swung it up and gave it suck; the baby shut up.
The children followed, from pubescent girls and adolescent boys down to the
kindergarten level. Last was a little girl (nine? eight?) who was leading her
round-eyed little, brother by, the hand. He seemed to be about four and was
dressed only in his skin.
I looked at this kid and knew with mournful certainty that I was about to be
served up rare; I could no longer back out. Once the baby boy stumbled; his
sister kept him from falling. He went on then, short sturdy steps. At the far
end someone reached down and lifted him out.
And it was my turn.
The translator said to me, тАЪYou understand that the Polynesia Tourist Bureau
takes no responsibility for your safety? That fire can burn you, it can kill you.
These people can walk it safely because they have faith.тАЩ
I assured him that I had faith, while wondering how I could be such a
barefaced liar. I signed a release he presented.
All too soon I was standing at one end of the pit, with my trousers rolled up to
my knees. My shoes and socks and hat and wallet were at the far end,
waiting on a stool. That was my goal, my prize - if I didnтАЩt make it, would they
cast lots for them? Or would they ship them to my next of kin?
He was saying: тАЪGo right down the middle. DonтАЩt hurry but donтАЩt stand still.тАЩ