"Karl Glogaver - 02 - Breakfast In The Ruins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

The smoke drifted across the sky and evening came and the city burned. Red
flames stained the night on every side. Shots boomed. But there were no more
voices. Even the people who passed and whom Karl begged to help his wounded
mother did not speak. One or two laughed harshly. With his help, his mother
managed to turn herself over and sat with her back propped against the wall.
She breathed with great difficulty and did not seem to know him, staring as
fixedly and as determinedly into the middle distance as she had always done.
Her hair was loose and it clung to her tight, anxious face. Karl wanted to find
her some water, but he did not want to leave her.

At last he got up and blocked the path of a man who came walking towards
Boulevard St-Germaine. "Please help my mother, sir," he said.

"Help her? Yes, of course. Then they will shoot me, too. That will be good,
eh?" The man threw back his head and laughed heartily as he continued on his
way.

"She did nothing wrong!" Karl shouted.

The man stopped just before he turned the corner. "It depends how you look at
it, doesn't it, young man?" He gestured into the boulevard. "Here's what you
need! Hey, there! Stop! I've got another passenger for you." Karl heard the
sound of something squeaking. The squeaking stopped and the man exchanged a few
words with someone else. Then he disappeared. Instinctively Karl backed away
with some idea of defending his mother. A filthy old man appeared next. "I've
just about got room," he complained. He brushed Karl aside, heaved Madame
Glogauer onto his shoulder and turned, staggering back down the street. Karl
followed. Was the man going to help his mother? Take her to the hospital?
A cart stood in the street. There were no cart-horses, for they had all been
eaten during the Siege as Karl knew. Instead, between the shafts stood several
ragged men and women. They began to move forward when they saw the old man
appear again, dragging the squeaking cart behind them. Karl saw that there were
people of all ages and sexes lying on top of one another in the cart. Most of
them were dead, many with gaping wounds and parts of their faces or bodies
missing. "Give us a hand here," said the old man and one of the younger men
left his place at the front and helped heave Madame Glogauer onto the top of the
pile. She groaned.

"Where are you taking her?" asked Karl.

They continued to ignore him. The cart squeaked on through the night. Karl
followed it. From time to time he heard his mother moan.

He became very tired and could hardly see, for his eyes kept closing, but he
followed the cart by its sound, hearing the sharp clack of clogs and the slap of
bare feet on the road, the squeal of the wheels, the occasional cries and moans
of the living passengers. By midnight they had reached one of the outlying
districts of the city and entered a square. There were Versaillese soldiers
here, standing about on the remains of a green. In the middle of the green was