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

and continued her flight, her sharp face expressing her disapproval at his
weakness. She was a small, wiry woman who would have been reasonably pretty had
her features not been set so solidly in a mask of tension and anxiety. Karl had
never known her face to soften, either to him or to his father. Her eyes had
always seemed fixed on some distant objective which, secretly and grimly, she
had determined to reach. That same look was in her eyes now, though much more
emphatic, and the little boy had the impression that his mother's flight through
the city was the natural climax to her life.

Karl tried not to cry out as he trotted behind his mother's dusty black skirts.
His whole body was aching and his feet were blistered and once he fell on the
cobbles and had to scramble up swiftly in order to catch her as she turned a
corner.

They were now in a narrow side street not far from the Rue du Bac on the Left
Bank. Twice Karl had caught a glimpse of the nearby Seine. It was a beautiful
spring morning, but the sky was slowly being obscured by thick smoke from the
many burning buildings on both sides of the river. Noticing this, his mother
hesitated.

"Oh, the animals!" Her tone was a mixture of disgust and despair. "They are
setting fire to their own city!"
"May we rest now, mother?" asked Karl.

"Rest?" She laughed bitterly. But she made no effort to continue on her way,
though she cast about her in every direction, trying to decide where she could
best expect to find safety.

Suddenly, from a couple of streets away, there came a series of explosions which
shook the houses. There were shots and then a great angry cry, followed by
individual screams and shouts. In the guise of addressing her son, she muttered
to herself.

"The streets are not safe. The dogs are everywhere. We must try to find some
government soldiers and ask their protection."
"Are those the bad soldiers, mother? "
"No, Karl, they are the good soldiers. They are freeing Paris of those who have
brought the city to ruin."
"The Prussians?"
"The Communists. We all knew it would come to this. What a fool your father
was."
Karl was surprised to hear the contempt in her voice. She had previously always
told him to look up to his father. He began to cry. For the first time since
leaving the house, he felt deeply miserable, rather than merely uncomfortable.

"Oh, my God!" His mother reached out and shook him. "We don't need your weeping
on top of everything else. Be quiet, Karl."
He bit his lip, but he was still shaken by sobs.

She stroked his head. "Your mother is tired," she said. "She has always done