"Kim Stanley Robinson - Red Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)AfterwardsЕ we should meet."
"Yes." "In the park, then, the southernmost path. Around eleven." Selim nodded. Chalmers transfixed him with a stare. "Talk means nothing," he said brusquely, and walked away. # # # The next boulevard Chalmers came to was crowded with people clumped outside open-front bars, or kiosks selling cous-cous and bratwurst. Arab and Swiss. It seemed an odd combination, but they meshed well. Tonight some of the Swiss were distributing face masks from the door of an apartment. Apparently they were celebrating this stadtfest as a kind of Mardi Gras, Fassnacht as they called it, with masks and music and every manner of social inversion, just as it was back home on those wild February nights in Basel and Z№rich and Luzern. . . . On an impulse Frank joined the line. "Around every profound spirit a mask is always growing," he said to two young women in front of him. They nodded politely and then resumed conversation in guttural Schwyzerd№№tsch, a dialect never written down, a private code, incomprehensible even to Germans. It was another impenetrable culture, the Swiss, in some ways even more so than the Arabs. That was it, Frank thought; they worked well together because they were both so insular that they never made any real contact. He laughed out loud as he took a mask, a black face with studded with red paste gems. He put it on. loose, at the edge of control. At an intersection the boulevard opened up into a small plaza, where a fountain shot sun-colored water into the air. Around the fountain a steel drum band hammered out a calypso tune. People gathered around, dancing or hopping in time to the low bong of the bass drum. A hundred meters overhead a vent in the tent frame poured frigid air down onto the plaza, air so cold that little flakes of snow floated in it, glinting in the light like chips of mica. Then fireworks banged just under the tenting, and colored sparks fell down through the snowflakes. # # # Sunset, more than any other time of day, made it clear that they stood on an alien planet; something in the slant and redness of the light was fundamentally wrong, upsetting expectations wired into the savannah brain over millions of years. This evening was providing a particularly garish and unsettling example of the phenomenon. Frank wandered in its light, making his way back to the city wall. The plain south of the city was littered with rocks, each one dogged by a long black shadow. Under the concrete arch of the city's south gate he stopped. No one there. The gates were locked during festivals like these, to keep drunks from going out and getting hurt. But Frank had gotten the day's emergency code out of the fire department AI that morning, and when he was sure no one was watching he tapped out the code and hurried into the lock. He put on a walker, boots, and helmet, and went through the middle and outer doors. Outside it was intensely cold as always, and the diamond pattern of the walker's heating element burned through his clothes. He crunched |
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