"G. Stanley Weinbaum - The Best of Stanley G Weinbaum" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinbaum Stanley G)

'Did I! You'll hear about it when I come to it. Well, I was just about to turn in when suddenly I heard
the wildest sort of shenanigans!'
'Vot iss shenanigans?' inquired Putz.
'He says, 'Je ne sais quoi',' explained Leroy. 'It is to say, 'I don't know what'.'
'That's right,' agreed Jarvis. 'I didn't know what, so I sneaked over to find out. There was a racket
like a flock of crows eating a bunch of canaries - whistles, cackles, caws, trills, and what have you. I
rounded a clump of stumps, and there was Tweel!'
'Tweel?' said Harrison, and 'Tweel?' said Leroy and Putz.
'That freak ostrich,' explained the narrator. 'At least, Tweel is as near as I can pronounce it without
sputtering. He called it something like 'Trrrweerrll!'.'
'What was he doing?' asked the captain.
'He was being eaten! And squealing, of course, as any one would.'
'Eaten! By what?'
'I found out later. All I could see then was a bunch of black ropy arms tangled around what looked
like, as Putz described it to you, an ostrich. I wasn't going to interfere, naturally; if both creatures were
dangerous, I'd have one less to worry about.
'But the bird-like thing was putting up a good battle, dealing vicious blows with an eighteen-inch
beak, between screeches. And besides, I caught a glimpse or two of what was on the end of those
arms!' Jarvis shuddered. 'But the clincher was when I noticed a little black bag or case hung about the
neck of the bird-thing! It was intelligent. That or tame, I assumed. Anyway, it clinched my decision. I
pulled out my automatic and fired into what I could see of its antagonist.
'There was a flurry of tentacles and a spurt of black corruption, and then the thing, with a disgusting
sucking noise, pulled itself and its arms into a hole in the ground. The other let out a series of clacks,
staggered around on legs about as thick as golf sticks, and turned suddenly to face me. I held my weapon
ready, and the two of us stared at each other.
'The Martian wasn't a bird, really. It wasn't even bird-like, except just at first glance. It had a beak all
right, and a few feathery appendages, but the beak wasn't really a beak. It was somewhat flexible; I
could see the tip bend slowly from side to side; it was almost like a cross between a beak and a trunk. It
had four-toed feet, and four-fingered things - hands, you'd have to call them, and a little roundish body,
and a long neck ending in a tiny head - and that beak. It stood an inch or so taller than I, and - well, Putz
saw it!'
The engineer nodded. 'Ja! I saw!'
Jarvis continued. 'So - we stared at each other. Finally the creature went into a series of clackings
and twitterings and held out its hands toward me, empty. I took that as a gesture of friendship.'
'Perhaps,' suggested Harrison, 'it looked at that nose of yours and thought you were its brother!'
'Huh! You can be funny without talking! Anyway, I put up my gun and said 'Aw, don't mention it,' or
something of the sort, and the thing came over and we were pals.
'By that time, the sun was pretty low and I knew that I'd better build a fire or get into my
thermo-skin. I decided on the fire. I picked a spot at the base of the Thyle cliff where the rock could
reflect a little heat on my back. I started breaking off chunks of this desiccated Martian vegetation, and
my companion caught the idea and brought in an armful. I reached for a match, but the Martian fished
into his pouch and brought out something that looked like a glowing coal; one touch of it, and the fire was
blazing - and you all know what a job we have starting a fire in this atmosphere!
'And that bag of his!' continued the narrator. 'That was a manufactured article, my friends; press an
end and she popped open - press the middle and she sealed so perfectly you couldn't see the line. Better
than zippers.
'Well, we stared at the fire for a while and I decided to attempt some sort of communication with the
Martian. I pointed at myself and said 'Dick'; he caught the drift immediately, stretched a bony claw at me
and repeated 'Tick.' Then I pointed at him, and he gave that whistle I called Tweel; I can't imitate his
accent. Things were going smoothly; to emphasize the names, I repeated 'Dick,' and then, pointing at him,