"Wells, H G - Dream of Armageddon, A" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells H G)

"Right place for them. But what I mean--" He looked at his bony knuckles. "Is
that sort of thing really dreaming? Or something else?"
I should have snubbed his persistent conversation but for the drawn anxiety of
his face. I remember now the look of his faded eyes and the lids red stained.
"I'm not just arguing about a matter of opinion," he said. "It's killing me."
"Dreams?"
"If you call them dreams. Night after night. Vivid!--so vivid...this--" he
indicated the landscape that went streaming by the window "seems unreal in
comparison! I can scarcely remember who I am, what business I am on..."
"You mean the dream is always the same?" I asked.
"No. It's over. I died."
"Died?"
"Smashed and killed, and now, so much of me as that dream was, is dead. Forever.
I dreamt I was another man, living in a different part of the world at a
different time. Night after night I woke into that other life. Fresh scenes and
fresh happenings--until I came upon the last--when I died."
It was clear I was in for this dream. And after all, I had an hour before me,
the light was fading fast, and Fortnum Roscoe is rather dreary. "Living in a
different time," I said: "do you mean in some different age?"
"Yes, to come."
"The year 3,000, for example?"
"I don't know. I did when I was asleep and dreaming, but not now that I am
awake. I have forgotten many things since I woke out of these dreams, though I
knew them at the time when I was--I suppose it was dreaming. They called the
year differently from our way... What did they call it?" He put his hand to his
forehead. "No, I forget."
He sat smiling weakly. I feared he would not tell me his dream. As a rule I hate
people who tell their dreams, but this struck me differently. I proffered
assistance even. "It began--" I suggested.
"It was vivid from the first. I seemed to wake up in it suddenly. The first
time, I found myself sitting in a sort of loggia looking out over the sea. I had
been dozing, and suddenly I woke up--fresh and vivid--not a bit
dreamlike--because the girl had stopped fanning me."
"What girl?"
"Please don't interrupt. I woke up, I say, because the girl had stopped fanning
me. I was not surprised to find myself there or anything of that sort, you
understand. I did not feel I had fallen into it suddenly. I simply took it up at
that point. Whatever memory I had of this life, this 19th-century life, faded as
I woke, vanished like a dream. I knew all about myself, knew that my name was no
longer Cooper but Hedon, and all about my position in the world. I've forgotten
a lot since I woke--there's a want of connection--but it was all quite clear and
matter-of-fact then."
He hesitated, gripping the window strap, putting his face forward and looking up
to me appealingly.
"This seems bosh to you?"
"No, no!" I cried. "Go on. Tell me what this loggia was like!"
"It was not really a loggia--I don't know what to call it. It faced south. It
was small. It was all in shadow except the semicircle above the balcony that
showed the sky and sea and the corner where the girl stood. I was on a metal
couch with light striped cushions--and the girl was leaning over the balcony