"Connie Willis - Fire Watch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Willis Connie)

December 15 тАФI found the cat this morning. Heavy raids last night, but most of them
towards Canning Town and nothing on the roofs to speak of. Nevertheless the cat was quite de
found him lying on the steps this morning when I made my own, private rounds. Concussion. T
was not a mark on him anywhere except the white blackout patch on his throat, but when I pi
him up, he was all jelly under the skin.
I could not think what to do with him. I thought for one mad moment of asking Matthews
could bury him in the crypt. Honorable death in war or something. Trafalgar, Waterloo, Lon
died in battle. I ended by wrapping him in my muffler and taking him down Ludgate Hill to a bui
that had been bombed out and burying him in the rubble. It will do no good. The rubble will b
protection from dogs or rats, and I shall never get another muffler. I have gone through nearly a
uncle's money.
I should not be sitting here. I haven't checked the alleyways or the rest of the steps, and
might be a dud or a delayed incendiary or something that I missed.
When I came here, I thought of myself as the noble res-cuer, the savior of the past. I am not d
very well at the job. At least Enola is out of it. I wish there were some way I could send St. Pau
Bath for safekeeping. There were hardly any raids last night. Bence-Jones said cats can su
anything. What if he was coming to get me, to show me the way home? All the bombs were
Canning Town.

December 16 тАФEnola has been back a week. Seeing her, standing on the west steps wh
found the cat, sleeping in Marble Arch and not safe at all, was more than I could absorb. "I tho
you were in Bath," I said stupidly.
"My aunt said she'd take Tom but not me as well. She's got a houseful of evacuation children
what a noisy lot. Where is your muffler?" she said. "It's dreadful cold up here on the hill."
"I ..." I said, unable to answer, "I lost it."
"You'll never get another one," she said. "They're going to start rationing clothes. And wool,
You'll never get another one like that."
"I know," I said, blinking at her.
"Good things just thrown away," she said. "It's absolutely criminal, that's what it is."
 I don't think I said anything to that, just turned and walked away with my head down, lookin
bombs and dead ani-mals.

December 20 тАФLangby isn't a Nazi. He's a Communist. I can hardly write this. A Communis
One of the chars found The Worker wedged behind a pillar and brought it down to the cry
we were coming off the first watch.
"Bloody Communists," Bence-Jones said. "Helping Hitler, they are. Talking against the
stirring up trouble in the shelters. Traitors, that's what they are."
"They love England same as you," the char said. .
"They don't love nobody but themselves, bloody selfish lot. I wouldn't be surprised to hear
were ringing Hitler up on the telephone," Bence-Jones said. " "Ello, Adolf, here's where to dro
bombs.'"
The kettle on the gas ring whistled. The char stood up and poured the hot water into a chippe
pot, then sat back down. "Just because they speak their minds don't mean they'd burn down ol
Paul's, does it now?"
"Of course not," Langby said, coming down the stairs. He sat down and pulled off his b
stretching his feet in their wool socks. "Who wouldn't burn down St. Paul's?"
"The Communists," Bence-Jones said, looking straight at him, and I wondered if he suspe
Langby, too.
Langby never batted an eye. "I wouldn't worry about them It I were you," he said. "It's the je