"Gene Wolfe - Comber" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

pigeons as well as gulls there, circling above the houses and shops; pigeons that no doubt nested in the
eaves and scavenged the town's streets for whatever food might be found in them.

"Been lookin' on my old computer at home," Parsons said. "There's views of various places on there, if
you know where to look. My guess is Les Sables-d'Olonne. Mind now, I'm not sayin' I'm right. Just my
guess, I said. You got one?"

He shook his head. "If--It'll be out of the way, won't it? By the time we get there? The next wave will
pick it up first, won't it?" As he spoke, he discovered that he did not believe a word of it.

"Can't say." Parsons scratched his bristling jaw. "Pretty slow, generally, goin' up. Slidin' down's faster 'n
blazes, and you go a long way." Turning his head, he spat. "We're heading right at it."

"If it wasn't, if it was still in the way ... And we hit--"

"Might bust our plate. I dunno. I phoned up one of them geologists. They're s'posed to know all about all
that. He said he didn't know neither. Depend on how fast each was goin'. Only you ought to think 'bout
this, young feller--ain't a buildin' on ours that could stand it if we bump with much speed a-tall. Knock
'em flat, ever' last one of 'em."

Reluctantly he nodded. "You're right, it will. May I ask who you called, sir?"

"Doctor Lantz, his name was. Said don't talk about it, only he don't have any right to give me orders."
Old Parsons appeared to hesitate. "Won't matter to me. I'll be gone long before. You might still be
around, though, a healthy young feller like you."

"Yes," he said. Images of the baby, of Adrian, filled his mind; he continued to talk almost by reflex. "I
asked about the geologist because I know a geologist. Slightly. I've gotten to know him slightly. His name
isn't Lantz, though. It's Sutton. Martin Sutton. He lives one street over from us."

He had debated the matter with himself for more than an hour before telephoning Sutton. "You know
some things I need to know, Marty," he said when the preliminaries were complete, "and I'm going to
pick your brain, if you'll let me. This city or town or whatever it is in the trough--are we going to hit it?"

There was a lengthy silence before Sutton said, "You know about it, too."

"Correct."

"They've kept it off TV. They'll keep it out of the papers, if they can. I wonder how many people know."

"I have no idea. Are we, Marty?"

"That's not my field. I'm a geologist, okay? I study the plate."

"But you know. Are we?"

Sutton sighed. "Probably. How'd you find out?"

"I looked though a telescope, that's all. There's a town down there. Or a small city--take your pick. It's
got fields and gardens around it. What are the odds?"