"Robert F. Young - The Questenestal Towers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

sitting there contemplating an ancient art form of my race. Without propriety the question rushed to my
lips."
"I do admire the towers," Thorton admitted.
"My heart is warned that you find pleasure in the art of my people. To us the towers are priceless
because behind their immortality lies a lesson we shall never forget."
"A lesson?" Thorton's face must have betrayed his interest because the Martian, after hesitating a
moment, descended the slope and stood before him. "You would like to hear?" he asked.
"Sit down," Thorton said.
"No, senir. It is not fitting. I am but a poor tiller of the land while youтАФyou are an Earthman, a
dweller in one of the great cities of your planet. But I shall be glad to impart the meager information I
possess if you are interested."
His small leathery face was inscrutable, yet Thorton had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being
ridiculed. His curiosity, however, was rapidly becoming unbearable.
"I am very interested," he said.
"Thank you, senir. I shall tell you about the towers. But, first, in order that you may understand, I
shall tell you about my people.
"Once we were a big race, a brave, bold race. Much like your own race today, senir, though of
course not quite so bold, nor nearly so brave. Our culture of that period, judged in the light of the set of
values that shaped it, was the glorious consummation of a way of life.
"To use a simple expression, we were object-worshippers. We adored things. Not things with
meaning behind them; not symbols. But things that we made, things that we built. Vehicles, machines,
buildings. Most of all buildings, senir. Buildings, and, of course, those agglomerations of
buildingsтАФcities.
We loved our tall white edifices with their gleaming facades, their magnificent spires and pinnacles.
We lived in them completely. We carried on our lives' work in them, hurrying, when it was necessary,
from one to the other, but never for long remaining in the sunlight.
"It was during that period that the Quetenestel Towers were builtтАФ"
"No!" Thorton objected.
The Martian looked at him puzzledly. "Why do you shout 'No', senir?"
"Because an age like that simply can't produce art."
"But that age produced the Quetenestel Towers."
"You must be mistaken!"
"Possibly, senir, but I do not think so."
Thorton waited for him to go on. But the Martian stood there quietly, a strange reticence in his
opaque brown eyes. Thorton became impatient. "You mentioned a significance behind the towers," he
prompted. "A lesson."
"I did, senir. Primarily, the towers signify that which they unequivocally state. Are you familiar with
our simple language?" Thorton shook his head. "It does not matter. You will observe the first tower. In a
bizarre fashion it resembles the 'K' in your alphabet. Actually it is a gigantic symbol for our language
sound тАШQ.' The second tower, comparable to the inverted 'N' in your alphabet, is our way of indicating
the sound 'Ten.'
Then there is the symbol, very much like your 'S,' except that its curve is less pronounced, whichтАФ"
"Are you trying to sayтАФ" Thorton began. Then he stopped, wordless. He was staring across the
canal, not quite believing, yet desperately wanting to believe, wanting to be the first Earthman to make the
amazing discovery.
"I am tryiflg to say, senir, that the Quetenestel Towers are the word 'Quetenestel' spelt out, on a
prodigal scale, in the symbols of our simple alphabet."
"I'll be damned!" Thorton was frozen in an attitude of intense concentration, his whole being focused
through his eyes at the suddenly revealed letters which, a moment ago in inane illiteracy, he had believed
to be towers. And yet, paradoxically, they were still towers, and still beautiful despite his disillusionment.