"Henry Lion Oldie. The prophet" - читать интересную книгу автора

soldiers started running. Tough young guys -- but never before did they
have to shoot prophets...
Antisthenes quickened his pace. He didn't know how long the elixir
would work, and he had to make it to the palace. And following him moved
the continually growing crowd, on their way picking up the guns thrown by
guardsmen...

x x x

...Antisthenes put a full stop, brushed the manuscript aside to the
table edge and, satisfied, leaned back in his armchair. And at that very
moment came a demanding knock on the door. He knew that would happen,
sooner or later, but... oh no, not now! Too much pain. Now hardly anyone
would be able to read that book. The door collapsed and the guardsmen
broke into the room.

The Dictator, rosy-cheeked and clean-shaven, sitting at the bulky
oak table of antique artwork, was smiling. In the whole huge hall, with
columns and a vaulted ceiling with stucco ornaments, there was nothing
except that table.
-- Won't tire you with silence like in your book, -- he continued
smiling. -- Let's leave elixirs to alchemy. I want a renunciation. A
well-staged one, public, with representatives of the press. Don't promise
you any reward. But you'll live.
Antisthenes kept silent.
-- You know, I've read your... opuses. You write well. But it's no
good to follow the plot so closely. For as far as I remember, the next
scene you've got is torture. And shooting.
Antisthenes kept silent.
-- All right then, let's not restrict the author's imagination. No
elixirs, though. And we will not suspend the sentence 'till tomorrow. --
Crustill!
Heels clicked together behind Antisthenes' back.

Unable to walk by himself, Antisthenes had to be carried by the arms
and legs. Then the guards stood him leaning against the wall. Antisthenes
staggered, but managed to steady himself. The square was reeling before
his eyes. He had known the sentence -- short and clear as a burst of
tommy-gun fire. By the end of the sentence reading the town-hall clock
began striking noon, their chime drowning the words. Words, words,
words... Who said that? Hamlet. Four soldiers lined up facing him. Tommy-
gun locks went clicking. The gold-laced officer raised his hand. Now...
Torn flames blew up at him. But Antisthenes was still standing there
watching in dumb amazement the bullets chipping pieces of plaster off the
wall around him.

THE END

(c) Henry Lion Oldie, 1991.
(c) Translation from Russian, 1997-1998, Mikhail Zislis, Irina