"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автора

woods, probably because he felt we were near-by. Next point: he wanted to
treat us to mushrooms. The mush-rooms were poisonous, and we wouldn't eat
them or let him, either. But he tried to treat us - 1 suppose to show his
gratitude. And last: as everyone knows, no degen is better endowed
physically than a normal weakling. On the way here he kept up a wild pace,
walked over fallen trees as if he were on level ground, and skipped across
ditches and waited for me on the other side. And for some reason or other -
maybe to show off - he actually picked me up and ran two hundred steps."
The captain listened to Zef attentively. But scarcely had Zef finished
his story when the captain turned sharply to the prisoner, stared at him
hard, and barked in Khonti: "Your name? Rank? Assignment?"
Guy admired the captain's clever approach, but it was obvious that the
prisoner did not understand Khonti. Again he revealed his beautiful teeth
and thumped himself on the chest, saying "Mac Sim." He jabbed his finger
into his captor's ribs, saying "Zef," and then began to speak slowly, with
long pauses, pointing alternately at the ceiling and the floor, and waving
his arms, Guy thought he caught some familiar words in this speech, but the
words had no bearing on the matter at hand. When the prisoner stopped
talking. Corporal Varibobu spoke up.
"In my opinion this man is a clever spy and we should report this to
the brigadier."
The captain ignored him.
"You may go now, Zef," he said. "You've done a good job and it will be
taken into account."
"I'm very grateful to you, captain!" Zef was about to leave when the
prisoner uttered a low cry, leaned over the counter, and grabbed a pile of
blank forms lying on the desk.
Frightened out of his wits, Varibobu recoiled and flung his pen at the
savage. The savage snatched it out of the air and, perching himself on the
counter, began to sketch on the paper. Guy and Zef grabbed him by the
shoulder, but he shrugged them off.
"Leave him alone!" ordered the captain, and Guy obeyed with a sense of
relief. Restraining this brown beast would be as difficult as stopping a
tank by grabbing its treads.
The captain and Zef flanked the prisoner and studied his scribbling.
"I think it's a map of the world," said Zef uncertainly.
"H'm," responded the captain.
"Well, of course! Here in the center he has the World Light. Around it
is the World. And here is where he thinks we are."
Guy finally managed to squeeze between the prisoner's firm shoulder and
Zefs coarse, sweaty jacket. The sketch amused him. That was how a
six-year-old would portray the World: a small circle representing the World
Light, and around it a large circle representing the World Sphere. And on
the circle a duck dot, to which need only be added little hands and feet -
and then you have it: "Ibis is the World and this is me." The poor lunatic
couldn't even draw the circle properly, making some sort of oval shape. It
was obvious that he was abnormal. On top of that, he drew a dotted line
going beneath the World to another point, as if he were trying to explain
how he got where he now was.
Meanwhile the prisoner took a second form and rapidly sketched two