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

custom, and that he, Maxim, could not understand it. As the streets they
passed through grew narrower, darker, and muddier, Rada's chatter broke off
more frequently. Sometimes she stopped and peered into the darkness. At
first Maxim thought she was trying to find a drier path, but it was
something else she was searching for, because she walked straight through
the puddles. Maxim had to guide her away from them gently and lead her onto
drier ground. Where there wasn't any, he lifted her under the arms and
carried her, which appeared to please her. But each time her delight would
quickly be smothered by fear.
The farther they walked from the cafe, the more fearful she be-came. At
first Maxim tried to establish nerve contact with her, but, as with Fank, he
was unsuccessful. They left the slums and came out on a muddy unpaved road.
An endless fence, topped with rusty barbed wire, extended along the right
side, and on the left was a pitch-dark, putrid wasteland. Here Rada became
completely unnerved and almost burst into tears. To boost her spirits, Maxim
sang the most cheerful songs he knew, at the top of his lungs. For a short
time it helped - until they reached the end of the fence. Here were more
houses, long, low, with dark windows. The few street lights burned dimly,
and in the distance, beneath a solitary archway, stood a group of
rain-drenched, bunched-over, shivering figures. Rada halted.
Grasping his arm, she began to speak in a faltering whisper. She pulled
him back and he obeyed, thinking it would make her feel better. Then,
realizing that she had acted impulsively, out of desperation, he refused to
budge.
"Let's go," he said to her gently. "Let's go, Rada. Not bad. Good."
Like a child, she obeyed. Although he didn't know the way, he led her
and suddenly realized that she was afraid of the wet figures. He was very
surprised because they didn't appear dangerous; they were ordinary natives,
hunched over in the rain and shivering from the dampness. At first there
were two of them; then a third and a fourth appeared with those glowing
narcotic sticks hanging from their lips.
Maxim walked along the deserted street between the rows of yellow
houses, directly toward them, and Rada kept pressing closer to him. He
placed his arm around her shoulder. It suddenly occurred to him that he was
mistaken, that Rada must be shaking from the cold and not from fear. There
was certainly nothing dangerous about those rain-soaked figures. He walked
past them. Hands thrust deep inside their pockets and stamping to warm
themselves, those pitiful souls, poisoned by narcotics, didn't appear to
notice Rada or him, didn't even raise their eyes, although he passed close
enough to hear their sick, irregular breathing. Now, he thought, Rada could
relax. But as they passed the arch-way another group of four, as wet and
pitiful as the first, sprang out in front of them and blocked their path.
Their leader held along thick cane. Maxim recognized both him and the cane.
The stranger in the cafe.
From the top of the peeling archway a bare bulb dangled in the draft.
The walls were covered with mold, and below his feet lay cracked concrete
marked by the muddy tracks of many feet. Sounds of shuffling feet came from
the rear. Maxim turned around. The first four were catching up, gasping for
breath and tossing away those repulsive narcotic sticks. Rada let out a
muffled cry and let go of his hand. Suddenly he was hemmed in, pressed