"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. The Final Circle of Paradise (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

crumpled receipts, a broken fountain pen, and a carelessly
folded sheet of paper, decorated with doodled faces. I unfolded
the sheet. Apparently it was the draft of a telegram.
"Green died while with the Fishers receive body Sunday
with condolences Hugger Martha boys." I read the writing twice,
turned the sheet over and studied the faces, and read for the
third time. Obviously Hugger and Martha were not informed that
normal people notifying of death first of all tell how and why
a person died and not whom he was with when he died. I would
have written, "Green drowned while fishing." Probably in a
drunken stupor. By the way, what address did I have now?
I returned to the hall. A small boy in short pants
squatted in the doorway to the landlord's half. Clamping a long
silvery tube under an armpit, he was panting and wheezing and
hurriedly unwinding a tangle of string. I went up to him and
said, "Hi."
My reflexes are not what they used to be, but still I
managed to duck a long black stream which whizzed by my ear and
splashed against the wall. I regarded the boy with astonishment
while he stared at me, lying on his side and holding the tube
in front of him. His face was damp and his mouth twisted and
open. I turned to look at the wall. The stuff was oozing down.
I looked at the boy again. He was getting up slowly, without
lowering the tube.
"Well, well, brother, you are nervous!" said I.
"Stand where you are," said the boy in a hoarse voice." I
did not say your name."
"To say the least," said I. "You did not even mention
yours, and you fire at me like I was a dummy."
"Stand where you are," repeated the boy, "and don't move."
He backed and suddenly blurted in rapid fire, "Hence from my
hair, hence from my bones, hence from my flesh."
"I cannot," I said. I was still trying to understand
whether he was playing or was really afraid of me.
"Why not?" said the boy. "I am saying everything right."
"I can't go without moving," I said. "I am standing where
I am."
His mouth fell open again.
"Hugger: I say to you - Hugger - begone!" he said
uncertainly.
"Why Hugger?" I said. "My name is Ivan; you confuse me
with somebody else."
The boy closed his eyes and advanced upon me, holding the
tube in front of him.
"I surrender," I warned. "Be careful not to fire."
When the tube dented my midriff he stopped and, dropping
it, suddenly went limp, letting his hands fall. I bent over and
looked him in the face. Now he was brick-red. I picked up the
tube. It was something like a toy rifle, with a convenient
checkered grip and a flat rectangular flask which was inserted