"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Probationers (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

coach was dragging slowly somewhere on the horizon. There, in a crimson
haze, the conical silhouettes of vertical launch liners could be seen.
Grisha asked:
- Where should I drop you off, Uncle Grisha? At the institute?
- One can go to the institute, - replied Daugeh.
I don't feel like going anywhere, he thought. Absolutely nowhere that
I'd like to go. How difficult... I never imagine it'd be so difficult.
Indeed nothing new or unexpected happened. Everything is acknowledged and
determined. And settled quietly, ahead of time, since no one likes to appear
infirm. All in all, everything is fair and just. Fifty years of age. Four
radiation attacks. A worn-out heart. Nerves that aren't worth anything. Even
the blood - not his own. Therefore rejection, he isn't accepted anywhere.
Whilst Volodya Yurkovski gets accepted. As for you, Gregory Johannovich,
it's enough to eat whatever you are given and sleep wherever we put you.
It's time, Gregory Johannovich, to teach the youngsters. What's the use of
teaching them? Daugeh glanced sideways at Grisha. Look at him, he's robust
and sharp-toothed. Teach him courage? Or fitness? Indeed, besides these,
nothing else is needed. That's how one becomes isolated. Plus a hundred
articles, now archaic. Plus a few books that are quickly becoming obsolete.
Plus fame, that's quickest to turn obsolete.
He turned and entered an echoing cool foyer. Grisha Bykov walked along.
His shirt was unbuttoned. The foyer was filled with quiet conversations and
the rustling of newspapers. Some film was being projected onto a large
concave screen mounted on the wall; a few people sunken in their chairs were
watching it, holding the shiny phonodemonstrator boxes at the ear. A chubby
eastern-looking foreigner was fumbling at the automated buffet.
At the bar entrance Daugeh suddenly stopped.
- Come on, my namesake buddy, let's go in and have a drink, - he said.
Grisha looked at him with surprise and sympathy.
- What for, Uncle Grisha? - he asked pleadingly. - What for? No need.
- You think, there is no need? - Daugeh asked musingly.
- Of course, there's no need. It's pointless, honestly.
Daugeh, tilting his head and squinting, looked at him.
- Have you, by any chance, imagined, - he said venomously, - that I
turned sour, because I was put in reserve? What, that I cannot survive
without all those mysterious abysses in space? I beg your pardon, old pal! I
couldn't care less about those abysses! But the fact that I am now left
alone... Understand? Alone! For the first time in life I am alone!
Grisha looked around in confusion. The chubby foreigner was looking at
them. Daugeh was soft-spoken, but Grisha felt as though everyone in the hall
heard him.
- Why am I now alone? What have I done? Why me, individually... why
should I, specifically, be alone? Indeed I am not the oldest one, dear
namesake. Michael is older, and your father also...
- Uncle Misha is also taking his last voyage, - Grisha reminded him
timidly.
- True, - conceded Daugeh. - Our Misha has aged too... Alright, let's
go get a drink.
They entered the bar. The bar was empty, except for a table by the
window where some attractive woman sat. She was sitting over an empty glass,