"Ludlum, Robert - The Parcifal Mosaic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ludlum Robert)

'Always protection," she said, tracing his eyebrows. "You never forget, do
youP The early days, the terrible days."
'History. Irue forgottm'
~What will we do?"
'Live. I love you."
Do you think we'll have children? Watch them going off to school, hold
them, scold them. Go to hockey-ball games."
"Footballor baseball . Not hockey-ball. Yes, I hope 80 .
'What will you do, Mikhail?"
"Teach, I suppose. At a college somewhere. rve a couple of starched degrees
that say rm qualified. Well be happy, I know that. Fm counting on it."
~What will you teach?"
He looked at her, touching her face, then his eyes wan dered up to the
shabby ceiling in the -run-down hotel room.
History," he said. And then he reached for her, taking her in his arms.

The beam of light swung across the darkness. It caught her, a bird on fire,
trying to rise, trapped by the light that was her darkness. The gunshots
followed-terrorists' gunfire for a terrorist. The woman arched backward, the
first bullets penetrating the base of her spine, her blond hair cascading
behind her. Three shots then came separately, with finality-a marksmaes eye
delivering a marksman's score; they entered the back of her neck'and her
skull, propelling her forward over the mound of dirt and sand, her fingers
clawing the earth, her blood-streaked face mercifully concealed. A final
spasm,and all movement stopped.
His love was dead-for some part of love was a part of whatever they were.
He had done what he had to do, just as she bad done the same. Each was
right, each wrong, ultimately so terribly wrong. He closed his eyes,
feeling the unwanted dampness.
Why did it have to be? We are fools. Worse, we are stu- 8 RoBLmT LuDLUM

pid. We do not talk; we die. So men with fluld tongues and facile minds can
tell us what is right and wrong-geopolitically, you understand, which means
that whatever they say is beyond our puerile understanding.

What will you do, MikhailP
Teach, I suppose. At a college somewhere
What will you teach?
History ...
It was all history now. Remembrances of things too painful. Let it be cold
history, as the early days were history. They cannot be a part of me any
longer. She cannot be a part of me, it she ever was, even in her pretense.
Yet I will keep a promise, not to her but to myself. I am finished. I will
disappear into another lite, a new lite. I will go somewhere, teach
somewhere. Illuminate the lessons of futility.

He heard the voices and opened his eyes. Below, the killers of the
Baader-Meinhof had reached the condemned woman, sprawled out in death,
clutching the ground that was her execution place-geopolitically
preordained. Had she really been so magnificent a liar? Yes, she had been,