"Richard Matheson - I Am Legend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matheson Richard)

Eventually he’d have to lathe down rectangular lengths of wood. Won’t that
be fun? bethought irritably.

It was all very depressing and it made him resolve to find a better method
of disposal. But how could he find it when they never gave him a chance to
slow down and think?

As he lathed, he listened to records over the loudspeaker he’d set up in:
the bedroom—Beethoven’s Third, Seventh, and Ninth symphonies. He was glad
he’d learned early in life, from his mother, to appreciate this kind of
music. It helped to fill the terrible void of hours.

From four o’clock on, his gaze kept shifting to the clock on the wall. He
worked in silence, lips pressed into a hard line, a cigarette in the corner
of his mouth, his eyes Staring at the bit as it gnawed away the wood and
sent floury dust filtering down to the floor.

Four-fifteen. Four-thirty. It was a quarter to five.

In another hour they’d be at the house again, the filthy bastards. As soon
as the light was gone.



He stood before the giant freezer, selecting his supper.

His jaded eyes moved over the stacks of meats down to the frozen
vegetables, down to the breads and pastries, the fruits and ice cream.

He picked out two lamb chops, string beans, and a small box of orange
sherbet. He picked the boxes from the freezer and pushed shut the door with
his elbow,

Next he moved over to the uneven stacks of cans piled to the ceiling. He
took down a can of tomato juice, then left the room that had once belonged
to Kathy and now belonged to his stomach.

He moved slowly across the living room, looking at the mural that covered
the back wall. It showed a cliff edge, sheering off to green-blue ocean
that surged and broke over black rocks. Far up in the clear blue sky, white
sea gulls floated on the wind, and over on the right a gnarled tree hung
over the precipice, its dark branches etched against the sky.

Neville walked into the kitchen and dumped the groceries on the table, his
eyes moving to the clock. Twenty minutes to six. Soon now.

He poured a little water into a small pan and clanked it down on a stove
burner. Next he thawed out the chops and put them under the broiler. By
this time the water was boiling and he dropped in the frozen string beans
and covered them, thinking that it was probably the electric stove that was