"Encounter, The by Kate Wilhelm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nebula Award Stories 7)

where the snow fell horizontally. Crane, supported by the wind and the
snow, could have entered the station by walking up the wall, or across the ceiling. His mind seemed adrift, out of touch with the reality of his body. He stamped,
scattering
snow, bringing some feeling back to his legs, making himself feel the floor
beneath
his feet. He tried to feel his cheek, to see if he was feverish, but his
hands were too
numb, his cheek too numb. The heating system of the bus had failed over an
hour ago.

The trouble was that he had not dressed for such weather. An overcoat, but
no
boots, no fur-lined gloves, no woolen scarf to wind and wind about his
throat. He
stamped and clapped his hands. Others were doing the same.

There had been only nine or ten people on the bus, and some of them were
being
greeted by others or were slipping out into the storm, home finally or near
enough
now. The bus driver was talking to an old man who had been in the station
when they
arrived, the ticket agent, probably. He was wearing two sweaters, one a
heavy, hip-
length green that looked home-knit; under it, a turtleneck gray wool with
too-long
sleeves that hung from beneath the green sleeves. He had on furry boots
that came
to his knees, with his sagging pants tucked tightly into them. Beyond him,
tossed over one of the wooden benches, was a greatcoat, fleece-
lined, long enough to hang to his boot tops. Fleecy gloves bulged
from one of the pockets.
"Folks," he said, turning away from the bus driver, "there won't
be another bus until sometime in the morning, when they get the
roads plowed out some. There's an all-night diner down the road,
three, four blocks. Not much else in town's open this time of
night."
"Is there a hotel?" A woman, fur coat, shiny patent boots, kid
gloves. She had got on at the same station that Crane had; he
remembered the whiff of expensive perfume as she had passed
him.
"There's the Laughton Inn, ma'am, but it's two miles outside
town and there's no way to get there."
"Oh, for God's sake! You mean this crummy burg doesn't even
have a hotel of its own?"
"Four of them, in fact, but they're closed, open again in April.
Don't get many people to stay overnight in the winter times."
"Okay, okay. Which way's the diner?" She swept a disapproving
glance over the bleak station and went to the door,, carrying an
overnight bag with her.