"A. E. Van Vogt - The Book Of Ptath (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Vogt A E)

go to them, river or no river. Nothing could stop him. The
purpose was like a wind, a storm that raged inside him.
Across the river, a world of glory beckoned. He stepped
down into the water, shrank back momentarily, then waded
into the dark, swirling current. The river tugged at him, and
it seemed to be alive like himself. It too, moved over the
land, and was not a part of the land.

His thought ended as he stepped into a deep hole. The
water crowded hungrily over his chin, tasted flat and luke-
warm in his mouth. Agony stabbed through his chest. He
struggled, smashing at the yielding water with his hands,
fighting back to higher ground. He stood breast deep, scowl-
ing at the water that had attacked him. He had no fear,
simply dislike, and a conviction that he had been treated
unfairly. He wanted to go to the hills, and the river was
trying to stop him. But he would not let it. If pain there must
be; so be it. He stepped forward.

This time he ignored the agony in his chest and walked
on, straight through the watery darkness that engulfed him.
And finally, as if realizing its defeat, the pain went away.
'The water kept pushing at him, pulling his feet off the soft
muddy bottom, but each time his head broke the water he
could see that he was making progress.

The twisting chest pain came back as he emerged at last
into shallower water. Water sprayed from his lips. He
coughed and retched until tears blurred his vision, and for a
while he lay contorted on the grassy bank. The paroxysm
ended. He climbed to his feet, and for a long minute stood
staring at the dark, rushing stream. When he turned away,
he was conscious of one thing: He didn't like water.

The road puzzled him when he came to it. It stretched in
an almost straight line toward the western horizon; and its
very uniformity gave it character. It was obvious that, like
himself, it had a purpose, but it wasn't actively going
anywhere. He tried to think of it as a river that was not
moving, but he felt no sense of repulsion, no dislike; and
when he stepped on it he didn't sink into it.

A sound drew him out of his mental effort. It came from
the north where the road wound into sight from behind a
tree-covered hill. At first he saw nothing, then the thing
came into sight. Part of the thing's body was like his own.
That part had arms, legs, body and head, almost exactly as

he had. Its face was white, but the rest was mostly dark in