"Zelazny, Roger - DIVINE~2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

When he awakened the previous evening the drunkenness was high
upon him again. Two of the bottles he refilled, recorked, resealed.
He knew he would take them to the liquor store soon and get his money
back.
As he sat there that day, his mouth uncursing and undrinking and
his eyes unreading, he knew that new cars were being shipped back to
Detroit and disassembled, that corpses were awakening into their
death-throes, and that priests the world over were saying black mass,
unknowing.
He wanted to chuckle, but he could not tell his mouth to do it.
He unsmoked two and a half packs of cigarettes.
Then came another hangover and he went to bed. Later, the sun set
in the east.

Time's winged chariot fled before him as he opened the door and said
"good-bye" to his comforters and they came in and sat down and told
him not to grieve overmuch.
And he wept without tears as he realized what was to come.
Despite his madness, he hurt.
...Hurt, as the days rolled backward.
...Backward, inexorably.
...Inexorably, until he knew the time was near at hand.
He gnashed the teeth of his mind.
Great was his grief and his hate and his love.

He was wearing his black suit and undrinking drink after drink, while
somewhere the men were scraping the clay back onto the shovels which
would be used to undig the grave.
He backed his car to the funeral parlor, parked it, and climbed
into the limousine.
They backed all the way to the graveyard.
He stood among his friends and listened to the preacher.
".dust to dust; ashes to Ashes," the man said, which is pretty
much the same whichever way you say it.
The casket was taken back to the hearse and returned to the
funeral parlor.
He sat through the service and went home and unshaved and
unbrushed his teeth and went to bed.
He awakened and dressed again in black and returned to the parlor.
The flowers were all back in place.
Solemn-faced friends unsigned the Sympathy Book and unshook his
hand. Then they went inside to sit awhile and stare at the closed
casket. Then they left, until he was alone with the funeral director.
Then he was alone with himself.
The tears ran up his cheeks.
His shirt and suit were crisp and unwrinkled again.
He backed home, undressed, uncombed his hair. The day collapsed
around him into morning, and he returned to bed to unsleep another
night.