"Aleksandr Abramov, Sergei Abramov. Horsemen from Nowhere ("ВСАДНИКИ НИОТКУДА", англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Chapter II. DUPLICATES




I came to, but in a way I did not regain consciousness because I
continued to lie there without moving and with not even enough strength to
open my eyes. Consciousness crept back slowly, or was it a sort of
subconsciousness? Vague feelings, hazy sensations took hold of me, and my
thoughts-which were just as indeterminate and nebulous-attempted to define
them. I was weightless, and I appeared to be floating or sailing or hanging
not even in the air but in empty space, in a kind of colourless tepid
colloidal solution, thick and yet imperceptible at the same time. It
penetrated into my pores, my eyes and mouth and filled my stomach and lungs,
washing through my blood, or perhaps even took its place and began to course
through my body. A strange impression grasped me-that something invisible
was peering intently at and through me, investigating with concentrated
curiosity every blood vessel, every nerve fibre, down to the very cells of
my brain. I did not experience either fear or pain, I slept and didn't, and
dreamt incoherently and formlessly, yet at the same time I was positive that
this was no dream at all.
When I finally regained consciousness, everything about me was just as
bright and quiet as usual. I opened my eyes with great difficulty and with a
sharp piercing pain in my temples. Right in front of me I saw a smooth,
reddish tree-trunk tower upwards. Was this a Eucalyptus tree or a palm tree?
Or perhaps a pine whose top I could not see. I could not turn my head. My
hand hit upon something hard and cold, a stone perhaps. I pushed it and it
rolled into the grass soundlessly. My eyes sought the green grass of the
Moscow Zoo, but the colour was ochre instead. And from above, from the
window or from the sky, came a brilliant stream of white light that
suggested both a limitless expanse of snowy wastes and the blue brilliance
of a wall of ice. Everything became clear at once.
Overcoming the pain, I got to my feet and then sat down to survey my
surroundings. I recognized things now: the brownish lawn was simply the
linoleum and the reddish pole was the foot of the table, and the stone that
I pushed was my camera. It had probably hit me on the head when the vehicle
plunged downwards. Where was Dyachuk? I called him, but no answer came.
Zernov did not respond, neither did Chokheli. The silence was more complete
than that of a room in which you are working and where you can hear all
kinds of sounds-the dropping of water, the squeaking of the floor, the
tick-tock of a clock or the buzzing of a fly-this was a total silence where
only my own voice could be heard. I brought my wrist-watch to my ear-it was
going. And the time was twenty minutes after twelve.
With great effort I rose to my feet and, holding onto the wall, found
my way to the navigator's seat. It was empty, even the gloves and binoculars
had vanished from the desk and Zernov's fur jacket was not thrown over the
back of the chair. Zernov's log book was absent. Vano had likewise
disappeared together with mittens and jacket. I looked through the front
window; the outside glass was bent inwards. Beyond I could see smooth