"Yuri Olesha. The three fat men (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

something terrible and shouted at the top of his voice:
"Run for your lives! They've captured Prospero the Gunsmith! They'll be
inside the gates any minute!"
There was a mad scramble in the square.
The crowd rushed away from the gates and ran down the little streets
leading off the square. The noise of the shooting was deafening.
Doctor Caspar and two other men stopped on the third floor landing.
They looked through the narrow window built in the thick wall.
There was just room for one of them to have a good look. The other two
could only get a peep from behind his head.
Doctor Caspar was one of the two who could only peep. But even that was
more than enough to see the horrible things that were going on.
The great iron gates flew open. About three hundred people rushed
through them. These were workers in grey cloth jackets with green cuffs.
They fell to the ground bleeding.
The Guards galloped right over them, swinging their swords and
shooting. The yellow feathers in their shiny black oilskin hats fluttered in
the wind. The horses opened their foaming red mouths and rolled their eyes.
"Look! Look! There's Prospero!" the doctor cried.
They were dragging him along at the end of a rope. He stumbled, fell
and rose again. His red hair was matted with blood, and there was a big
noose tied round his neck.
"Prospero has been captured!" the doctor cried again.


Just then a cannon ball hit the laundry. The tower leaned, swayed,
steadied for a moment, and then came crashing to the ground.
The doctor tumbled downstairs, losing his other heel, his
walking-stick, his bag and his spectacles on the way.


CHAPTER TWO


TEN SCAFFOLDS


It was a lucky fall: Doctor Caspar did not crack his head, nor broke
his bones.
But no matter how luckily one may fall from a toppling tower, it's far
from pleasant, especially if you are not young (or, rather, are old), as
Doctor Caspar Arnery was. The good doctor fainted from fright.
When he came to, it was evening. He looked about.
"Oh, dear! My spectacles are broken. When I look round without them, I
see things just as poorly as someone with good eyes does when he puts on
spectacles. It's most distressing."
Then he began to grumble about his lost heels.
"I'm short enough as it is, and now I'll be at least an inch shorter.
Perhaps even two inches shorter, since I lost both heels. I guess I'll only
be one inch shorter after all."