"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автораSilence. Stuck out my head. Nobody. And I went on my way, whistling a tune.
I went down to the lobby, showed my pass to the bean-pole sergeant, and saw that he was saluting me. I guess I was the hero of the day. "At ease, sergeant," said. "I'm pleased." He showed so many teeth, you'd think I was flattering him beyond all reason. "Well, Red, you sure are a hero. I'm proud to know you," he said. "So now you'll have something to tell the girls about back in Sweden?" "You bet! They'll just melt in my arms!" I guess he's right. To tell the truth, I don't like guys who are that tall and rosy-cheeked. Women go nuts over them, and I don't know why. Height is not the important thing. I was walking down the street and thinking along these lines. The sun was shining and there was no one around. And suddenly I wanted to sec Guta right then and there. just like that. To look at her and hold her hand a while. After the Zone that's about all you can manage--to hold hands. Especially when you think of those stories about what stalkers' children turn out like.... Who needs Guta now? What I really needed was a bottle, at least a bottle, of the hard stuff. I went past the parking lot. There was a checkpoint there. There were two patrol cars in all their glory--low-slung and yellow, armed with searchlights and machine guns, the toads. And of course, the cops had blue helmets, too. They were blocking the whole street. There was no way to get through. I kept walking with my eyes lowered, because it would be better for me not to see them right now. Not in daylight. There's two or three characters there that I'm afraid to recognize, because if I do, that'll be working for the institute. Otherwise, by God, I would have found the snakes and finished them off. I shouldered my way through the crowd, I was almost past it when I heard someone shout "Hey, stalker!" Well, that had nothing to do with me, so I went on, rummaging for a cigarette in my pocket. Someone caught up with me and took me by the sleeve. I shook off the hand and half turned toward the man and said politely: "What the hell do you think you're doing, mister?" "Hold it, stalker," he said. "Just two questions. I looked up at him. It was Captain Quarterblad. An old friend. He was all dried up and kind of yellow. "Ah, greetings, captain. How's the liver?" "Don't try to talk your way out of this, stalker." He was angry and his eyes bored into me. "You'd be better off telling me why you don't stop immediately when you're called." And right behind him were two blue helmets, hands on holsters. You couldn't see their eyes, just their jaws working under the helmets. Where in Canada do they find these guys? Have they been sent out here to breed? In general I have no fear of the patrol guards in daytime, but they could search me, the toads, and I wasn't too crazy about the idea just then. "Were you calling me, captain?" I said. "You were calling some stalker." "Are you trying to tell me that you're not a stalker?" "Once the time I spent thanks to you was over, I went straight. Quit |
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