"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

the bureau is a charitable organization, we don't profit by this in any way.
We just want people to leave this hellhole and get back into the mainstream
of life. We underwrite the move, find you work. For young people like you,
we pay for an education. No, I just don't understand!"
"Do you mean nobody wants to leave?"
"Not nobody. Some are leaving, particularly the ones with families. But
the young folk and the old people--what do you people want in this place?
It's a hick town, a hole."
I let him have it.
"Mr. Aloysius Macnaught! You're absolutely right. Our little town is a
hole. It always has been and still is. But now it is a hole into the future.
We're going to dump so much through this hole into your lousy world that
everything will change in it. Life will be different. It'll be fair.
Everyone will have everything that he needs. Some hole, huh? Knowledge comes
through this hole. And when we have the knowledge, we'll make everyone rich,
and we'll fly to the stars, and go anywhere we want. That's the kind of hole
we have here."
I broke off here, because I noticed Ernest watching me in amazement. I
felt uncomfortable. I don't usually like using other people's words, even
when I agree with them. Besides, it was coming out kind of funny. When
Kirill speaks, you listen and forget to close your mouth. And even though I
seem to be saying the same things, it doesn't come out the same. Maybe it's
because Kirill never slipped Ernest any loot under the counter....
Ernie snapped to attention and hurriedly poured me six fingers of booze
at once, as if to bring me back to my senses. The sharp-nosed Mr. Macnaught
took another sip of his bourbon.
"Yes, of course. Eternal batteries, the blue panacea. But do you really
believe things will be the way you described them?"
"It's none of your business what I really believe. I was speaking for
the city. As for myself, what do you have in Europe that I haven't seen? I
know about your boredom. You knock yourself out all day, and watch TV all
night."
"It doesn't necessarily have to be Europe."
"It's all the same, except that it's cold in Antarctica."
The amazing part was that I believed it in my guts as I said it to him.
Our Zone, the bitch, the killer, was a hundred times dearer to me at that
second than all of their Europes and Africas. And I wasn't drunk yet, I had
just pictured for a minute how I would drag myself home in a herd of cretins
just like myself, how I would be pushed and squeezed in the subway, and how
I was sick and tired of everything.
"And what about you?" he asked Ernest.
"I have a business," he replied self-importantly. "I'm no punk. I've
invested all my money in this business. The base commander himself comes in
once in a while, a general, you understand? Why should I leave here?"
Mr. Aloysius Macnaught tried to make some point, quoting a lot of
figures. But I wasn't listening. I took a good long gulp, pulled out a lot
of change from my pocket, got off the stool and pumped the jukebox. There's
a song on there: "Don't Come Back If You're Not Sure." It has a good effect
on me after a trip to the Zone. The jukebox was howling and rocking. I had
taken my glass into the corner where I was hoping to even old scores with