"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автораthis is the first time I've ever heard of a full one."
I explained it to him. He nodded and smacked his lips. "Yes, that's very interesting. Something new. Who did you go with? The Russian?" "Yes, with Kirill and Tender. You know, our lab assistant." "They must have driven you crazy." "Nothing of the kind. They behaved quite well. Especially Kirill. He's a born stalker. He just needs a little more experience, to break him of his hurrying, and I'd go into the Zone every day with him." "And every night?" he asked with a drunken smirk. "Drop it. A joke's a joke." "I know. A joke's a joke, but it can get me into a lot of trouble. I owe you one." "Who gets one?" Gutalin got excited. "Which one is it?" We grabbed him by the arms and got him back in his chair. Dick stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. We calmed him down. Meanwhile more and more people were coming in. The bar was crowded and many of the tables were taken. Ernest had gotten his girls and they were bringing drinks to the customers--beer, cocktails, vodka. I noticed that there were a lot of new faces in town lately, mostly young punks with long bright scarves hanging to the Boor. I mentioned it to Dick. Dick nodded. "What do you expect? They're starting a lot of construction. The institute is putting up three new buildings and besides that they're planning to wall off the Zone from the cemetery to the old ranch. The good times are over for the stalkers." thought, what's all this new stuff? I guess I won't be able to make a few bucks on the side any more. Maybe it's for the best. Less temptation. I'll go into the Zone in the daytime, like a decent citizen. The money's not the same, of course, but it's a lot safer. The boot, the special suit, and so on, and no worries with the border patrol. I can live on my salary, and I'll booze it up on the bonuses. Then I got really depressed. Penny-pinching again: I can afford this, I can't afford that. I'd have to save up to buy Guta the crummiest rag, no more bars, just cheap movies. It was bleak. Every day was gray, and every evening, and every night. I was sitting there thinking, and Dick was yelling in my ear. "Last night at the hotel I went into the bar for a nightcap. There were some new guys there. I didn't like their looks at all. One comes over to me and starts a conversation in a roundabout way, lets me know that he knows me, knows what I do, where I work, and hints that he's ready to pay good money for various services." "An informer," I said. I wasn't very interested. I've had my fill of informers and little talks about services. "No, buddy, not an informer. Listen. I chatted for a bit, carefully, of course, led him on. He's interested in certain objects in the Zone. Serious ones, at that. Batteries, itchers, black sprays, and other such baubles do nothing for him. He only hinted at what he did want. "What was it?" "Witches' jelly, as far as I could understand," Dick said and looked at me strangely. |
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