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

"Just the opposite."
"You want to lend me money?"
"I have work...."
"Oh God!" Redrick said. "Not you too!"
"Who else, then?" Noonan demanded.
"There's lots of you ... hirers."
Noonan, seeming to finally get his point, laughed.
"No, no, this isn't along the lines of your primary specialty."
"Along what lines then?" Noonan looked at his watch again.
"Here's the deal," he said, getting up. "Come to the Borscht for lunch,
around two. We'll talk."
"I may not be able to make it by two."
"Then this evening around six. All right?"
"We'll see." Redrick looked at his watch. It was five to nine.
Noonan waved and rolled out to his Peugeot. Redrick followed him with
his eyes, called the waitress, paid the bill, bought a pack of Lucky
Strikes, and slowly headed over to the hotel with his briefcase. The sun was
baking hot already and the street had quickly become muggy, and Redrick felt
a burning sensation under his eyelids. He squinted hard, sorry that he
hadn't time for an hour's nap before his important business. And then it hit
him.
He had never experienced anything like this before outside the Zone.
And it had happened in the Zone only two or three times. It was as though he
were in a different world. A million odors cascaded in on him at
once--sharp, sweet, metallic, gentle, dangerous ones, as crude as
cobblestones, as delicate and complex as watch mechanisms, as huge as a
house and as tiny as a dust particle. The air became hard, it developed
edges, surfaces, and corners, like space was filled with huge, stiff
balloons, slippery pyramids, gigantic prickly crystals, and he had to push
his way through it all, making his way in a dream through a junk store
stuffed with ancient ugly furniture.... It lasted a second. He opened his
eyes, and everything was gone. It hadn't been a different world--it was this
world turning a new, unknown side to him. This side was revealed to him for
a second and then disappeared, before he had time to figure it out.
An angry horn beeped, and Redrick walked faster, faster, and then ran
all the way to the wall of the Metropole. His heart was beating wildly. He
put the briefcase on the pavement and impatiently tore open the pack of
cigarettes. He lit one, inhaled deeply, and rested, as if after a fight. A
cop stopped near him and asked:
"Need help, mister?"
"N-no," Redrick squeezed the word out and coughed. "It's stuffy."
"Can I take you where you're going?"
Redrick picked up his briefcase.
"Everything, everything is fine, pal. Thanks."
He walked quickly toward the entrance, walked up the steps and went
into the lobby. It was cool, dusky, and echoey. He should have sat for a
while in one of those voluminous leather chairs and caught his breath, but
he was late already. He allowed himself time to finish the cigarette,
checking out the crowd through half-shut eyes. Bones was there, irritatedly
riffling through the magazines at the newsstand. Redrick threw the butt into