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- Филип Киндред Дик
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Reseating
himself
at
his
breakfast
table
he
lit
an
Egyptian
Simon
Arzt
Cigarette
Number
70
,
carefully
reclosing
the
metal
tin
.
It
did
not
appear
that
he
would
be
interrupted
for
a
little
while
now
,
so
from
his
briefcase
he
took
the
book
he
had
been
reading
,
opened
to
his
placemark
,
made
himself
comfortable
,
and
resumed
where
he
had
last
been
forced
to
stop
.
…
Had
he
actually
walked
streets
of
quiet
cars
,
Sunday
morning
peace
of
the
Tiergarten
,
so
far
away
?
Another
life
.
Ice
cream
,
a
taste
that
could
never
have
existed
.
Now
they
boiled
nettles
and
were
glad
to
get
them
.
God
,
he
cried
out
.
Won
’
t
they
stop
?
The
huge
British
tanks
came
on
.
Another
building
,
it
might
have
been
an
apartment
house
or
a
store
,
a
school
or
office
;
he
could
not
tell
—
the
ruins
toppled
,
slid
into
fragments
.
Below
in
the
rubble
another
handful
of
survivors
buried
,
without
even
the
sound
of
death
.
Death
had
spread
out
everywhere
equally
,
over
the
living
,
the
hurt
,
the
corpses
layer
after
layer
that
already
had
begun
to
smell
.
The
stinking
,
quivering
corpse
of
Berlin
,
the
eyeless
turrets
still
upraised
,
disappearing
without
protest
like
this
one
,
this
nameless
edifice
that
man
had
once
put
up
with
pride
.
His
arms
,
the
boy
noticed
,
were
covered
with
the
film
of
gray
,
the
ash
,
partly
inorganic
,
partly
the
burned
sifting
final
produce
of
life
.
All
mixed
now
,
the
boy
knew
,
and
wiped
it
from
him
.
He
did
not
think
much
further
;
he
had
another
thought
that
captured
his
mind
if
there
was
thinking
to
be
done
over
the
screams
and
the
hump
hump
of
the
shells
.
Hunger
.
For
six
days
he
had
eaten
nothing
but
the
nettles
,
and
now
they
were
gone
.
The
pasture
of
weeds
had
disappeared
into
a
single
vast
crater
of
earth
.
Other
dim
,
gaunt
figures
had
appeared
at
the
rim
,
like
the
boy
,
had
stood
silent
and
then
drifted
away
.
An
old
mother
with
a
babushka
tied
about
her
gray
head
,
basket
—
empty
—
under
her
arm
.
A
one
-
armed
man
,
his
eyes
empty
as
the
basket
.
A
girl
.
Faded
now
back
into
the
litter
of
slashed
trees
in
which
the
boy
Eric
hid
.
And
still
the
snake
came
on
.
Would
it
ever
end
?
the
boy
asked
,
addressing
no
one
.
And
if
it
did
,
what
then
?
Would
they
fill
their
bellies
,
these
—
"
Freiherr
,
"
Pferdehuf
’
s
voice
came
.
"
Sorry
to
interrupt
you
.
Just
one
word
.
"
Reiss
jumped
,
shut
his
book
.
"
Certainly
.
"
How
that
man
can
write
,
he
thought
.
Completely
carried
me
away
.
Real
.
Fall
of
Berlin
to
the
British
,
as
vivid
as
if
it
had
actually
taken
place
.
Brrr
.
He
shivered
.
Amazing
,
the
power
of
fiction
,
even
cheap
popular
fiction
,
to
evoke
.
No
wonder
it
’
s
banned
within
Reich
territory
;
I
’
d
ban
it
myself
.
Sorry
I
started
it
.
But
too
late
;
must
finish
,
now
.
