Война миров/War of the Worlds (Герберт Уеллс). Страница 70 из 99

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"

God

have

mercy

upon

us

!

"

I

heard

him

presently

whimpering

to

himself

.

Save

for

that

sound

we

lay

quite

still

in

the

scullery

;

I

for

my

part

scarce

dared

breathe

,

and

sat

with

my

eyes

fixed

on

the

faint

light

of

the

kitchen

door

.

I

could

just

see

the

curate

's

face

,

a

dim

,

oval

shape

,

and

his

collar

and

cuffs

.

Outside

there

began

a

metallic

hammering

,

then

a

violent

hooting

,

and

then

again

,

after

a

quiet

interval

,

a

hissing

like

the

hissing

of

an

engine

.

These

noises

,

for

the

most

part

problematical

,

continued

intermittently

,

and

seemed

if

anything

to

increase

in

number

as

time

wore

on

.

Presently

a

measured

thudding

and

a

vibration

that

made

everything

about

us

quiver

and

the

vessels

in

the

pantry

ring

and

shift

,

began

and

continued

.

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Once

the

light

was

eclipsed

,

and

the

ghostly

kitchen

doorway

became

absolutely

dark

.

For

many

hours

we

must

have

crouched

there

,

silent

and

shivering

,

until

our

tired

attention

failed

...

.

At

last

I

found

myself

awake

and

very

hungry

.

I

am

inclined

to

believe

we

must

have

spent

the

greater

portion

of

a

day

before

that

awakening

.

My

hunger

was

at

a

stride

so

insistent

that

it

moved

me

to

action

.

I

told

the

curate

I

was

going

to

seek

food

,

and

felt

my

way

towards

the

pantry

.

He

made

me

no

answer

,

but

so

soon

as

I

began

eating

the

faint

noise

I

made

stirred

him

up

and

I

heard

him

crawling

after

me

.

After

eating

we

crept

back

to

the

scullery

,

and

there

I

must

have

dozed

again

,

for

when

presently

I

looked

round

I

was

alone

.

The

thudding

vibration

continued

with

wearisome

persistence

.

I

whispered

for

the

curate

several

times

,

and

at

last

felt

my

way

to

the

door

of

the

kitchen

.

It

was

still

daylight

,

and

I

perceived

him

across

the

room

,

lying

against

the

triangular

hole

that

looked

out

upon

the

Martians

.

His

shoulders

were

hunched

,

so

that

his

head

was

hidden

from

me

.

I

could

hear

a

number

of

noises

almost

like

those

in

an

engine

shed

;

and

the

place

rocked

with

that

beating

thud

.

Through

the

aperture

in

the

wall

I

could

see

the

top

of

a

tree

touched

with

gold

and

the

warm

blue

of

a

tranquil

evening

sky

.

For

a

minute

or

so

I

remained

watching

the

curate

,

and

then

I

advanced

,

crouching

and

stepping

with

extreme

care

amid

the

broken

crockery

that

littered

the

floor

.

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I

touched

the

curate

's

leg

,

and

he

started

so

violently

that

a

mass

of

plaster

went

sliding

down

outside

and

fell

with

a

loud

impact

.

I

gripped

his

arm

,

fearing

he

might

cry

out

,

and

for

a

long

time

we

crouched

motionless

.

Then

I

turned

to

see

how

much

of

our

rampart

remained

.

The

detachment

of

the

plaster

had

left

a

vertical

slit

open

in

the

debris

,

and

by

raising

myself

cautiously

across

a

beam

I

was

able

to

see

out

of

this

gap

into

what

had

been

overnight

a

quiet

suburban

roadway

.

Vast

,

indeed

,

was

the

change

that

we

beheld

.

The

fifth

cylinder

must

have

fallen

right

into

the

midst

of

the

house

we

had

first

visited

.

The

building

had

vanished

,

completely

smashed

,

pulverised

,

and

dispersed

by

the

blow

.

The

cylinder

lay

now

far

beneath

the

original

foundations

--

deep

in

a

hole

,

already

vastly

larger

than

the

pit

I

had

looked

into

at

Woking

.

The

earth

all

round

it

had

splashed

under

that

tremendous

impact

--

"

splashed

"

is

the

only

word

--

and

lay

in

heaped

piles

that

hid

the

masses

of

the

adjacent

houses

.

It

had

behaved

exactly

like

mud

under

the

violent

blow

of

a

hammer

.

Our

house

had

collapsed

backward

;

the

front

portion

,

even

on

the

ground

floor

,

had

been

destroyed

completely

;

by

a

chance

the

kitchen

and

scullery

had

escaped

,

and

stood

buried

now

under

soil

and

ruins

,

closed

in

by

tons

of

earth

on

every

side

save

towards

the

cylinder

.

Over

that

aspect

we

hung

now

on

the

very

edge

of

the

great

circular

pit

the

Martians

were

engaged

in

making

.

The

heavy

beating

sound

was

evidently

just

behind

us

,

and

ever

and

again

a

bright

green

vapour

drove

up

like

a

veil

across

our

peephole

.

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