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- Говард Лавкрафт
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- Стр. 10/13
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I
tried
my
legs
,
blood-encrusted
beneath
my
shredded
trousers
,
and
found
that
I
could
walk
;
yet
could
not
decide
in
what
direction
to
go
.
Obviously
I
ought
not
to
walk
at
random
,
and
perhaps
retreat
directly
from
the
entrance
I
sought
;
so
I
paused
to
note
the
difference
of
the
cold
,
fetid
,
natron-scented
air-current
which
I
had
never
ceased
to
feel
.
Accepting
the
point
of
its
source
as
the
possible
entrance
to
the
abyss
,
I
strove
to
keep
track
of
this
landmark
and
to
walk
consistently
toward
it
.
I
had
a
match-box
with
me
,
and
even
a
small
electric
flashlight
;
but
of
course
the
pockets
of
my
tossed
and
tattered
clothing
were
long
since
emptied
of
all
heavy
articles
.
As
I
walked
cautiously
in
the
blackness
,
the
draft
grew
stronger
and
more
offensive
,
till
at
length
I
could
regard
it
as
nothing
less
than
a
tangible
stream
of
detestable
vapor
pouring
out
of
some
aperture
like
the
smoke
of
the
genie
from
the
fisherman
's
jar
in
the
Eastern
tale
.
The
East
...
Egypt
...
truly
,
this
dark
cradle
of
civilization
was
ever
the
wellspring
of
horrors
and
marvels
unspeakable
!
The
more
I
reflected
on
the
nature
of
this
cavern
wind
,
the
greater
my
sense
of
disquiet
became
;
for
although
despite
its
odor
I
had
sought
its
source
as
at
least
an
indirect
clue
to
the
outer
world
,
I
now
saw
plainly
that
this
foul
emanation
could
have
no
admixture
or
connection
whatsoever
with
the
clean
air
of
the
Libyan
Desert
,
but
must
be
essentially
a
thing
vomited
from
sinister
gulfs
still
lower
down
.
I
had
,
then
,
been
walking
in
the
wrong
direction
!
After
a
moment
's
reflection
I
decided
not
to
retrace
my
steps
.
Away
from
the
draft
I
would
have
no
landmarks
,
for
the
roughly
level
rock
floor
was
devoid
of
distinctive
configurations
.
If
,
however
,
I
followed
up
the
strange
current
,
I
would
undoubtedly
arrive
at
an
aperture
of
some
sort
,
from
whose
gate
I
could
perhaps
work
round
the
walls
to
the
opposite
side
of
this
Cyclopean
and
otherwise
unnavigable
hall
.
That
I
might
fail
,
I
well
realized
.
I
saw
that
this
was
no
part
of
Khephren
's
gateway
temple
which
tourists
know
,
and
it
struck
me
that
this
particular
hall
might
be
unknown
even
to
archaeologists
,
and
merely
stumbled
upon
by
the
inquisitive
and
malignant
Arabs
who
had
imprisoned
me
.
If
so
,
was
there
any
present
gate
of
escape
to
the
known
parts
or
to
the
outer
air
?
What
evidence
,
indeed
,
did
I
now
possess
that
this
was
the
gateway
temple
at
all
?
For
a
moment
all
my
wildest
speculations
rushed
back
upon
me
and
I
thought
of
that
vivid
melange
of
impressions
--
descent
,
suspension
in
space
,
the
rope
,
my
wounds
,
and
the
dreams
that
were
frankly
dreams
.
Was
this
the
end
of
life
for
me
?
Or
indeed
,
would
it
be
merciful
if
this
moment
were
the
end
?
I
could
answer
none
of
my
own
questions
,
but
merely
kept
on
,
till
Fate
for
a
third
time
reduced
me
to
oblivion
.
This
time
there
were
no
dreams
,
for
the
suddenness
of
the
incident
shocked
me
out
of
all
thought
either
conscious
or
subconscious
.
Tripping
on
an
unexpected
descending
step
at
a
point
where
the
offensive
draft
became
strong
enough
to
offer
an
actual
physical
resistance
,
I
was
precipitated
headlong
down
a
black
flight
of
huge
stone
stairs
into
a
gulf
of
hideousness
unrelieved
.
That
I
ever
breathed
again
is
a
tribute
to
the
inherent
vitality
of
the
healthy
human
organism
.
Often
I
look
back
to
that
night
and
feel
a
touch
of
actual
humor
in
those
repeated
lapses
of
consciousness
;
lapses
whose
succession
reminded
me
at
the
time
of
nothing
more
than
the
crude
cinema
melodramas
of
that
period
.
Of
course
,
it
is
possible
that
the
repeated
lapses
never
occurred
;
and
that
all
the
features
of
that
underground
nightmare
were
merely
the
dreams
of
one
long
coma
which
began
with
the
shock
of
my
descent
into
that
abyss
and
ended
with
the
healing
balm
of
the
outer
air
and
of
the
rising
sun
which
found
me
stretched
on
the
sands
of
Gizeh
before
the
sardonic
and
dawn-flushed
face
of
the
Great
Sphinx
.
I
prefer
to
believe
this
latter
explanation
as
much
as
I
can
,
hence
was
glad
when
the
police
told
me
that
the
barrier
to
Krephren
's
gateway
temple
had
been
found
unfastened
,
and
that
a
sizeable
rift
to
the
surface
did
actually
exist
in
one
corner
of
the
still
buried
part
.
I
was
glad
,
too
,
when
the
doctors
pronounced
my
wounds
only
those
to
be
expected
from
my
seizure
,
blindfolding
,
lowering
,
struggling
with
bonds
,
falling
some
distance
--
perhaps
into
a
depression
in
the
temple
's
inner
gallery
--
dragging
myself
to
the
outer
barrier
and
escaping
from
it
,
and
experiences
like
that
.
.
,
a
very
soothing
diagnosis
.
And
yet
I
know
that
there
must
be
more
than
appears
on
the
surface
.
That
extreme
descent
is
too
vivid
a
memory
to
be
dismissed
--
and
it
is
odd
that
no
one
has
ever
been
able
to
find
a
man
answering
the
description
of
my
guide
,
Abdul
Reis
el
Drogman
--
the
tomb-throated
guide
who
looked
and
smiled
like
King
Khephren
.
