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- Говард Лавкрафт
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- Тень над Иннсмутом
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- Стр. 11/41
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In
all
these
streets
no
living
thing
was
visible
,
and
I
wondered
at
the
complete
absence
of
cats
and
dogs
from
Innsmouth
.
Another
thing
which
puzzled
and
disturbed
me
,
even
in
some
of
the
best-preserved
mansions
,
was
the
tightly
shuttered
condition
of
many
third-story
and
attic
windows
.
Furtiveness
and
secretiveness
seemed
universal
in
this
hushed
city
of
alienage
and
death
,
and
I
could
not
escape
the
sensation
of
being
watched
from
ambush
on
every
hand
by
sly
,
staring
eyes
that
never
shut
.
I
shivered
as
the
cracked
stroke
of
three
sounded
from
a
belfry
on
my
left
.
Too
well
did
I
recall
the
squat
church
from
which
those
notes
came
.
Following
Washington
Street
toward
the
river
,
I
now
faced
a
new
zone
of
former
industry
and
commerce
;
noting
the
ruins
of
a
factory
ahead
,
and
seeing
others
,
with
the
traces
of
an
old
railway
station
and
covered
railway
bridge
beyond
,
up
the
gorge
on
my
right
.
The
uncertain
bridge
now
before
me
was
posted
with
a
warning
sign
,
but
I
took
the
risk
and
crossed
again
to
the
south
bank
where
traces
of
life
reappeared
.
Furtive
,
shambling
creatures
stared
cryptically
in
my
direction
,
and
more
normal
faces
eyed
me
coldly
and
curiously
.
Innsmouth
was
rapidly
becoming
intolerable
,
and
I
turned
down
Paine
Street
toward
the
Square
in
the
hope
of
getting
some
vehicle
to
take
me
to
Arkham
before
the
still-distant
starting-time
of
that
sinister
bus
.
It
was
then
that
I
saw
the
tumbledown
fire
station
on
my
left
,
and
noticed
the
red
faced
,
bushy-bearded
,
watery
eyed
old
man
in
nondescript
rags
who
sat
on
a
bench
in
front
of
it
talking
with
a
pair
of
unkempt
but
not
abnormal
looking
firemen
.
This
,
of
course
,
must
be
Zadok
Allen
,
the
half-crazed
,
liquorish
nonagenarian
whose
tales
of
old
Innsmouth
and
its
shadow
were
so
hideous
and
incredible
.
It
must
have
been
some
imp
of
the
perverse
--
or
some
sardonic
pull
from
dark
,
hidden
sources
--
which
made
me
change
my
plans
as
I
did
.
I
had
long
before
resolved
to
limit
my
observations
to
architecture
alone
,
and
I
was
even
then
hurrying
toward
the
Square
in
an
effort
to
get
quick
transportation
out
of
this
festering
city
of
death
and
decay
;
but
the
sight
of
old
Zadok
Allen
set
up
new
currents
in
my
mind
and
made
me
slacken
my
pace
uncertainly
.
I
had
been
assured
that
the
old
man
could
do
nothing
but
hint
at
wild
,
disjointed
,
and
incredible
legends
,
and
I
had
been
warned
that
the
natives
made
it
unsafe
to
be
seen
talking
with
him
;
yet
the
thought
of
this
aged
witness
to
the
town
's
decay
,
with
memories
going
back
to
the
early
days
of
ships
and
factories
,
was
a
lure
that
no
amount
of
reason
could
make
me
resist
.
After
all
,
the
strangest
and
maddest
of
myths
are
often
merely
symbols
or
allegories
based
upon
truth
--
and
old
Zadok
must
have
seen
everything
which
went
on
around
Innsmouth
for
the
last
ninety
years
.
Curiosity
flared
up
beyond
sense
and
caution
,
and
in
my
youthful
egotism
I
fancied
I
might
be
able
to
sift
a
nucleus
of
real
history
from
the
confused
,
extravagant
outpouring
I
would
probably
extract
with
the
aid
of
raw
whiskey
.
I
knew
that
I
could
not
accost
him
then
and
there
,
for
the
firemen
would
surely
notice
and
object
.
Instead
,
I
reflected
,
I
would
prepare
by
getting
some
bootleg
liquor
at
a
place
where
the
grocery
boy
had
told
me
it
was
plentiful
.
Then
I
would
loaf
near
the
fire
station
in
apparent
casualness
,
and
fall
in
with
old
Zadok
after
he
had
started
on
one
of
his
frequent
rambles
.
The
youth
had
said
that
he
was
very
restless
,
seldom
sitting
around
the
station
for
more
than
an
hour
or
two
at
a
time
.
A
quart
bottle
of
whiskey
was
easily
,
though
not
cheaply
,
obtained
in
the
rear
of
a
dingy
variety-store
just
off
the
Square
in
Eliot
Street
.
The
dirty-looking
fellow
who
waited
on
me
had
a
touch
of
the
staring
"
Innsmouth
look
"
,
but
was
quite
civil
in
his
way
;
being
perhaps
used
to
the
custom
of
such
convivial
strangers
--
truckmen
,
gold-buyers
,
and
the
like
--
as
were
occasionally
in
town
.
