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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- 451 по фаренгейту
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- Стр. 154/158
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"
Look
!
"
cried
Montag
.
And
the
war
began
and
ended
in
that
instant
.
Later
,
the
men
around
Montag
could
not
say
if
they
had
really
seen
anything
.
Perhaps
the
merest
flourish
of
light
and
motion
in
the
sky
.
Perhaps
the
bombs
were
there
,
and
the
jets
,
ten
miles
,
five
miles
,
one
mile
up
,
for
the
merest
instant
,
like
grain
thrown
over
the
heavens
by
a
great
sowing
hand
,
and
the
bombs
drifting
with
dreadful
swiftness
,
yet
sudden
slowness
,
down
upon
the
morning
city
they
had
left
behind
.
The
bombardment
was
to
all
intents
and
purposes
finished
,
once
the
jets
had
sighted
their
target
,
alerted
their
bombardiers
at
five
thousand
miles
an
hour
;
as
quick
as
the
whisper
of
a
scythe
the
war
was
finished
.
Once
the
bomb-release
was
yanked
it
was
over
.
Now
,
a
full
three
seconds
,
all
of
the
time
in
history
,
before
the
bombs
struck
,
the
enemy
ships
themselves
were
gone
half
around
the
visible
world
,
like
bullets
in
which
a
savage
islander
might
not
believe
because
they
were
invisible
;
yet
the
heart
is
suddenly
shattered
,
the
body
falls
in
separate
motions
and
the
blood
is
astonished
to
be
freed
on
the
air
;
the
brain
squanders
its
few
precious
memories
and
,
puzzled
,
dies
.
This
was
not
to
be
believed
.
It
was
merely
a
gesture
.
Montag
saw
the
flirt
of
a
great
metal
fist
over
the
far
city
and
he
knew
the
scream
of
the
jets
that
would
follow
,
would
say
,
after
the
deed
,
disintegrate
,
leave
no
stone
on
another
,
perish
.
Die
.
Montag
held
the
bombs
in
the
sky
for
a
single
moment
,
with
his
mind
and
his
hands
reaching
helplessly
up
at
them
.
"
Run
!
"
he
cried
to
Faber
.
To
Clarisse
,
"
Run
!
"
To
Mildred
,
"
Get
out
,
get
out
of
there
!
"
But
Clarisse
,
he
remembered
,
was
dead
.
And
Faber
was
out
;
there
in
the
deep
valleys
of
the
country
somewhere
the
five
a.
m.
bus
was
on
its
way
from
one
desolation
to
another
.
Though
the
desolation
had
not
yet
arrived
,
was
still
in
the
air
,
it
was
certain
as
man
could
make
it
.
Before
the
bus
had
run
another
fifty
yards
on
the
highway
,
its
destination
would
be
meaningless
,
and
its
point
of
departure
changed
from
metropolis
to
junkyard
.
And
Mildred
...
Get
out
,
run
!
He
saw
her
in
her
hotel
room
somewhere
now
in
the
halfsecond
remaining
with
the
bombs
a
yard
,
a
foot
,
an
inch
from
her
building
.
He
saw
her
leaning
toward
the
great
shimmering
walls
of
colour
and
motion
where
the
family
talked
and
talked
and
talked
to
her
,
where
the
family
prattled
and
chatted
and
said
her
name
and
smiled
at
her
and
said
nothing
of
the
bomb
that
was
an
inch
,
now
a
half-inch
,
now
a
quarter-inch
from
the
top
of
the
hotel
.
Leaning
into
the
wall
as
if
all
of
the
hunger
of
looking
would
find
the
secret
of
her
sleepless
unease
there
.
Mildred
,
leaning
anxiously
,
nervously
,
as
if
to
plunge
,
drop
,
fall
into
that
swarming
immensity
of
colour
to
drown
in
its
bright
happiness
.
