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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Марсианские хроники
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- Стр. 113/287
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They
walked
from
the
vault
and
shut
the
marble
door
.
The
next
afternoon
Parkhill
did
some
target
practice
in
one
of
the
dead
cities
,
shooting
out
the
crystal
windows
and
blowing
the
tops
off
the
fragile
towers
.
The
captain
caught
Parkhiil
and
knocked
his
teeth
out
.
The
men
of
Earth
came
to
Mars
.
They
came
because
they
were
afraid
or
unafraid
,
because
they
were
happy
or
unhappy
,
because
they
felt
like
Pilgrims
or
did
not
feel
like
Pilgrims
.
There
was
a
reason
for
each
man
.
They
were
leaving
bad
wives
or
bad
jobs
or
bad
towns
;
they
were
coming
to
find
something
or
leave
something
or
get
something
,
to
dig
up
something
or
bury
something
or
leave
something
alone
.
They
were
coming
with
small
dreams
or
large
dreams
or
none
at
all
.
But
a
government
finger
pointed
from
four
-
color
posters
in
many
towns
:
THERE
’
S
WORK
FOR
YOU
IN
THE
SKY
:
SEE
MARS
!
and
the
men
shuffled
forward
,
only
a
few
at
first
,
a
double
-
score
,
for
most
men
felt
the
great
illness
in
them
even
before
the
rocket
fired
into
space
.
And
this
disease
was
called
The
Loneliness
,
because
when
you
saw
your
home
town
dwindle
the
size
of
your
fist
and
then
lemon
-
size
and
then
pin
-
size
and
vanish
in
the
fire
-
wake
,
you
felt
you
had
never
been
born
,
there
was
no
town
,
you
were
nowhere
,
with
space
all
around
,
nothing
familiar
,
only
other
strange
men
.
And
when
the
state
of
Illinois
,
Iowa
,
Missouri
,
or
Montana
vanished
into
cloud
seas
,
and
,
doubly
,
when
the
United
States
shrank
to
a
misted
island
and
the
entire
planet
Earth
became
a
muddy
baseball
tossed
away
,
then
you
were
alone
,
wandering
in
the
meadows
of
space
,
on
your
way
to
a
place
you
couldn
’
t
imagine
.
So
it
was
not
unusual
that
the
first
men
were
few
.
The
number
grew
steadily
in
proportion
to
the
census
of
Earth
Men
already
on
Mars
.
There
was
comfort
in
numbers
.
But
the
first
Lonely
Ones
had
to
stand
by
themselves
.
When
the
sun
set
he
crouched
by
the
path
and
cooked
a
small
supper
and
listened
to
the
fire
crack
while
he
put
the
food
in
his
mouth
and
chewed
thoughtfully
.
It
had
been
a
day
not
unlike
thirty
others
,
with
many
neat
holes
dug
in
the
dawn
hours
,
seeds
dropped
in
,
and
water
brought
from
the
bright
canals
.
Now
,
with
an
iron
weariness
in
his
slight
body
,
he
lay
and
watched
the
sky
color
from
one
darkness
to
another
.
His
name
was
Benjamin
Driscoll
,
and
he
was
thirty
-
one
years
old
.
And
the
thing
that
be
wanted
was
Mars
grown
green
and
tall
with
trees
and
foliage
,
producing
air
,
more
air
,
growing
larger
with
each
season
;
trees
to
cool
the
towns
in
the
boiling
summer
,
trees
to
hold
back
the
winter
winds
.
There
were
so
many
things
a
tree
could
do
:
add
color
,
provide
shade
,
drop
fruit
,
or
become
a
children
’
s
playground
,
a
whole
sky
universe
to
climb
and
hang
from
;
an
architecture
of
food
and
pleasure
,
that
was
a
tree
.
But
most
of
all
the
trees
would
distill
an
icy
air
for
the
lungs
,
and
a
gentle
rustling
for
the
ear
when
you
lay
nights
in
your
snowy
bed
and
were
gentled
to
sleep
by
the
sound
.
He
lay
listening
to
the
dark
earth
gather
itself
,
waiting
for
the
sun
,
for
the
rains
that
hadn
’
t
come
yet
.
His
ear
to
the
ground
,
he
could
hear
the
feet
of
the
years
ahead
moving
at
a
distance
,
and
he
imagined
the
seeds
he
had
placed
today
sprouting
up
with
green
and
taking
hold
on
the
sky
,
pushing
out
branch
after
branch
,
until
Mars
was
an
afternoon
forest
,
Mars
was
a
shining
orchard
.
In
the
early
morning
,
with
the
small
sun
lifting
faintly
among
the
folded
hills
,
he
would
be
up
and
finished
with
a
smoky
breakfast
in
a
few
minutes
and
,
trodding
out
the
fire
ashes
,
be
on
his
way
with
knapsacks
,
testing
,
digging
,
placing
seed
or
sprout
,
tamping
lightly
,
watering
,
going
on
,
whistling
,
looking
at
the
clear
sky
brightening
toward
a
warm
noon
.
"
You
need
the
air
,
"
he
told
his
night
fire
.
The
fire
was
a
ruddy
,
lively
companion
that
snapped
back
at
you
,
that
slept
close
by
with
drowsy
pink
eyes
warm
through
the
chilly
night
.
"
We
all
need
the
air
.
It
’
s
a
thin
air
here
on
Mars
.
You
get
tired
so
soon
.
It
’
s
like
living
in
the
Andes
,
in
South
America
,
high
.
You
inhale
and
don
’
t
get
anything
.
It
doesn
’
t
satisfy
.
"
