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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Марсианские хроники
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- Стр. 220/287
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He
threw
out
the
anchor
.
It
was
no
use
.
The
sail
fluttered
down
,
folding
unto
itself
,
sighing
.
The
ship
stopped
.
The
wind
stopped
.
Travel
stopped
.
Mars
stood
still
as
the
majestic
vessels
of
the
Martians
drew
around
and
hesitated
over
him
.
"
Earth
man
,
"
a
voice
called
from
a
high
seat
somewhere
.
A
silverine
mask
moved
.
Ruby
-
rimmed
lips
glittered
with
the
words
.
"
I
didn
’
t
do
anything
!
"
Sam
looked
at
all
the
faces
,
one
hundred
in
all
,
that
surrounded
him
.
There
weren
’
t
many
Martians
left
on
Mars
—
one
hundred
,
one
hundred
and
fifty
,
all
told
.
And
most
of
them
were
here
now
,
on
the
dead
seas
,
in
their
resurrected
ships
,
by
their
dead
chess
cities
,
one
of
which
had
just
fallen
like
some
fragile
vase
hit
by
a
pebble
.
The
silverine
masks
glinted
.
"
It
was
all
a
mistake
,
"
he
pleaded
,
standing
out
of
his
ship
,
his
wife
slumped
behind
him
in
the
deeps
of
the
hold
,
like
a
dead
woman
.
"
I
came
to
Mars
like
any
honest
enterprising
businessman
.
I
took
some
surplus
material
from
a
rocket
that
crashed
and
I
built
me
the
finest
little
stand
you
ever
saw
right
there
on
that
land
by
the
crossroads
—
you
know
where
it
is
.
You
’
ve
got
to
admit
it
’
s
a
good
job
of
building
.
"
Sam
laughed
,
staring
around
.
"
And
that
Martian
—
I
know
he
was
a
friend
of
yours
—
came
.
His
death
was
an
accident
,
I
assure
you
.
All
I
wanted
to
do
was
have
a
hot
-
dog
stand
,
the
only
one
on
Mars
,
the
first
and
most
important
one
.
You
understand
how
it
is
?
I
was
going
to
serve
the
best
darned
hot
dogs
there
,
with
chili
and
onions
and
orange
juice
.
"
The
silver
masks
did
not
move
.
They
burned
in
the
moonlight
.
Yellow
eyes
shone
upon
Sam
.
He
felt
his
stomach
clench
in
,
wither
,
become
a
rock
.
He
threw
his
gun
in
the
sand
.
"
I
give
up
.
"
"
Pick
up
your
gun
,
"
said
the
Martians
in
chorus
.
"
What
?
"
"
Your
gun
.
"
A
jeweled
hand
waved
from
the
prow
of
a
blue
ship
.
"
Pick
it
up
.
Put
it
away
.
"
