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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Марсианские хроники
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- Стр. 231/287
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His
name
was
Walter
Gripp
.
He
had
a
placer
mine
and
a
remote
shack
far
up
in
the
blue
Martian
hills
and
he
walked
to
town
once
every
two
weeks
to
see
if
he
could
marry
a
quiet
and
intelligent
woman
.
Over
the
years
he
had
always
returned
to
his
shack
,
alone
and
disappointed
.
A
week
ago
,
arriving
in
town
,
he
had
found
it
this
way
!
That
day
he
had
been
so
surprised
that
he
rushed
to
a
delicatessen
,
flung
wide
a
case
,
and
ordered
a
triple
-
decker
beef
sandwich
.
"
Coming
up
!
"
he
cried
,
a
towel
on
his
arm
.
He
flourished
meats
and
bread
baked
the
day
before
,
dusted
a
table
,
invited
himself
to
sit
,
and
ate
until
he
had
to
go
find
a
soda
fountain
,
where
he
ordered
a
bicarbonate
.
The
druggist
,
being
one
Walter
Gripp
,
was
astoundingly
polite
and
fizzed
one
right
up
for
him
!
He
stuffed
his
jeans
with
money
,
all
he
could
find
.
He
loaded
a
boy
’
s
wagon
with
ten
-
dollar
bills
and
ran
lickety
-
split
through
town
.
Reaching
the
suburbs
,
he
suddenly
realized
how
shamefully
silly
he
was
.
He
didn
’
t
need
money
.
He
rode
the
ten
-
dollar
bills
back
to
where
he
’
d
found
them
,
counted
a
dollar
from
his
own
wallet
to
pay
for
the
sandwiches
,
dropped
it
in
the
delicatessen
till
,
and
added
a
quarter
tip
.
That
night
he
enjoyed
a
hot
Turkish
bath
,
a
succulent
filet
carpeted
with
delicate
mushrooms
,
imported
dry
sherry
,
and
strawberries
in
wine
.
He
fitted
himself
for
a
new
blue
flannel
suit
,
and
a
rich
gray
Homburg
which
balanced
oddly
atop
his
gaunt
head
.
He
slid
money
into
a
juke
box
which
played
"
That
Old
Gang
of
Mine
.
"
He
dropped
nickels
in
twenty
boxes
all
over
town
.
The
lonely
streets
and
the
night
were
full
of
the
sad
music
of
"
That
Old
Gang
of
Mine
"
as
he
walked
,
tall
and
thin
and
alone
,
his
new
shoes
clumping
softly
,
his
cold
hands
in
his
pockets
.
But
that
was
a
week
past
.
He
slept
in
a
good
house
on
Mars
Avenue
,
rose
mornings
at
nine
,
bathed
,
and
idled
to
town
for
ham
and
eggs
.
No
morning
passed
that
he
didn
’
t
freeze
a
ton
of
meats
,
vegetables
,
and
lemon
cream
pies
,
enough
to
last
ten
years
,
until
the
rockets
came
back
from
Earth
,
if
they
ever
came
.
Now
,
tonight
,
he
drifted
up
and
down
,
seeing
the
wax
women
in
every
colorful
shop
window
,
pink
and
beautiful
.
For
the
first
time
he
knew
how
dead
the
town
was
.
He
drew
a
glass
of
beer
and
sobbed
gently
.
"
Why
,
"
he
said
,
"
I
’
m
all
alone
.
"
