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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Марсианские хроники
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- Стр. 276/287
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They
sat
still
and
felt
the
canal
water
rush
cool
,
swift
,
and
glassy
.
The
only
sound
was
the
motor
hum
,
the
glide
of
water
,
the
sun
expanding
the
air
.
"
When
do
we
see
the
Martians
?
"
cried
Michael
.
"
Quite
soon
,
perhaps
,
"
said
Father
.
"
Maybe
tonight
.
"
"
Oh
,
but
the
Martians
are
a
dead
race
now
,
"
said
Mom
.
"
No
,
they
’
re
not
.
I
’
ll
show
you
some
Martians
,
all
right
,
"
Dad
said
presently
.
Timothy
scowled
at
that
but
said
nothing
.
Everything
was
odd
now
.
Vacations
and
fishing
and
looks
between
people
.
The
other
boys
were
already
engaged
making
shelves
of
their
small
hands
and
peering
under
them
toward
the
seven
-
foot
stone
banks
of
the
canal
,
watching
for
Martians
.
"
What
do
they
look
like
?
"
demanded
Michael
.
"
You
’
ll
know
them
when
you
see
them
.
"
Dad
sort
of
laughed
,
and
Timothy
saw
a
pulse
beating
time
in
his
cheek
.
Mother
was
slender
and
soft
,
with
a
woven
plait
of
spungold
hair
over
her
head
in
a
tiara
,
and
eyes
the
color
of
the
deep
cool
canal
water
where
it
ran
in
shadow
,
almost
purple
,
with
flecks
of
amber
caught
in
it
.
You
could
see
her
thoughts
swimming
around
in
her
eyes
,
like
fish
—
some
bright
,
some
dark
,
some
fast
,
quick
,
some
slow
and
easy
,
and
sometimes
,
like
when
she
looked
up
where
Earth
was
,
being
nothing
but
color
and
nothing
else
.
She
sat
in
the
boat
’
s
prow
,
one
hand
resting
on
the
side
lip
,
the
other
on
the
lap
of
her
dark
blue
breeches
,
and
a
line
of
sunburnt
soft
neck
showing
where
her
blouse
opened
like
a
white
flower
.
