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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Марсианские хроники
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- Стр. 87/287
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Whitie
blew
a
chord
.
It
sounded
funny
and
wrong
.
Whitie
knocked
the
moisture
from
his
harmonica
and
put
it
away
.
"
What
kinda
party
is
this
?
"
Biggs
wanted
to
know
.
Someone
hugged
the
accordion
.
It
gave
a
sound
like
a
dying
animal
.
That
was
all
.
"
Okay
,
me
and
my
bottle
will
go
have
our
own
party
.
"
Biggs
squatted
against
the
rocket
,
drinking
from
a
flask
.
Spender
watched
him
.
Spender
did
not
move
for
a
long
time
.
Then
his
fingers
crawled
up
along
his
trembling
leg
to
his
holstered
pistol
,
very
quietly
,
and
stroked
and
tapped
the
leather
sheath
.
"
All
those
who
want
to
can
come
into
the
city
with
me
,
"
announced
the
captain
.
"
We
’
ll
post
a
guard
here
at
the
rocket
and
go
armed
,
just
in
case
.
"
The
men
counted
off
.
Fourteen
of
them
wanted
to
go
,
including
Biggs
,
who
laughingly
counted
himself
in
,
waving
his
bottle
.
Six
others
stayed
behind
.
"
Here
we
go
!
"
Biggs
shouted
.
The
party
moved
out
into
the
moonlight
,
silently
.
They
made
their
way
to
the
outer
rim
of
the
dreaming
dead
city
in
the
light
of
the
racing
twin
moons
.
Their
shadows
,
under
them
,
were
double
shadows
.
They
did
not
breathe
,
or
seemed
not
to
,
perhaps
,
for
several
minutes
.
They
were
waiting
for
something
to
stir
in
the
dead
city
,
some
gray
form
to
rise
,
some
ancient
,
ancestral
shape
to
come
galloping
across
the
vacant
sea
bottom
on
an
ancient
,
armored
steel
of
impossible
lineage
,
of
unbelievable
derivation
.
