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- Рэй Брэдбери
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Spender
stared
for
a
moment
,
then
turned
and
walked
off
into
the
avenues
of
the
city
,
alone
in
the
moonlight
.
Never
once
did
he
pause
to
look
back
at
the
gathered
men
there
.
They
turned
in
at
four
in
the
morning
.
They
lay
upon
blankets
and
shut
their
eyes
and
breathed
the
quiet
air
.
Captain
Wilder
sat
feeding
little
sticks
into
the
fire
.
McClure
opened
his
eyes
two
hours
later
.
"
Aren
’
t
you
sleeping
,
sir
?
"
"
I
’
m
waiting
for
Spender
.
"
The
captain
smiled
faintly
.
McClure
thought
it
over
.
"
You
know
,
sir
,
I
don
’
t
think
he
’
ll
ever
come
back
.
I
don
’
t
know
how
I
know
,
but
that
’
s
the
way
I
feel
about
him
,
sir
;
he
’
ll
never
come
back
.
"
McClure
rolled
over
into
sleep
.
The
fire
cradded
and
died
.
Spender
did
not
return
in
the
following
week
.
The
captain
sent
searching
parties
,
but
they
came
back
saying
they
didn
’
t
know
where
Spender
could
have
gone
.
He
would
be
back
when
he
got
good
and
ready
.
He
was
a
sorehead
,
they
said
.
To
the
devil
with
him
!
The
captain
said
nothing
but
wrote
it
down
in
his
log
…
It
was
a
morning
that
might
have
been
a
Monday
or
a
Tuesday
or
any
day
on
Mars
.
Biggs
was
on
the
canal
rim
;
his
feet
hung
down
into
the
cool
water
,
soaking
,
while
he
took
the
sun
on
his
face
.
A
man
walked
along
the
bank
of
the
canal
.
The
man
threw
a
shadow
down
upon
Biggs
.
