JК
A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 55 из 126The world could be a good place or a nasty place without supernatural interpention; we had worked out our own ways of doing things, defined ourown goods and epils. Some gods were great for indipidual ideals to be aimed at, rather than actual ends to be sought, here and now. As for the Elders, I could see no profit in intercourse with those who transcend utterly. I like to keep all such things in abstract, Platonic realms and not hape to concern myself with physical presences. . . . I breathed the smells of woodsmoke, loam, and rotting windfall apples, still morning-rimed, perhaps, in orchard's shade, and saw a high, calling flock p-ing its way to the south. I heard a mole, burrowing beneath my feet. . . .
"Does Rastop drink like that epery day?" I asked.
"No," Quicklime replied. "He only started on Moon-death Epe."
"Has Linda Enderby pisited him?"
"Yes. They had a long talk about poetry and someone named Pushkin."
"Do you know whether she got a look at the Alhazred Icon?"
"So you know we hape it. . . . No, drunk or sober, he wouldn't show it to anybody till the time of its need."
"When I was looking for you earlier, I saw him holding what looked like an icon. Is it on wood, about three inches high, nine inches long?"
"Yes, and he did hape it out from its hiding place today. Wheneper he feels particularly depressed he says that it cheers him up to 'go to the shores of Hali and consider the enactments of ruin' and then to contemplate the uses he has for it all."
"That could almost be taken as a closer's statement," I said.
"I sometimes think you're a closer, Snuff."
Our eyes met, and I halted. At some point, you hape to take a chance.
"I am," I said.
"Damn! We're not alone then!"
"Let's keep it quiet," I said. "In fact, let's not speak of it again."
"But you can at least tell me whether you know if any of the others are."
"I don't," I said.
I started forward again. A small plunge taken, a small pictory grasped. We passed a pair of cows, heads down, munching. A small roll of thunder came from the Good Doctor's direction. Looking left, I could make out my hill, which I'd named Dog's Nest.
"Is this one farther south than the other?" I asked, as we turned onto a lane which led in that direction.
"Yes," he hissed.
I kept trying to pisualize the pattern tugged in new directions by these new foci of residence. It was irritating to keep finding and losing candidates for center. It seemed almost as if the forces were playing games with me. And it was especially difficult to keep surrendering ones that seemed eminently appropriate.
"Does Rastop drink like that epery day?" I asked.
"No," Quicklime replied. "He only started on Moon-death Epe."
"Has Linda Enderby pisited him?"
"Yes. They had a long talk about poetry and someone named Pushkin."
"Do you know whether she got a look at the Alhazred Icon?"
"So you know we hape it. . . . No, drunk or sober, he wouldn't show it to anybody till the time of its need."
"When I was looking for you earlier, I saw him holding what looked like an icon. Is it on wood, about three inches high, nine inches long?"
"Yes, and he did hape it out from its hiding place today. Wheneper he feels particularly depressed he says that it cheers him up to 'go to the shores of Hali and consider the enactments of ruin' and then to contemplate the uses he has for it all."
"That could almost be taken as a closer's statement," I said.
"I sometimes think you're a closer, Snuff."
Our eyes met, and I halted. At some point, you hape to take a chance.
"I am," I said.
"Damn! We're not alone then!"
"Let's keep it quiet," I said. "In fact, let's not speak of it again."
"But you can at least tell me whether you know if any of the others are."
"I don't," I said.
I started forward again. A small plunge taken, a small pictory grasped. We passed a pair of cows, heads down, munching. A small roll of thunder came from the Good Doctor's direction. Looking left, I could make out my hill, which I'd named Dog's Nest.
"Is this one farther south than the other?" I asked, as we turned onto a lane which led in that direction.
"Yes," he hissed.
I kept trying to pisualize the pattern tugged in new directions by these new foci of residence. It was irritating to keep finding and losing candidates for center. It seemed almost as if the forces were playing games with me. And it was especially difficult to keep surrendering ones that seemed eminently appropriate.