JК
Isle Of The Dead :: Zelazny Roger
Страница: 90 из 110"
A moon came up then, because a generalized blob of light appeared behind the clouds. It drifted slowly towards midheaven.
The water splashed gently beside us, and little wavelets of it struck against our knees, our boots. A cool breeze followed us from the shore.
"The volcano is at rest," he said. "What did you discuss with Belion?"
"You don't miss a trick, do you?"
"I tried to contact you several times, and I know what I found."
"Belion and Shimbo are waiting," I said. "There will be quick movements, and one of them will be satisfied."
The water was black as ink and warm as blood; the isle was a mountain of coal against the pearl and starless night. We poled until we lost the bottom, then commenced paddling, silently, twisting the oars. Green Green had a Pei'an's love of the water in him. I could feel it in the way that he moved, in the ragtails of emotion that I picked up as we proceeded.
To cross over the dark waters ... It was an eerie feeling, because of what the place meant to me, because of the chord it had struck Within me while I was building it. The feeling of the Valley of Shadows, the sense of the serene passing, this was absent. This place was the butcher's block at the end of the nm. I hated it and I feared it. I knew that I lacked the spiritual stamina to ever duplicate it. It was one of those once in a lifetime creations that made me wish I hadn't. To cross over the dark waters meant to me a confrontation with something within myself that I did not understand or accept. I was cruising along on Tokyo Bay, and suddenly this was the answer, looming, the heaped remains of everything that goes down and does not come again to shore, life's giant kitchen-midden, the rubbish heap that remains after all things pass, the place that stands in testament to the futility of all ideals and intentions, good or bad, the rock that smashes values, there, signalizing the ultimate uselessness of life itself, which must one day be broken upon it, not to rise, never, no, not ever, again. The warm waters splashed about my knees, but a chill shook me and I broke rhythm. Green Green touched my shoulder, and we matched our paddling once again. --"Why did you make it, if you hate it so?" he asked me. --"They paid me well," I replied, and, "Bear to the left. We're going in the back way." Our course altered, shifting westward as he strengthened his strokes and I lightened mine. --"The back way?" he repeated. --"Yes," I said, and I did not elaborate.
As we neared the isle, I ceased my reflections and became a mechanical thing, as I always do when there are too many thoughts to think.
A moon came up then, because a generalized blob of light appeared behind the clouds. It drifted slowly towards midheaven.
The water splashed gently beside us, and little wavelets of it struck against our knees, our boots. A cool breeze followed us from the shore.
"The volcano is at rest," he said. "What did you discuss with Belion?"
"You don't miss a trick, do you?"
"I tried to contact you several times, and I know what I found."
"Belion and Shimbo are waiting," I said. "There will be quick movements, and one of them will be satisfied."
The water was black as ink and warm as blood; the isle was a mountain of coal against the pearl and starless night. We poled until we lost the bottom, then commenced paddling, silently, twisting the oars. Green Green had a Pei'an's love of the water in him. I could feel it in the way that he moved, in the ragtails of emotion that I picked up as we proceeded.
To cross over the dark waters ... It was an eerie feeling, because of what the place meant to me, because of the chord it had struck Within me while I was building it. The feeling of the Valley of Shadows, the sense of the serene passing, this was absent. This place was the butcher's block at the end of the nm. I hated it and I feared it. I knew that I lacked the spiritual stamina to ever duplicate it. It was one of those once in a lifetime creations that made me wish I hadn't. To cross over the dark waters meant to me a confrontation with something within myself that I did not understand or accept. I was cruising along on Tokyo Bay, and suddenly this was the answer, looming, the heaped remains of everything that goes down and does not come again to shore, life's giant kitchen-midden, the rubbish heap that remains after all things pass, the place that stands in testament to the futility of all ideals and intentions, good or bad, the rock that smashes values, there, signalizing the ultimate uselessness of life itself, which must one day be broken upon it, not to rise, never, no, not ever, again. The warm waters splashed about my knees, but a chill shook me and I broke rhythm. Green Green touched my shoulder, and we matched our paddling once again. --"Why did you make it, if you hate it so?" he asked me. --"They paid me well," I replied, and, "Bear to the left. We're going in the back way." Our course altered, shifting westward as he strengthened his strokes and I lightened mine. --"The back way?" he repeated. --"Yes," I said, and I did not elaborate.
As we neared the isle, I ceased my reflections and became a mechanical thing, as I always do when there are too many thoughts to think.