Far Rainbow - The Second Invasion from Mars by Arkady Strugatsky & Boris Strugatsky

Author:Arkady Strugatsky & Boris Strugatsky [Strugatsky, Arkady]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781365767579
Publisher: Lulu.com
Published: 2016-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Gorbovsky asked them to stop on the outskirts of the Capital. Dixon braked and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm going to walk," Gorbovsky said.

He got out. So did Mark and held out his hand to Alexandra Postysheva. The couple had sat in silence in the back seat all the way from the spaceport. They were holding hands tight, like children, and Alexandra, eyes shut, pressed her face against Mark's shoulder.

"Come with us, Percy," Gorbovsky said. "We'll pick flowers. It's cooled off. It will be very good for your heart."

Dixon shook his shaggy head.

"No, Leonid," he said. "Let's say goodbye instead. I'm driving."

The sun hung over the horizon. It was cool. The sun shone into what seemed to be a corridor with black walls: both Waves, the northern and southern, were high over the horizon.

"Right down the corridor," Dixon said. "Follow my eyes. Farewell, Leonid, farewell, Mark. And you, young lady, goodbye. Go on..., But first I will try for the last time to predict your behavior. This time it's particularly easy."

"Yes, it is," said Mark. "Farewell, Percy. Come on, honey."

Smiling gently, he looked at Gorbovsky, embraced Alexandra, and they went into the prairie. Gorbovsky and Dixon watched them go.

"A little late," Dixon said.

"Yes," Gorbovsky agreed. "But I still envy them."

"You enjoy envy. You do it with such gusto. I envy him, too. I'm jealous that someone will be thinking of him in his last moments, and no one will be thinking of me.... Or of you, Leonid."

"Do you want me to think of you?" Gorbovsky asked seriously.

"No, don't bother." Dixon squinted at the low sun. "Yes," he said. "This time, it looks like we won't get out of it. Farewell, Leonid."

He nodded and drove off, and Gorbovsky slowly strolled along the highway with the other people who were slowly walking back to town. He felt good and relaxed for the first time that crazy, tense, and terrible day. He didn't have to worry about anyone or anything, he didn't have to make decisions, everyone around him was independent, and he was totally independent, too. He had never been so independent in his life.

It was a beautiful evening, and if it hadn't been for the black walls to the right and left, slowly growing in the blue sky, it would have been perfect: quiet, transparent, cool enough, and shot through with the sun's slanting pink rays. There were fewer people on the highway; many had walked into the prairie, like Falkenstein and Alexandra, and many simply stayed on the shoulder.

In town the main street was decorated by the paintings that the artists were exhibiting for the last time—leaning up against tree trunks, buildings, on wires across the street, and on lamp posts. People stood in front of paintings, remembering, quietly rejoicing, and a man was arguing loudly, and a pretty thin woman cried bitterly, "What a shame ... what a shame!" Gorbovsky thought that he had seen her somewhere, but he couldn't remember where.

He heard unfamiliar music: in the open air

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