Hard to Be a God - Boris Strugatski, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 1
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a godArkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god© Copyright Arcady and Boris Strugatsky© Copyright Translated by Wendayne Ackerman, 1973© Copyright DAW Books, INC.Origin: "Trudno byt bogom"OCR: SCOUTPROLOGUEThe stock of Anka's crossbow was made of black plastic. The string ofchrome steel was operated by a noiselessly moving winch. Anton did not thinkmuch of such innovations. He owned a conventional arquebus in the style ofMarshal Totz, King Pitz the first. It was overlaid with black copper and arope of steer sinews ran along small wheels. Pashka, on the other hand, hadan air rifle. Crossbows were childish weapons, he thought, for he was lazyby nature and lacked manual dexterity.They landed on the north shore at a spot where the gnarled roots ofmighty pine trees protruded from the yellow sandy slope. Anka let go of therudder and looked around. The sun had risen above the forest. A blue foghung over the lake. The pines glowed dark green and a yellow sandy beachstretched in the distance. A light blue sky arched over the whole landscape.The children bent over the side of the boat and looked into the water."Can't see a thing," said Pashka."A huge pike," said Anton, a trifle too sure of himself."With fins like that?" asked Pashka.Anton did not reply. Anka, too, looked into the water, but she saw onlyher own reflection in it."How about taking a swim?" said Pashka, and plunged his arm into thewater up to the elbow. "Cold," he reported.Anton climbed onto the bow and jumped ashore. The boat rocked to andfro. Anton took hold of the boat and glanced questioningly at Pashka. NowPashka rose, placed the oar like a water carrier's beam across his neck,bent his knees a bit and sang at the top of his voice:Old salt, sea-dog, Witzliputzli!Are you watching, on your guard?Look! A school of hard-boiled sharkiesAre approaching, swimming hard!Anton rocked the boat."Hey, hey!" yelled Pashka, trying not to lose his balance."Why 'hard-boiled?'" Anka asked."I don't know," answered Pashka. They climbed out of the boat. "Butit's pretty good, isn't it? 'A school of hard-boiled sharkies!'"They pulled the boat ashore. Their feet slipped on the wet sand, whichwas strewn with dried needles and pine cones. The boat was heavy andslippery but they dragged it all the way up onto the land. Then they stoppedfor a while to catch their breath."Almost squashed my foot," said Pashka, and straightened his red fez.He made sure that the tassel hung directly above his right ear--just likethe broad-nosed Irukanian pirates were wont to do. "life isn't worth afarthing, my dear!" he recited dramatically.Anka was intently sucking her finger."A splinter?" asked Anton."No. Got a scratch. One of you two must have long nails.""Let me see!"She showed him her finger."Yes," said Anton. "A scratch.--Well, let's do something!""Pick up your arms and let's walk along the shore!" suggested Pashka."For that we didn't need to crawl ashore," Anton said."It's chicken to stay in the boat," stated Pashka. "But along the shorethere are all kinds of things. Reeds, canyons, whirlpools, eddies witheels--and catfish, too.""A school of hard-boiled catfish," said Anton."Hey, did you ever dive into a whirlpool?""Sure.""Funny that I didn't see you do it.""Lots of things you haven't seen yet"Anka turned her back on them, raised her crossbow and aimed at a pinetree 20 feet away. The bark came off in splinters."Wow, did you see that!" exclaimed Pashka with admiration. Then heaimed his air rifle at the same spot. But he missed. "I didn't hold mybreath properly," he said."And even if you had held it properly, so what?" asked Anton. He lookedat Anka.With a firm movement Anka retracted the steel bow with the winch. Shehad splendid muscles, and Anton watched with pleasure the hard ball of herbiceps rolling beneath her tanned skin.Anka took aim carefully, and shot again. The second arrow penetratedthe tree trunk, a bit lower than the first"That doesn't make any sense," said Anka, and let the crossbow hangdown her side. "What?" asked Anton."We're only damaging the trees, that's all. Yesterday, a kid shot anarrow at a tree and I forced him to pull that arrow out with his own teeth.""Pashka would have run away," said Anton. "You have good teeth.""I can whistle through my teeth, too," said Pashka."Well," said Anka, "let's do something!""I don't feel like climbing up and down canyons," said Anton."Me neither. Let's walk straight ahead.""Where to?" asked Pashka."Just follow your nose.""Meaning what?" said Anton."Let's go into the forest!" said Pashka. "Toshka, do you remember the'Forgotten Road'?""Sure!""You know, Anetchka--" said Pashka."Don't you call me Anetchka," Anka cut in abruptly. She could not standto be called by any other name than Anka.Anton remembered very well that she did not like it, and said quickly:"Sure--the Forgotten Road. Nobody has driven over it for ages. It isn'teven marked on the map, and where it leads to, nobody knows.""Have you ever been there?""Yes. But we didn't explore it.""A road coming from nowhere and leading nowhere," stated Pashka, whohad regained his former self-assurance."That's fine!" said Anka. Here eyes narrowed to black slits. "Let's go!Will we get there by tonight?""What are you talking about? Well be there by noon."They clambered up the steep slope. Once they had arrived at the top,Pashka tamed around. Down below was the blue lake with yellow speckled sandbars, and the boat on the sandy beach. Close to the shore, where the waterwas as smooth as oil, large concentric circles broke the surface-- that wasthe pike, probably. And the boy felt, as always, that vague joy heexperienced whenever he and Toshka stole away from the boarding-school and awhole day of freedom lay before them. A day filled with unexplored places,strawberries, sun-scorched deserted meadows, lizards, and ice cold waterfrom unexpected springs amidst the rocks. And as always he felt overcome bya desire to shout out loud and jump up into the air. Anton, laughinghappily, watched him, and Pashka saw the understanding in his friend's eyes.Anka placed two fingers in her mouth and gave forth with a piercing whistle.And they entered the forest.It was a pine wood, with sparse vegetation. Their feet skidded over theslippery, needle-covered soil. The slanting sun rays glittered between thestraight tree trunks, and golden spots danced on the ground. The air smelledof resin, the nearby lake, and strawberries. Somewhere, far above them, aninvisible lark was warbling.Anka walked ahead. She carried her crossbow in one hand, and with theother reached now and then for the strawberries that occasionally peekedout, as red as blood, from among the foliage. Anton marched behind her withthe solid battle gear of Marshal Totz slung over his shoulder. The quiver,filled with mighty battle arrows, rhythmically banged against the seat ofhis trousers with every step. He looked at Anka's neck: it was deeplytanned, and the vertebrae jutted out like little knobs. Once in a while heturned around and looked for Pashka, who had disappeared; only the red fezflashed from time to time in the bright sunlight. Anton imagined Pashkaprowling silently among the pine trees, his air rifle held in firingposition, his lean face with the hooked nose pointing forward like somepredatory animal Pashka crawling through the underwood. But the forest knowsno mercy. A challenge--and you must react at once, thought Anton. He wasjust about to duck--but Anka was walking right in front of him, and shemight turn around any moment Wouldn't he look silly then!Anka tamed around and asked:"Did you sneak away real quietly?"Anton shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody sneaks away noisily!""Well, I did. I guess I made some awful noise," said Anka with aworried expression. "I dropped a cup--and suddenly I heard steps in thecorridor. Probably old maid Katja; she's on duty today. I had to jump out ofthe window into a flower bed. Guess what kind of flowers grow there,Toshka?"Anton frowned."Under your window? I don't know, what kind?""Pretty tough flowers. No wind can rock them, no storm can break them.You can jump around in them and trample on them and it won't harm them.""That's interesting," said Anton in a serious voice. He remembered thathe also had a flower bed under his window, with flowers that were neitherrocked by wind nor broken by storm. But actually he had never paid anyattention to it.Anka stopped and waited until Anton had caught up with her. She heldher hand out to him. It was full of strawberries. With the tip of hisfingers, Anton seized exactly three berries."Go ahead. Take some more," said Anka."No, thanks," said Anton. "I like to pick them myself.-- But listen,Anka, it must be easy to get along with old maid Katja, isn't it?""That all depends," said Anka. "Just imagine somebody telling you everynight how dirty and dusty your feet are--"She ...
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]