451 по фаренгейту
The Sieve and the Sand
Itwasastrangequietmeeting. TheoldmanadmittedtobeingaretiredEnglishprofessorwhohadbeenthrownoutupontheworldfortyyearsago whenthelastliberalartscollegeshutforlackofstudentsandpatronage. HisnamewasFaber,andwhenhefinallylosthisfearofMontag, hetalkedinacadencedvoice,lookingattheskyandthetreesandthegreenpark, andwhenanhourhadpassedhesaidsomethingtoMontagandMontagsenseditwasarhymelesspoem. Thentheoldmangrewevenmorecourageousandsaidsomethingelseandthatwasapoem,too. Faberheldhishandoverhisleftcoat-pocketandspokethesewordsgently, andMontagknewifhereachedout,hemightpullabookofpoetryfromtheman’scoat. Buthedidnotreachout. Hishandsstayedonhisknees,numbedanduseless. "Idon’ttalkthings,sir,"saidFaber."Italkthemeaningofthings.IsithereandknowI’malive."
Thatwasalltherewastoit,really. Anhourofmonologue,apoem,acomment,andthenwithoutevenacknowledgingthefactthatMontagwasafireman,Faberwithacertaintrembling,wrotehisaddressonaslipofpaper. "Foryourfile,"hesaid,"incaseyoudecidetobeangrywithme."
"I’mnotangry,"Montagsaid,surprised.
Mildredshriekedwithlaughterinthehall.
Montagwenttohisbedroomclosetandflippedthroughhisfile-wallettotheheading:FUTUREINVESTIGATIONS(?). Faber’snamewasthere. Hehadn’tturneditinandhehadn’terasedit.
Hedialledthecallonasecondaryphone. ThephoneonthefarendofthelinecalledFaber’snameadozentimesbeforetheprofessoransweredinafaintvoice. Montagidentifiedhimselfandwasmetwithalengthysilence. "Yes,Mr.Montag?"
