451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Hestoodlookingupattheventilatorgrilleinthehallandsuddenlyremembered thatsomethinglayhiddenbehindthegrille,somethingthatseemedtopeerdownathimnow. Hemovedhiseyesquicklyaway. Whatastrangemeetingonastrangenight. Herememberednothinglikeitsaveoneafternoonayearago whenhehadmetanoldmanintheparkandtheyhadtalked....
Montagshookhishead. Helookedatablankwall.Thegirl’sfacewasthere, reallyquitebeautifulinmemory:astonishing,infact. Shehadaverythinfacelikethedialofasmallclockseenfaintlyinadarkroom inthemiddleofanightwhenyouwakentoseethetimeandseetheclocktellingyouthehourandtheminuteandthesecond, withawhitesilenceandaglowing,allcertaintyandknowingwhatithastotellofthenightpassingswiftlyontowardfurtherdarknesses butmovingalsotowardanewsun.
"What?"askedMontagofthatotherself, thesubconsciousidiotthatranbabblingattimes, quiteindependentofwill,habit,andconscience.
Heglancedbackatthewall. Howlikeamirror,too,herface. Impossible;forhowmanypeopledidyouknowthatrefractedyourownlighttoyou? Peopleweremoreoften -hesearchedforasimile,foundoneinhiswork-torches,blazingaway untiltheywhiffedout. Howrarelydidotherpeople’sfacestakeofyou andthrowbacktoyouyourownexpression, yourowninnermosttremblingthought?
Whatincrediblepowerofidentificationthegirlhad; shewasliketheeagerwatcherofamarionetteshow, anticipatingeachflickerofaneyelid,eachgestureofhishand,eachflickofafinger,themomentbeforeitbegan. Howlonghadtheywalkedtogether? Threeminutes?Five?
