День триффидов
The Groping City
Theprophetofdoomraisedhisvoiceagainstthecompetition.Thesongwaileddiscordantlycloser:
Layabottleofbooze
Atmyheadandmyfeet,
AndthenI’msure
Myboneswillkeep.
andasanaccompanimenttoittherewastheshuffleoffeetmoreorlessinstep.
FromwhereIstoodIcouldseethemcomeinsinglefileoutofasidestreetintoShaftesburyAvenueandturntowardtheCircus.Thesecondmanhadhishandsontheshouldersoftheleader,thethirdonhis,andsoon,tothenumberoftwenty-fiveorthirty.Attheconclusionofthatsongsomebodystarted"Beer,Beer,GloriousBeer!"pitchingitinsuchahighkeythatitpeteredoutinconfusion.
TheytrudgedsteadilyonuntiltheyreachedthecenteroftheCircus,thentheleaderraisedhisvoice,Itwasaconsiderablevoice,withparade-groundquality:
"Companee-ee-ee—HALT!"
EverybodyelseintheCircuswasnowstruckmotionless,allwiththeirfacesturnedtowardhim,niltryingtoguesswhatwasafoot.Theleaderraisedhisvoiceagain,mimickingthemannerofaprofessionalguide:
"‘Ereweare,gentsonean’all.PiccabloodydillyCircus.TheCenteroftheWorld.The‘UboftheUniverse.Whereallthenobshadtheirwine,women,andsong."
Hewasnotblind,farfromit.Hiseyeswereranginground,takingstockashespoke,Hissightmusthavebeensavedbysomesuchaccidentasmine,buthewasprettydrunk,andsowerethemenbehindhim.
"An’we’ll‘aveittoo,"headded.
