"Listen. There's such a wonderful sea-shore there... And such huge
stone slabs going down into the sea. And crabs crawling across them and
shells lying in the seaweed. And towers right by the sea..."
"Where do you mean? Sochi? Mummy and Daddy are taking me there this
year."
"No, not Sochi... Have you ever heard what the sea sounds like in a
shell? Well, say, in the one Dad's got?"
"I wanted to but Daddy didn't let me. He said it simply echoes any
sound around, and as for the sea, it's just a fairy-tale."
"What does your Dad know about fairy-tales!" thought Alex and said
aloud, "I'll go now."
"But you will come back?"
"I'll try to."
"No, promise you will."
"Well, I give you my word, I will... if nothing happens."
He went down one flight of stairs, waited until Masha had shut the
door, tiptoed back again, took the clipper out of the cupboard, and set
off home.
"Lord, what a sight!" said Auntie Dasha as she opened the door for
him. "What a mess you look! What have you been up to at your friend's
house?"
"We messed around, climbed trees, and played football and slept in
the hayloft."
"My word! Can't you look more or less respectable?"
"I will again soon," promised Alex and went off to change.
"I'll heat your dinner up," Auntie Dasha called after him.
"Don't worry. I'm going out to a birthday party. There'll be plenty
of buns and cakes to eat there."
Alex stood the model on his window-sill and got out his sailor suit.
He no longer cared whether it was suitable to wear to a party. The
anchors and blue collar reminded him of the winds above the towers and
the shimmering sea and that was what mattered most.
His suit was crumpled (for he had been wearing it when he climbed up
the poplar to rescue Kuzya). So he had to give it a good ironing. Then
he got some yellow thread from Auntie Dasha and firmly sewed back on his
sleeve the anchor, which had been partly torn off. He went about it
slowly and rather absent-mindedly as he was thinking to himself, "But
she's still beautiful and kind. It's not her fault either. She didn't
see the stadium and the horses that spoke, or the rustling grass, or the
steamer with silver stars on its funnel. She hasn't been to Vetrogorsk or
looked at the clouds over the towers. She hasn't heard about the little
Pilot and his Antarctica... She doesn't know what the journey was all
about."
And so he began thinking about his journey and the road he had
covered for the first time.
... And at that very moment he heard the Voice of the Road calling
very softly. What was it like?
Perhaps you could say it was like the very gentle twang of a guitar
string which someone was strumming slowly, trying to recall a song. And
it was a sad song for the journey was over. But there was also a note of
alarm in it. How could that be if, after all, it was already over.
However, as long as the strumming remains muted, this note of alarm
does, too. And anyone hearing the Voice of the Road for the first time
has yet to discover that the strumming may well break off, and trumpets
may sound on the horizon...
Alex pulled on his trousers and shirt, which were warm after being
ironed and smelt slightly singed.
He took the three kopecks, his penknife, a crumpled handkerchief and
everything else out of his old trousers and stuffed them into his sailor
suit's pockets to make sure he never again got caught out as had happened
in the travel agency. Then he picked up his Green Pass.
It was already worn and its corners puckered and tatty but it could
still be used for travelling. Yes, it was valid (Alex glanced at his
alarm-clock) for another eleven whole minutes until four o'clock!
And then a desperate idea flashed through Alex's mind: what if he ran
over to Masha's, grabbed her by the hand, dragged her into the street and
rushed over to the river with her!
If they ran really fast, they might get there before four and then
the steamer was bound to turn up!
And on the way he would explain to Masha all about the forests full
of fairy-tales and the town which had adventures round every corner and
about the Pilot who knew the way to magic lands...
But would Masha come? As if in a waking dream, he seemed to hear
Masha say, "Oh, Alex! I can't I've got guests."
"Never mind them. They'll eat the cake without you."
"No, I can't! After all, it was me who invited them. It's just not
done."
"But it'll soon be too late!"
"I still can't. I've got music and swimming tomorrow."
Somewhere in a neighbouring flat he heard radio pips marking four
o'clock. His alarm-clock was eight minutes slow.
He no longer felt like going to the party and as soon as he was
outside, he began arguing with himself: "Well, why should I go? They'll
manage perfectly well without me."
"But you promised."
"I said I would if nothing happened."
"But what's happened?"
At this point he realised that something really had happened.
It was nothing special: simply a breeze was blowing, and filling out
the clipper's sails and flapping his sailor collar. He remembered how two
mornings ago (was it really only the day before yesterday and not a whole
year ago?) he had come out of his house and the wind had been blowing
too. Only it had been blowing jauntily for it betokened a journey
although Alex had not known that yet. Now, however, it was pulling the
little ship along and not Alex. And the little ship's sails filled out
and it was straining to break free and sail somewhere far away but
certainly not to Masha's house.
So far Alex had believed he should still give it to Masha, but now he
began wondering where she would keep it.
He imagined her putting it on a shelf next to an aquarium containing
lazy round-bellied fish which had been born in a glass bowl and had never
even seen a small pond, let alone the sea. He also imagined her putting
it on the table next to the shell stuffed with cigarette butts.
What would life be like there for the valiant little clipper which
knew all about the winds and wide open world? "Oh Masha, Masha...", Alex
whispered, and set off down the road. He now knew where he was going.
Sofia Alexandrovna's house had grown even more lop-sided since he had
last seen it. One of its corners was hanging right over the gully. Its
windows had been completely boarded up and a dried-up ditch still ran
down into the gully from the churned up earth around the house.
Alex began climbing down to the stream along this dried-up ditch.
Thistles clutched at his elbows, brambles bit him viciously and sharp
pieces of clay got stuck in his sandals but he held the little ship over
his head and raced downhill without stopping like a stone rolling
downhill. At last he reached the bank, knelt down in the water and pushed
the little ship out towards the middle of the stream.
"Sail away. You know which way to go."
The clipper trembled and then floated along the babbling stream past
a blackcurrant bush on a bend and then its sails were filled by the wind.
Alex rose and sat down on a snag lying by the water. He was feeling
better because he had at least put one of his mistakes right.
But what could he do about the others? After all, he had made so many
blunders during the journey. Wonderful adventures had been waiting for
him at every crossroads, on every path and in every sidestreet of
Vetrogorsk. And everyone he had met (even the cat!) had promised him
adventures. And the old man in the booth had told him not to try and
avoid them because they were all part of the fairy-tale but he had passed
by without heeding the Voice of the Road.
And now this Voice was giving him no peace. But what could he do?
"It's not my fault," he said to himself. "After all, I didn't know
I'd chosen the wrong road."
"Oh yes, it is."
"Why?"
"Don't you know?"
"No!"
"They why's your conscience bothering you?"
"I don't know... I made a mistake but nobody got hurt because of it.
Only me. Well, and the little ship but I've let it go."
"What's the ship got to do with it..."
"Well, then I just don't understand."
"That's a lie!"
"But what about the Pilot?"
Indeed, Alex, what about the Pilot? It makes you go cold inside
merely to remember him sitting by the wheel, wrapped in your jacket, and
gazing after you. He badly needed a companion and a friend. You realised
that but kept repeating that you had your own way to go.
But no matter where you have to go and how important the task at hand
is, you must never pass someone by who needs a friend. But you...
"But I sent him a stray cat instead," thought Alex bitterly and
angrily thumped his knee with his fist. His knee was damp and his fist
rebounded and hit the snag. Little red drops appeared on the scratch and
Alex recalled the beads he had seen on Masha's dress a short while ago
and thought, "They're probably still waiting for me to turn up. Oh well,
let them. Or perhaps she thinks I'm upset because of the prince?"
But, after all, even if there had been no prince, and even if Masha
had given Alex a hero's welcome, and even if she had listened in wonder
and delight to his story about his journey, and even if she had picked up
the little ship as if it were a most precious treasure, would he really
have been able to say to himself that everything was fine? For in his
heart of hearts he would still have been thinking about the little Pilot.
So what HAD happened? Was it that Alex had chosen the wrong road back
in the field near Vetrogorsk? The Pilot needed a friend. And Alex needed
one, too, and namely a bold, cheerful and kind one like Anton the little
Pilot.
Alex stood up and said to himself, "I'm going..."
"Where?"
"I'm going to wade downstream after the little ship. Since it's
sailed away, it means it's started its journey to Vetrogorsk. So I'll
follow it and see the Curator and ask him how I can find the Pilot."
Alex stepped into the water with his sandals on and waded downstream.
However, his feet soon started sticking in the silt and then a wire
caught one of his sandals and tore its sole off.
He clambered out of the water and began scrambling along the bank,
but the brambles and briars were so entangled that even the sky
completely disappeared from sight. And only round-bellied bumble-bees
buzzed in the stifling air and slimy frogs croaked underfoot. Alex forced
his way to the top of the gully and walked along its edge but further on
the path was blocked by a crooked grey fence. Alex climbed over it and
then came upon some other fences with potato patches, heaps of broken
glass and barbed wire.
And when he came out into a side street, he no longer had any idea
where the gully or the stream was or where he should go next.
"Things were quite different when I had a Green Pass," he thought.
"Every way was open to me then but now every fence is like a mountain in
my way."
But, then, there had to be more than one Green Pass in the world! Why
hadn't that occurred to him before? The pass was issued to people on Very
Important Business! And wasn't that what Alex had now? Yes, it was much
more important than finding the little ship for Masha! He was now
searching for a friend and, as the Pilot had said, the best ending to a
fairy-tale is when you find a friend. And as Alex had still to find the
Pilot, it meant his fairy-tale was not yet over.
"I'll ask the old man's advice in the information office", he
resolved and, flicking his torn-off sole, raced off towards the
side-street where he had already been.
The shoe repairs' booth was open but sitting there was a rosy-cheeked
fellow, tapping a hammer and whistling.
"But where's the old man?" asked Alex breathlessly. "The one who used
to work here."
"Hello! The old man? Oh, he's retired."
"Retired?" repeated Alex inanely.
"Yep. Why, did you know him?"
"Yes..." replied Alex quietly.
"Well, never mind. I'll do just as good a job for you as the old
man."
Before Alex could open his mouth, the lad had pulled his sandal off
his foot, and put the sole back on.
"There you are!"
"Thanks," said Alex in a whisper and walked off.
However, he decided that he still had one chance left: he could run
over to the travel agency and explain everything to the cashier there and
she would most likely be sympathetic and issue him a new Green Pass.
And so off he ran again.
He crawled through the hole into the stadium.
"If I don't get a ticket, I'll come back here and asked the horses,"
he thought. "They can take me to that airfield. After all, they know all
the magic routes."
But there was no sign of any horses. Some carpenters were mending the
benches and staircases on the stands.
"You've got no business being here..." one of them called to Alex.
Alex crossed the field without turning round, came out into Polar
Captains' Street and walked towards the agency. It was shut. Its blue
signboard had been taken down and stood upright against the wall and
"Closed For Repairs" was written in chalk on its locked doors.
So that was that. What else could he do?
Go home?
Go back to Masha's birthday party?
Sit down right there and burst into tears?
He turned round and walked away.
After going down some winding side-streets and passing an old church
and a new cinema, he came out into Faraway Street.
And everything there was just the same as before. First he passed by
the wooden houses lining the street and then came to the plank footpath
along the overgrown ditches. The grasshoppers were still chirring and
bright yellow dandelions were still growing in the ditch. And broken bits
of grass were still glinting in the sunlight. So he should have been
feeling blissfully happy as he walked along, but, you see, he knew that
he was going to no purpose: the steamer would not turn up.
And he would not manage to get to the airfield on his own. But he
kept going all the same because deep inside the Voice of the Road was
asking anxiously over and over again, "Do you remember? Do you
remember?.."
So there was nothing left for him to do but keep going and to
remember things and, anyway, even this was better than simply sitting at
home.
The pavement came to an end and the path ran on ahead. The grass
began rustling at his feet and he again felt as if he was swimming across
a green sea. And the sky with its little clouds was swaying overhead. The
path went on and on. Last time it had seemed much shorter, but now he had
been walking for over an hour and the river was still nowhere in sight.
"What's happened?" he wondered. "The old man's retired. The travel
Новинки >> Русской фантастики (по файлам) | Форумов | Фэндома | Книг