Stalker Page #4

as sackcloth made of hair.

And the moon became like blood...

And the stars of the sky

fell to the earth,

as a fig tree casts

its unripe figs

when shaken by a great wind.

And the sky was split apart

like a scroll when it is rolled up.

And every mountain and island

were moved out of their places.

And the kings of the earth and

the great men

and the rich and the chiliarchs

and the strong and every free man,

hid themselves in the caves

and among the rocks of the mountains;

and they said to the mountains and

to the rocks, "Fall on us

and hide us from the presence of

Him who sits on the throne,

and from the wrath of the Lamb,

for the great day of His wrath

has come,

and who is able to stand?"

And that very day two...

two of them...

were going to a village

which was about 60 stadia from...

named...

and they were conversing with each

other about all these things.

And while they were conversing

and discussing...

He Himself approached,

and began travelling with them.

But their eyes were prevented

from recognizing Him.

And He said to them:

"What are these words...

you are exchanging with one another,

and why are you sad?"

And one of them, named...

Are you awake?

You were speaking of the meaning...

of our... life...

of the unselfishness of art...

Take music, for instance.

Less than anything else,

it is connected to reality,

or if connected at all, it's done

mechanically, not by way of ideas,

just by a sheer sound, devoid of...

any associations.

And yet, music, as if by some miracle,

gets through to our heart.

What is it that resonates in us in

response to noise brought to harmony,

making it the source

of the greatest delight

which stuns us and brings us

together?

What's all this needed for?

And most important, who needs it?

You would say,

"No one. And for no reason."

Unselfishly.

No.

I don't think so.

After all,

everything has some sense.

Sense and reason.

Do we have to go there?

Unfortunately, yes.

There's no other way.

It looks morbid, don't you think,

Professor?

I don't feel like going there first.

And Chingachgooks

can never be volunteers.

I think we'll have to draw lots.

Do you mind?

For this, I would rather have

a volunteer.

Have you got matches?

Thanks.

The long one will go.

Pull it.

The long one.

No luck this time.

Why don't you throw one of your nuts

at least?

Sure. As you wish.

One more?

All right... I'll go.

Hurry up, Professor!

There's... There's a door here!

Go that way!

Open the door and go in!

Me again?

Do I have to go in first again?

You've drawn the lot.

Go! People don't wait here.

What have you got there?

No guns here!

You'll have yourself killed,

and us too!

Don't you remember the tanks?

Drop it, I beg you.

Don't you understand?

If something happens,

I can save you, but not this way...

I beg you!

Who are you going to fire at?

Go, we haven't got much time!

There's water here!

Hold on to the handrail and go down.

But don't go anywhere!

Wait for us outside!

I hope you haven't got anything

like that?

- Like what?

- Like a gun.

No. As a last resort

I've got an ampule.

- What ampule?

- Implanted ampule. Poison!

Oh, God! Did you come here to die?

No, it's just in case.

Writer! Come back!

Come back! You want to get yourself

killed?

I told you to wait by the exit!

Stop! Don't move!

That's all your pipe.

- Why?

- You should've gone in there first.

He was so scared that he went

the wrong way.

One more experiment.

Experiments, facts,

truth of the highest instance.

There's no such thing as facts.

Especially here.

All this is someone's

idiotic invention.

Don't you feel it?

But you, of course, must find out

whose invention it is.

And why.

What good can your knowledge do?

Who is going to get guilty conscience

because of it? Me?

I've got no conscience.

I just got nerves.

Some bastard would criticize me,

I get wounded.

Another would loud me,

I get wounded again.

I would put my heart and soul in it,

they gobble up both my heart and soul.

I would relieve my soul of filth,

they gobble it up too.

They're all so literate.

They all got sensory deficiency.

And they're all swarming around,

journalists,

editors, critics,

some endless broads.

And they all demand:

more, more!

What hell of a writer am I

if I hate writing?

If it's constant torment for me,

a painful, shameful occupation,

sort of squeezing out a hemorrhoids.

I used to think that someone would

get better because of my books.

No, nobody needs me!

In two days after I die they'll start

gobbling up someone else.

I wanted to change them,

but it's they who've changed me.

Making me in their own image.

The future used to be just

a continuation of the present,

with all the changes looming far

behind the horizon.

Now the future and the present

are one.

Are they ready for it?

They don't want to know anything!

All they know is how to gobble!

Gosh, how lucky you are!

My goodness, now...

You're going to live a hundred years!

Yes. But why not forever?

Like the eternal Jew.

You are probably a fine man.

I almost didn't doubt it.

I can imagine what torture it was

for you being in there.

This pipe is a horrible place!

The most horrible in the Zone!

It's called "the meat mincer",

but it's much worse than any mincer.

So many people perished there!

Porcupine sent his brother

to die there.

The boy was so delicate,

very talented.

Here, listen to this.

So summer is gone,

Leaving no epitaph.

It's still warm in the sun,

Only that's not enough.

All that true could have come,

Like a five-fingered fluff,

Folded into my palm,

Only that's not enough.

No evil was slighted

In the good aftermath,

World was festively lighted,

Only that's not enough.

Life forever was tucking,

Caring, making me laugh.

I was really lucky,

Only that's not enough.

No leaves ever seared,

No limbs broken rough.

Day, like glass, washed all clear,

Only that's not enough.

Good, aren't they?

That's his verses.

Why do you fidget?

Fussing all the time?

- I'm just...

- I get sick just looking at you!

I'm so happy! It's not often that

everyone who goes makes it.

You did everything right.

You're good, kind, honest people.

I'm proud that I was right about you.

Look at him! He's happy

that everything ended well!

Fate! Zone!

I'm a fine man, he says!

You think I didn't see how you

shoved the two long matches at me?

- No, you don't understand...

- Of course, how could I?

I'm sorry, Professor,

no offense meant,

but this jerk has chosen you

to be his favorite.

Come on, it's unfair!

And me, a second-rate creature,

he shoves into that pipe!

Meat mincer! To think of such

a word!

What right have you got to decide

who is to live and

who is to go into the meat mincer?

You've chosen it yourself!

What? One long match out of the two

long ones?

The matches are nothing.

The Zone had let you through

earlier, under the nut,

so it became clear that only you

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