Arkady & Boris Strugatsky - Hard to be a god
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
© Copyright Arcady and Boris Strugatsky
© Copyright Translated by Wendayne Ackerman, 1973
© Copyright DAW Books, INC.
Origin: "Trudno byt bogom"
OCR: SCOUT
PROLOGUE
The stock of Anka's crossbow was made of black plastic. The
string of
chrome steel was operated by a noiselessly moving winch. Anton did
not think
much of such innovations. He owned a conventional arquebus in the
style of
Marshal Totz, King Pitz the first. It was overlaid with black
copper and a
rope of steer sinews ran along small wheels. Pashka, on the other
hand, had
an air rifle. Crossbows were childish weapons, he thought, for he
was lazy
by nature and lacked manual dexterity.
They landed on the north shore at a spot where the gnarled
roots of
mighty pine trees protruded from the yellow sandy slope. Anka let go
of the
rudder and looked around. The sun had risen above the forest. A
blue fog
hung over the lake. The pines glowed dark green and a yellow
sandy beach
stretched in the distance. A light blue sky arched over the whole
landscape.
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
The children bent over the side of the boat and looked into the
water.
"Can't see a thing," said Pashka.
"A huge pike," said Anton, a trifle too sure of himself.
"With fins like that?" asked Pashka.
Anton did not reply. Anka, too, looked into the water, but she
saw only
her own reflection in it.
"How about taking a swim?" said Pashka, and plunged his arm
into the
water up to the elbow. "Cold," he reported.
Anton climbed onto the bow and jumped ashore. The boat rocked
to and
fro. Anton took hold of the boat and glanced questioningly at
Pashka. Now
Pashka rose, placed the oar like a water carrier's beam across
his neck,
bent his knees a bit and sang at the top of his voice:
Old salt, sea-dog, Witzliputzli!
Are you watching, on your guard?
Look! A school of hard-boiled sharkies
Are approaching, swimming hard!
Anton rocked the boat.
"Hey, hey!" yelled Pashka, trying not to lose his balance.
"Why 'hard-boiled?'" Anka asked.
"I don't know," answered Pashka. They climbed out of the
boat. "But
it's pretty good, isn't it? 'A school of hard-boiled sharkies!'"
They pulled the boat ashore. Their feet slipped on the wet
sand, which
was strewn with dried needles and pine cones. The boat was
heavy and
slippery but they dragged it all the way up onto the land. Then they
stopped
for a while to catch their breath.
"Almost squashed my foot," said Pashka, and straightened his
red fez.
He made sure that the tassel hung directly above his right ear--
just like
the broad-nosed Irukanian pirates were wont to do. "life isn't
worth a
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
farthing, my dear!" he recited dramatically.
Anka was intently sucking her finger.
"A splinter?" asked Anton.
"No. Got a scratch. One of you two must have long nails."
"Let me see!"
She showed him her finger.
"Yes," said Anton. "A scratch.--Well, let's do something!"
"Pick up your arms and let's walk along the shore!" suggested
Pashka.
"For that we didn't need to crawl ashore," Anton said.
"It's chicken to stay in the boat," stated Pashka. "But along
the shore
there are all kinds of things. Reeds, canyons, whirlpools,
eddies with
eels--and catfish, too."
"A school of hard-boiled catfish," said Anton.
"Hey, did you ever dive into a whirlpool?"
"Sure."
"Funny that I didn't see you do it."
"Lots of things you haven't seen yet"
Anka turned her back on them, raised her crossbow and aimed at
a pine
tree 20 feet away. The bark came off in splinters.
"Wow, did you see that!" exclaimed Pashka with admiration.
Then he
aimed his air rifle at the same spot. But he missed. "I didn't
hold my
breath properly," he said.
"And even if you had held it properly, so what?" asked Anton. He
looked
at Anka.
With a firm movement Anka retracted the steel bow with the
winch. She
had splendid muscles, and Anton watched with pleasure the hard ball
of her
biceps rolling beneath her tanned skin.
Anka took aim carefully, and shot again. The second arrow
penetrated
the tree trunk, a bit lower than the first
"That doesn't make any sense," said Anka, and let the
crossbow hang
down her side. "What?" asked Anton.
"We're only damaging the trees, that's all. Yesterday, a kid
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
shot an
arrow at a tree and I forced him to pull that arrow out with his own
teeth."
"Pashka would have run away," said Anton. "You have good teeth."
"I can whistle through my teeth, too," said Pashka.
"Well," said Anka, "let's do something!"
"I don't feel like climbing up and down canyons," said Anton.
"Me neither. Let's walk straight ahead."
"Where to?" asked Pashka.
"Just follow your nose."
"Meaning what?" said Anton.
"Let's go into the forest!" said Pashka. "Toshka, do you
remember the
'Forgotten Road'?"
"Sure!"
"You know, Anetchka--" said Pashka.
"Don't you call me Anetchka," Anka cut in abruptly. She could
not stand
to be called by any other name than Anka.
Anton remembered very well that she did not like it, and said
quickly:
"Sure--the Forgotten Road. Nobody has driven over it for ages.
It isn't
even marked on the map, and where it leads to, nobody knows."
"Have you ever been there?"
"Yes. But we didn't explore it."
"A road coming from nowhere and leading nowhere," stated
Pashka, who
had regained his former self-assurance.
"That's fine!" said Anka. Here eyes narrowed to black slits.
"Let's go!
Will we get there by tonight?"
"What are you talking about? Well be there by noon."
They clambered up the steep slope. Once they had arrived at
the top,
Pashka tamed around. Down below was the blue lake with yellow
speckled sand
bars, and the boat on the sandy beach. Close to the shore, where
the water
was as smooth as oil, large concentric circles broke the surface--
that was
the pike, probably. And the boy felt, as always, that vague
joy he
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
experienced whenever he and Toshka stole away from the boarding-
school and a
whole day of freedom lay before them. A day filled with unexplored
places,
strawberries, sun-scorched deserted meadows, lizards, and ice
cold water
from unexpected springs amidst the rocks. And as always he felt
overcome by
a desire to shout out loud and jump up into the air. Anton,
laughing
happily, watched him, and Pashka saw the understanding in his
friend's eyes.
Anka placed two fingers in her mouth and gave forth with a piercing
whistle.
And they entered the forest.
It was a pine wood, with sparse vegetation. Their feet skidded
over the
slippery, needle-covered soil. The slanting sun rays glittered
between the
straight tree trunks, and golden spots danced on the ground. The air
smelled
of resin, the nearby lake, and strawberries. Somewhere, far above
them, an
invisible lark was warbling.
Anka walked ahead. She carried her crossbow in one hand, and
with the
other reached now and then for the strawberries that occasionally
peeked
out, as red as blood, from among the foliage. Anton marched behind
her with
the solid battle gear of Marshal Totz slung over his shoulder. The
quiver,
filled with mighty battle arrows, rhythmically banged against the
seat of
his trousers with every step. He looked at Anka's neck: it was
deeply
tanned, and the vertebrae jutted out like little knobs. Once in a
while he
turned around and looked for Pashka, who had disappeared; only the
red fez
flashed from time to time in the bright sunlight. Anton imagined
Pashka
prowling silently among the pine trees, his air rifle held in
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
firing
position, his lean face with the hooked nose pointing forward
like some
predatory animal Pashka crawling through the underwood. But the
forest knows
no mercy. A challenge--and you must react at once, thought Anton.
He was
just about to duck--but Anka was walking right in front of him,
and she
might turn around any moment Wouldn't he look silly then!
Anka tamed around and asked:
"Did you sneak away real quietly?"
Anton shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody sneaks away noisily!"
"Well, I did. I guess I made some awful noise," said Anka
with a
worried expression. "I dropped a cup--and suddenly I heard steps
in the
corridor. Probably old maid Katja; she's on duty today. I had to jump
out of
the window into a flower bed. Guess what kind of flowers grow
there,
Toshka?"
Anton frowned.
"Under your window? I don't know, what kind?"
"Pretty tough flowers. No wind can rock them, no storm can
break them.
You can jump around in them and trample on them and it won't harm
them."
"That's interesting," said Anton in a serious voice. He
remembered that
he also had a flower bed under his window, with flowers that were
neither
rocked by wind nor broken by storm. But actually he had never
paid any
attention to it.
Anka stopped and waited until Anton had caught up with her.
She held
her hand out to him. It was full of strawberries. With the tip
of his
fingers, Anton seized exactly three berries.
"Go ahead. Take some more," said Anka.
"No, thanks," said Anton. "I like to pick them myself.-- But
listen,
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
Anka, it must be easy to get along with old maid Katja, isn't it?"
"That all depends," said Anka. "Just imagine somebody telling
you every
night how dirty and dusty your feet are--"
She fell silent. It was good to walk with her through the
woods,
shoulder to shoulder, and their bare elbows touching now and then.
And it
felt good to look at her--how pretty she was, so nimble, so
friendly--and
how big and gray her eyes were, and what dark lashes she had.
"Sure," said Anton, and stretched out his hand to grasp a
spider web
that glistened in the sun. "Her feet wouldn't get dirty. If somebody
carried
you through every puddle, then you wouldn't get dirty either."
"Who carries her?"
"Henry from the weather station. A big, strong guy with blond
hair, you
know."
"Really?"
"Didn't you know it? It's old hat, everybody knows they're in
love."
Both fell silent again. Anton looked at Anka. Her eyes were dark
caves.
"And when did that happen?" she asked.
"Oh, on a moonlit night," replied Anton, not too eagerly.
"Just keep
this all to yourself, will you?"
Anka laughed.
"It wasn't hard to drag it out of you, Toshka," She said. "Do
you want
some more strawberries?"
Quite mechanically, Anton now took some berries from her red-
stained
hand and put them in his mouth. I don't like gossip-mongers, he
thought I
can't stand people who tell tales about others. Suddenly he had a
thought.
"Some day somebody will carry you, too. How would you like it if
people
talk about it then?"
"I'm certainly not going to tell anybody about it," said Anka.
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
"I don't
like gossip."
Then she continued in a more confidential tone: "You know, I'm
really
fed up with having to wash my feet two times every night."
Poor old maid Katja, thought Anton. What an uphill fight she has.
They reached a narrow lane. The path led up a steep slope and
the wood
became darker and darker. Ferns grew in profusion, and wood sorrel.
The pine
trunks were covered with moss and the whitish foam of lichen.
But the forest knows no mercy. Suddenly a hoarse, shrill
voice, quite
unhuman, roared out:
"Stop! Throw your arms to the ground! You, milord, noble don
and you,
too, Dona!"
If there is a challenge in the woods, you must react at
once, Anton
knew. With calculated precision, Anton pushed Anka down into the
ferns to
the left of the path, while he himself leapt into the ferns to the
right. He
slipped at first, and then hid behind the evil-smelling lichen
foam. The
echo of the hoarse voice still rang through the wood, but the
path was
empty. Suddenly everything was quiet.
Anton turned to one side to bend his bow, when an arrow hit
close by.
Dirt showered down on him. The hoarse, unhuman voice announced:
"Milord has been hit in the heel!"
Anton moaned and pulled up his left
"Not that one, it's the right heel!" corrected the voice.
He could hear Pashka giggle nearby. Cautiously, Anton peered
out from
the ferns, but he could not see him anywhere in the dusky, green
jungle.
At that moment, a penetrating, whistling sound came and a thud
as if a
tree were falling to the ground.
"Owoooooo!" howled Pashka in a tortured voice. "Have mercy!
Spare my
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
life! Don't kill me!"
Anton leapt to his feet. From the thicket of ferns he saw
Pashka
approach in an unsteady gait, both arms raised above his head.
Anka's voice
asked:
"Toshka, can you see him?"
"Yes, I can," called Anton cheerfully. "Don't move!" he
yelled in
Pashka's direction. "Put your hands on top of your head!"
Pashka obediently clasped his hands above his head and declared:
"I won't tell a thing."
"What shall we do with him, Toshka?" asked Anka.
"You'll find out in just a minute," said Anton, settling
comfortably on
the ground and placing his crossbow across his knees.
"Name!" he croaked, using the voice of the witch of Irukan.
Pashka simply arched his back and made a contemptuous gesture.
He did
not want to submit to defeat. Anton fired. The heavy arrow
noisily
penetrated the branches above Pashka's head.
"Wow!" exclaimed Anka.
"They call me Don Sarancha," grudgingly confessed Pashka. And
then he
began to recite: "And here lies, as you all can see, one
of his
accomplices."
"An infamous thug and murderer," Anton clarified. "But he
is known
never to do something for nothing. On whose behalf have you come
here to
snoop around?"
"Don Satarina the Pitiless has sent me," Pashka lied.
Anton spoke with contempt in his voice:
"This hand of mine cut the thread of Don Satarina's stinking
life on
the Square of the Heavy Swords just two years ago."
"Shall I pierce him with an arrow?" suggested Anka.
"Oh, I completely forgot," said Pashka quickly. "Actually,
I'm being
sent by Arata the Fair. He promised me one hundred gold pieces
for your
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
heads."
Anton slapped his knees.
"What a liar!" he shouted. "Do you believe for an instant
that Arata
would have anything to do with a swindler like you?"
"Maybe I'd better pierce him with an arrow after all?"
asked a
bloodthirsty Anka.
Anton laughed demonically.
"By the way," said Pashka, "you were shot in your heel. You
should have
collapsed long since from losing so much blood."
"Nuts!" countered Anton. "First of all, I've had a piece from
the bark
of the White Tree in my mouth the whole time; and, second, two
beautiful
barbarian maidens bandaged my wound."
The ferns began to move and Anka stepped out onto the path.
On her
cheek was a long scratch and her knees were smeared with earth and
lichen.
"It's about time we threw him into the swamp," she declared.
"If the
enemy won't surrender, he must be destroyed."
Pashka's arms dropped down and dangled at his sides.
"You don't stick to the rules of the game," he said to Anton.
"With you
it always turns out that the witch is a good person."
"You don't know the first thing about it!" said Anton. He, too,
stepped
out onto the path. 'The forest knows no mercy, you filthy mercenary."
Anka returned the air rifle to Pashka.
"You two are real sharpshooters," said Anka enviously. "Do you
always
aim so close?"
"What else did you expect from us?" Pashka asked. "We don't run
around
yelling 'Bang, bang--you're dead!' When we play, we always take
risks."
Anton added with nonchalance:
"We play William Tell a lot."
"We take turns," volunteered Pashka. "One day I have to go
stand there
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ArkadiandBorisStrugatski.HardtobeagodArkadiandBorisStrugatski.Hardtobeagod©CopyrightArcadyandBorisStrugatsky©CopyrightTranslatedbyWendayneAckerman,1973©CopyrightDAWBooks,INC.Origin:"Trudnobytbogom"OCR:SCOUTPROLOGUEThestockofAnka'scrossbowwasmadeofblackplastic.Thestringofchromesteelwasoperatedbyanois...
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价格：5.9玖币
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时间：2024-12-07
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