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Classics fantasy – 6
A. Belyaev
© A. Belyaev, 2019
ISBN 978-5-0050-1389-7 (т. 6)
ISBN 978-5-0050-0936-4
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
FIGHT ON AIR
Chapter 1
IN SUMMER EVENING
I sat on the garden, painted in green color wicker chair at the region of the wide avenue from chestnuts and the blossoming lindens. Their sweet aroma filled air. The setting beams the sun gilded sand of the wide avenue and a top of trees.
How I got here, to this unfamiliar garden? I strained memory, but she refused to serve me. Only yesterday or maybe there was a winter, the eve of New year only several hours ago. I came back home from service, from Kitay-gorod to Moscow to myself on the apartment. Usual tram crush. Angry passengers. All such habitual. Came home and took seat at a desk waiting for a lunch. On a table there was a mobile calendar and showed on December 31.
“Happy New Year! Do not forget to buy a calendar on 19 … year” – it was printed on this leaf.
“And I really forgot to buy” – I thought, looking at a calendar.
I remember all this well. But further… What was farther? I, apparently, put on earphones of my self-made radio receiver “on system of the engineer Shaposhnikov” on a habit to manage to listen to several radiotelegrams of TASS till a lunch – Muscovites were accustomed “to condense time”. It is remembered, the viscous voice transferred the telegram about the war in China. But some failure was farther in my memory. She refused to serve me. I could not oversleep till summer?! What does all this mean? Riddle! Eventually nothing remained to me more how to reconcile with the happened change.
“If it is the dream, then interesting – I thought. – Let’s look”.
But it could not be a dream. Too everything was real, though is extraordinary strange and unfamiliar.
On the wide avenue, the leaving tape in both parties, people went diversely. Mail all of them were young. I did not see the old men going decrepit gait. All were dressed in the suits reminding the Greek tunics: the wide, surrounded shirt reaching knees, open hands and a breast. This suit was simple and monotonous on breed, but in everyone there was something special, obviously reflecting taste of the carrier. Suits differed one from another in color. Gentle colors – lilac, pale pale-yellow and blue prevailed. But were a tunic and brighter coloring, with patterns and intricate slips. Legs of residents of the unknown country were put in light sandals. The heads with the cut hair – are uncovered. All of them were in proportion put, swarty from suntan, are healthy and cheerful. Among them was not neither thick, nor thin, nor excessively physically developed. And to tell the truth, I could not always sort which of them the young man and who the girl.
Especially one their strangeness struck me: lonely people went, about something talking though was near nobody, laughed, answered questions someone invisible. Everyone held the left hand as though wishing to cover it about the mouth.
“Perhaps, they are mentally ill people? And this park is at a clinic?” – I thought. But then there have to be nurses, doctors, watchmen who would look after patients. However white dressing gowns were not visible. Some passed quite close about me, and then I heard scraps of their lonely talk. But they spoke some unfamiliar language. Where, eventually, I am? And why all of them look at me with such surprise? I, apparently, am pretty well dressed in a suit from Moskvoshvey…