Arkady Strugatsky - Roadside Picnic

He carefully let go of the branch, turned his head, and listened. To his right, not very far but not close, he heard a noise—there was someone else in the cemetery. Over there, the leaves were rustling, soil was trickling down, and then something hard and heavy hit the ground with a soft thud. Redrick carefully crawled backward without turning around, flattening himself against the wet grass. Once again, a beam of light glided over his head. Redrick froze, following it with his eyes; he thought that on a grave between the crosses he saw a motionless man in black. The man sat there without concealing himself, leaning against the marble obelisk, turning a white face with sunken black eyes toward Redrick. Actually, Redrick didn’t see him that clearly—he couldn’t have in that instant—but he could imagine how it must look. He crawled for another few feet, felt the flask under his jacket, took it out, and lay there for some time, pressing the warm metal to his cheek. Then, without letting go of the flask, he crawled on. He no longer listened or looked around.

There was a gap in the wall, and right next to it, on a spread-out lead-lined jacket, lay Burbridge. He was on his back, tugging at his collar with both hands, and was quietly, painfully groaning, the groans often turning into moans of agony. Redrick sat down next to him and unscrewed the flask. He carefully put his hand under Burbridge’s head, feeling the hot, sweaty bald pate with his entire palm, and put the mouth of the flask to the old man’s lips. It was dark, but in the dim reflected glow of the searchlights Redrick could see Burbridge’s wide-open, glassy eyes and the black stubble that covered his cheeks. Burbridge took a few greedy gulps and started fidgeting anxiously, groping the bag of swag.

“Came back…” he said. “Good man… Red… Won’t leave an old man… to die…”

Redrick tilted his head back and took a big gulp. “Not moving, the damn thing,” he said. “Like it’s glued to the road.”

“That’s… no accident…” said Burbridge. He was talking intermittently as he exhaled. “Someone squealed on us. They’re waiting.”

“Maybe,” said Redrick. “Want any more?”

“No. That’s enough. Don’t leave me. If you stay—I’ll make it. You won’t be sorry. You won’t leave, Red?”

Redrick didn’t answer. He was looking toward the road at the blue beams of the searchlights. From here, you could see the marble obelisk, but you couldn’t tell whether that one was still sitting there or had vanished.

“Listen, Red. I’m not kidding. You won’t be sorry. Do you know why old Burbridge is still alive? Do you? Bob the Gorilla is dead, the Pharaoh Banker is no more. He was a real stalker! But still, he croaked. And the Slug, too. Norman Four-Eyes. Kallogen. Scabby Pete. All of them. Only I’m left. Why? Do you know why?”

“You were always a piece of scum,” said Redrick, without taking his eyes off the road. “A vulture.”

“Scum. That’s right. You gotta be like that. But they were all the same. The Pharaoh. The Slug. But I’m the only one left. Do you know why?”

“Yes,” said Redrick, to shut him up.

“You’re lying. You don’t know. Have you heard of the Golden Sphere?”

“Yes.”

“You think it’s a fairy tale?”

“You should be quiet,” advised Redrick. “You’re wasting your strength!”

“It’s all right, you’ll get me out. We’ve done so much together! You wouldn’t actually leave me? You were this tall when we first met. Knew your father.”

Redrick stayed silent. He badly needed a smoke, so he took out a cigarette, crumbled some tobacco onto his palm, and tried smelling it. It didn’t help.

“You have to get me out,” said Burbridge. “It’s your fault I’m here. You wouldn’t take the Maltese.”

The Maltese really wanted to go with them. He paid for their drinks, offered a good deposit, and swore that he could get specsuits. Burbridge, who sat next to the Maltese, shielding his face with a heavy leathery hand, had winked furiously at Redrick: Take him, we won’t regret it. Maybe that was precisely why Redrick had said no. “Your own greed got you here,” Redrick said coldly. “Nothing to do with me. Just be quiet.”

For a while, Burbridge only groaned. He tugged on his collar again and threw his head all the way back. “You can keep everything,” he muttered. “Just don’t leave me.”

Redrick looked at his watch. It was now almost dawn, but the patrol car still wasn’t leaving; it continued to comb the bushes with its searchlights. Their camouflaged Jeep was hidden somewhere there, very near the patrols, and any moment now it might be discovered.

“The Golden Sphere,” said Burbridge. “I found it. Lots of stories told about it. Told some myself. That it’ll grant any wish. Yeah, right—any wish! If it granted any wish, I wouldn’t be here anymore. I’d be living it up in Europe. Swimming in cash.”

Redrick looked at him from above. In the flickering blue light, Burbridge’s upturned face looked dead. But his glassy eyes were wide open, and they followed Redrick intently, without looking away.

“Eternal youth—like hell I got that. Money—hell with that, too. But I have my health. And I got good kids. And I’m alive. You couldn’t even dream of the places I’ve been. And I’m still alive.” He licked his lips. “That’s all I’m asking it for. To let me live. And my health. And my kids.”

“Shut up,” Redrick finally said. “You sound like an old woman. If I can, I’ll drag you out. I feel sorry for your Dina—the girl will be out on the street.”

“Dina…” croaked Burbridge. “My baby. A beauty. You know, I’ve spoiled them, Red. Never denied them a thing. They’ll be lost. Arthur. My Archie. You know what he’s like, Red. Where else have you seen kids like that?”

“I told you. If I can, I’ll get you out.”

“No,” Burbridge said stubbornly. “You’ll get me out either way. The Golden Sphere. Want me to tell you where it is?”

“Fine, tell me.”

Burbridge moaned and shifted. “My legs…” he groaned. “Can you feel them?”

Redrick stretched out his arm and, examining, ran his hand along the leg below the knee.

“Bones…” wheezed Burbridge. “Are there still bones?”

“Yes, yes,” lied Redrick. “Don’t worry.”

Actually, he could only feel the kneecap. Below there, all the way down to the heel, the leg felt like a rubber stick—you could tie it in knots.

“You’re lying,” said Burbridge. “Why are you lying? What, you think I don’t know, you think I’ve never seen this before?”

“The knees are OK,” said Redrick.

“You’re probably lying again,” Burbridge said miserably. “Forget it. Just get me out of here. I’ll give you everything. The Golden Sphere. Draw you a map. Show you all the traps. Tell you everything.”

He kept talking and promising things, but Redrick was no longer listening. He was looking toward the road. The searchlights had stopped darting through the bushes; they had frozen, converging on that same marble obelisk, and in the bright blue fog Redrick distinctly saw a hunched figure wandering between the crosses. The figure seemed to be moving blindly, heading right toward the searchlights. Redrick saw it crash into a huge cross, stagger back, bump into the cross again, and only then go around it and keep going, stretching long arms with fingers spread wide in front of it. Then it suddenly disappeared, as if falling through the ground, and in a few seconds appeared again, farther and to the right, walking with an absurd, inhuman persistence, like a windup toy.

And the searchlights abruptly went off. The clutch started grinding, the motor roared to life, red and blue signal lights flashed through the bushes, and the patrol car took off. It sped up furiously, flew toward town, and disappeared behind the wall. Redrick swallowed hard and unzipped his jumpsuit.