Guillermo Del Toro - The Complete Strain Trilogy - The Strain, The Fall, The Night Eternal

Title Page The Strain Trilogy GUILLERMO DEL TORO and CHUCK HOGAN

The Strain

The Fall

The Night Eternal

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BOOK I

OF The Strain Trilogy

To Lorenza, Mariana, and Marisa …

and

to all the monsters in my nursery:

May you never leave me alone

—GDT

For Lila

—CH

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

The Legend of Jusef Sardu

The Beginning

N323RG Cockpit Voice Recorder

The Landing

JFK International Control Tower

Now Boarding

Worth Street, Chinatown

Interlude I: Abraham Setrakian

Arrival

Regis Air Maintenance Hangar

Occultation

Approaching Totality

Awakening

Regis Air Maintenance Hangar

Interlude II: The Burning Hole

Movement

Coach

The First Night

Interlude III: Revolt, 1943

Dawn

17th Precinct Headquarters, East Fifty-first Street, Manhattan

The Old Professor

Knickerbocker Loans and Curios, East 118th Street, Spanish Harlem

The Second Night

Exposure

Canary Headquarters, Eleventh Avenue and Twenty-seventh Street

Final Interlude: The Ruins

Replication

Jamaica Hospital Medical Center

Daylight

Bushwick, Brooklyn

Lair

Worth Street, Chinatown

The Clan

Nazareth, Pennsylvania

Epilogue: Kelton Street, Woodside, Queens

Copyright Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

“Once upon a time,” said Abraham Setrakian’s grandmother, “there was a giant.”

Young Abraham’s eyes brightened, and immediately the cabbage borscht in the wooden bowl got tastier, or at least less garlicky. He was a pale boy, underweight and sickly. His grandmother, intent on fattening him, sat across from him while he ate his soup, entertaining him by spinning a yarn.

A bubbeh meiseh, a “grandmother’s story.” A fairy tale. A legend.

“He was the son of a Polish nobleman. And his name was Jusef Sardu. Master Sardu stood taller than any other man. Taller than any roof in the village. He had to bow deeply to enter any door. But his great height, it was a burden. A disease of birth, not a blessing. The young man suffered. His muscles lacked the strength to support his long, heavy bones. At times it was a struggle for him just to walk. He used a cane, a tall stick—taller than you—with a silver handle carved into the shape of a wolf’s head, which was the family crest.”

“Yes, Bubbeh?” said Abraham, between spoonfuls.

“This was his lot in life, and it taught him humility, which is a rare thing indeed for a nobleman to possess. He had so much compassion—for the poor, for the hardworking, for the sick. He was especially dear to the children of the village, and his great, deep pockets—the size of turnip sacks—bulged with trinkets and sweets. He had not much of a childhood himself, matching his father’s height at the age of eight, and surpassing him by a head at age nine. His frailty and his great size were a secret source of shame to his father. But Master Sardu truly was a gentle giant, and much beloved by his people. It was said of him that Master Sardu looked down on everyone, yet looked down on no one.”

She nodded at him, reminding him to take another spoonful. He chewed a boiled red beet, known as a “baby heart” because of its color, its shape, its capillary-like strings. “Yes, Bubbeh?”

“He was also a lover of nature, and had no interest in the brutality of the hunt—but, as a nobleman and a man of rank, at the age of fifteen his father and his uncles prevailed upon him to accompany them on a six-week expedition to Romania.”