Hard to Be a God Read Free Page B

fence post. They threw from twenty paces, from fifteen, and from ten—but they just couldn’t hit it. And then, when they were already bored and were leaving, Pashka carelessly, without looking, threw the last snowball and hit it. Anton pressed the stock of the crossbow into his shoulder with all his strength. Anka is too close, he thought. He wanted to call to her to step away but realized that it’d be silly.
    Higher. Even higher … Higher still … He was suddenly seized with the certainty that even if he turned his back to them, the heavy bolt would still sink right into the bridge of Pashka’s nose, between his cheerful green eyes. He opened his eyes and looked at Pashka. Pashka was no longergrinning. And Anka was very slowly raising a hand with her fingers spread, and her face was tense and very grown-up. Then Anton raised the crossbow even higher and pressed the trigger. He didn’t see where the bolt went.
    â€œI missed,” he said very loudly.
    Walking on unbending legs, he started down the trail. Pashka wiped his face with the red bundle, shook it, unfolded it, and started tying it around his head. Anka bent down and picked up her crossbow. If she hits me over the head with that thing, Anton thought, I’ll thank her. But Anka didn’t even look at him.
    She turned toward Pashka and asked, “Shall we go?”
    â€œOne second,” Pashka said. He looked at Anton and silently tapped his forehead with a bent finger.
    â€œAnd you really got scared,” Anton said.
    Pashka tapped his forehead with a finger again and followed Anka. Anton trudged behind them and tried to suppress his doubts.
    What did I do wrong, exactly? he thought dully. Why are they so mad? Well, Pashka I understand—he got scared. Except I don’t know who was more frightened, William the father or Tell the son. But what about Anka? She must have gotten scared for Pashka. But what could I have done? Look at me, trailing behind them like a cousin. I should just take off. I’ll turn left here, there’s an interesting swamp that direction. Maybe I’ll catch an owl. But he didn’t even slow down. That means it’s for life, he thought. He had read that it very often happened like this.
    They came out onto the abandoned road even sooner than expected. The sun was high; it was hot. The pine needles prickled under Anton’s collar. The road was concrete, made of two rows of cracked, grayish-red slabs. Thick drygrass grew in the interstices. The side of the road was full of dusty burrs. Beetles were buzzing, and one of them insolently slammed right into Anton’s forehead. It was quiet and languid.
    â€œLook!” said Pashka.
    A round tin disk, covered with peeling paint, hung in the middle of a rusty wire stretched across the road. It seemed to show a yellow rectangle on a red background.
    â€œWhat is it?” Anka asked, without any particular interest.
    â€œA road sign,” Pashka said. “Says not to go there.”
    â€œDo not enter,” Anton confirmed.
    â€œWhy is it here?” Anka asked.
    â€œIt means you can’t go that way,” Pashka said.
    â€œSo why the road?”
    Pashka shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a very old highway,” he said.
    â€œAn anisotropic highway,” declared Anton. Anka was standing with her back to him. “It only goes one way.”
    â€œThe wisdom of our forefathers,” Pashka said pensively. “You drive and drive for a hundred miles, then suddenly— boom!—a do-not-enter sign. You can’t go straight, but there’s no one to ask for directions.”
    â€œImagine what could be beyond the sign!” said Anka. She looked around. They were surrounded by many miles of empty forest, and there was no one to ask what could be beyond the sign. “What if it doesn’t even say do not enter?” she asked. “The paint is mostly peeled off …”
    Then Anton took