Читать книгу A Man from the Future. 1856 - Евгений Платонов - Страница 20

At first he saw the same room, but as if in a different light – not in the dim yellowish glow, but in a bright, almost cutting light. Then the walls began to blur, as if they were watercolor paintings in the rain. Colors flowed, mixed, disappeared.

Hallucination, Dmitry thought. I’ve definitely lost my mind.

He tried to take off the glasses, but his hands wouldn’t obey – as if paralyzed, they hung limp at his sides. His legs didn’t move either. He stood in the middle of the disappearing room and felt the ground giving way beneath his feet – not metaphorically, but literally.

Fear overwhelmed him – animal, primal fear of death, of disappearing, of dissolving into the void.

No! he cried out silently. No, I don’t want this! Stop it! Send me back!

But there was no voice – he was screaming soundlessly into the void that swallowed everything. And suddenly, in that void, he heard a Voice. Not the whisper that had called him from behind the door – but a real Voice, loud, solemn, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once:

“Dmitry Sergeevich Komarov, you are tired of your life. You believe your existence has no meaning. You think you were born in the wrong era, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

Yes, Dmitry answered mentally. Yes, that’s true. I’m tired. I don’t want to live like this anymore.

“I give you the opportunity,” the Voice continued. “The opportunity to leave your time and enter the one you dream of. The nineteenth century. But remember: this is not a game. This is not a dream. You will go there for real. And it’s not certain you’ll be able to return.”

And do I have anything to return to? Dmitry thought bitterly. I have nothing in this time. No one and nothing.

“Then go,” said the Voice. “Go and find yourself. Or perish in the attempt.”