Тень над Иннсмутом

           Heretheoldmanfaltered,mumbled,andlapsedintoamoodyandapprehensivesilence;glancingnervouslyoverhisshoulderandthenturningbacktostarefascinatedlyatthedistantblackreef.WhenIspoketohimhedidnotanswer,soIknewIwouldhavetolethimfinishthebottle.TheinsaneyarnIwashearinginterestedmeprofoundly,forIfanciedtherewascontainedwithinitasortofcrudeallegorybaseduponthestrangenessofInnsmouthandelaboratedbyanimaginationatoncecreativeandfullofscrapsofexoticlegend.NotforamomentdidIbelievethatthetalehadanyreallysubstantialfoundation;butnonethelesstheaccountheldahintofgenuineterrorifonlybecauseitbroughtinreferencestostrangejewelsclearlyakintothemaligntiaraIhadseenatNewburyport.Perhapstheornamentshad,afterall,comefromsomestrangeisland;andpossiblythewildstorieswereliesofthebygoneObedhimselfratherthanofthisantiquetoper.

           IhandedZadokthebottle,andhedrainedittothelastdrop.Itwascurioushowhecouldstandsomuchwhiskey,fornotevenatraceofthicknesshadcomeintohishigh,wheezyvoice.Helickedthenoseofthebottleandslippeditintohispocket,thenbeginningtonodandwhispersoftlytohimself.Ibentclosetocatchanyarticulatewordshemightutter,andthoughtIsawasardonicsmilebehindthestainedbushywhiskers.Yes—hewasreallyformingwords,andIcouldgraspafairproportionofthem.