Первые люди на Луне

           Iwasonthemanholelip,astupefied,half-deadbeing.Thesnowwasallaboutme.Ipulledmyselfin.Therelurkedwithinalittlewarmerair.

           Thesnowflakes—theairflakes—dancedinaboutme,asItriedwithchillinghandstothrustthevalveinandspunittightandhard.Isobbed.“Iwill,”Ichatteredinmyteeth.Andthen,withfingersthatquiveredandfeltbrittle,Iturnedtotheshutterstuds.

           AsIfumbledwiththeswitches—forIhadnevercontrolledthembefore—Icouldseedimlythroughthesteamingglasstheblazingredstreamersofthesinkingsun,dancingandflickeringthroughthesnowstorm,andtheblackformsofthescrubthickeningandbendingandbreakingbeneaththeaccumulatingsnow.Thickerwhirledthesnowandthicker,blackagainstthelight.Whatifevennowtheswitchesovercameme?Thensomethingclickedundermyhands,andinaninstantthatlastvisionofthemoonworldwashiddenfrommyeyes.Iwasinthesilenceanddarknessoftheinter-planetarysphere.