Roadside Picnic by Boris Strugatsky, Arkady Strugatsky Page B

crashed into the hospitable arms of the bar. Gutalin was blotto, rolling his eyes and looking for a place to rest his fist. Richard Noonan was tenderly holding him by the elbow and distracting him with jokes. A pretty pair! Gutalin is a huge black ape with knuckles down to his knees, and Dick is a small round pink creature that all but glows.
    “Hey!” shouted Dick. “There’s Red! Come over and join us!”
    “R-r-right!” roared Gutalin. “There are only two real men in this whole city – Red and me! All the rest are pigs or Satan’s children. Red, you also serve the devil, but you’re still human.”
    I came over with my glass. Gutalin peeled off my jacket and seated me at the table.
    “Sit down, Red! Sit down, Satan’s servant. I like you. Let’s have a cry over the sins of mankind. A good long bitter wail.”
    “Let’s wail,” I said. “Let’s drink the tears of sin.”
    “For the day is nigh,” Gutalin announced “For the white steed is saddled and his rider has put his foot in the stirrup. And the prayers of those who have sold themselves to Satan are in vain. Only those who have renounced him will be saved. You, children of man who were seduced by the devil, who play with the devil’s toys, who dig up Satan’s treasures – I say unto you: you are blind! Awake, you bastards, before it’s too late! Trample the devil’s trinkets!” He stopped, as though he had forgotten what came next. “Can I get a drink here?” he suddenly asked in a different voice. “You know, Red, I’ve been canned again. Said I was an agitator. I keep explaining to them: Awake, blind ones, you’re falling into the pit and taking others with you! They just laughed. So I punched the shop leader in the nose and split. They’ll arrest me now. And for what?”
    Dick came over and put the bottle on the table.
    “It’s on me today!” I called to Ernest.
    Dick gave me a sidelong look.
    “It’s perfectly legal,” I said. “We’re drinking my bonus check.”
    “You went into the Zone?” Dick asked. “Bring anything out?”
    “A full empty,” I said. “For the altar of science. Are you going to pour that or not?”
    “An empty!” Gutalin echoed in sorrow. “You risked your life for some empty! You survived, but you brought another devil’s artifact into the world. How do you know, Red, how much of sorrow and sin ... ”
    “Can it, Gutalin,” I said severely. “Drink and rejoice that I came back alive. To success, my friends.”
    It went over well, the toast to success. Gutalin fell apart completely. He was weeping, the tears streaming like water from a spout. I know him well. It’s just a phase. Weeping and preaching that the Zone is the devil’s temptation. That we should take nothing out of it and return everything that we’ve taken. And go on living as though the Zone were not there. Leave the devil’s things to the devil. I like him. Gutalin, I mean. I usually like weirdos. When he has money, he buys up the swag without haggling, for whatever price the stalkers ask, and totes it back at night into the Zone and buries it. He was waiting. But he would be stopping soon.
    “What’s a full empty?” Dick asked. “I know what a plain empty is, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a full one.”
    I explained it to him. He nodded and smacked his lips.
    “Yes, that’s very interesting. Something new. Who did you go with? The Russian?”
    “Yes, with Kirill and Tender. You know, our lab assistant.”
    “They must have driven you crazy.”
    “Nothing of the kind. They behaved quite well. Especially Kirill. He’s a born stalker. He just needs a little more experience, to break him of his hurrying, and I’d go into the Zone every day with him.”
    “And every night?” he asked with a drunken smirk.
    “Drop it. A joke’s a joke.”
    “I know. A joke’s a joke, but it can get me into a lot of trouble. I owe you one.”
    “Who gets one?” Gutalin got excited. “Which one is it?”
    We