Arkadi and Boris Strugatsky.

Monday begins on Sat.u.r.day.

BY WAY OF AN INTRODUCTION...

There is probably hardly a Russian alive who could not at the drop of a hat recite the opening lines from Pushkin's "Ruslan and Ludmilla," which set the mood of that fairy tale. They tell of Lukomoriye, the bight in the sea, where a verdant and mighty oak makes a home for a mermaid dwelling in its branches and a prison for a learned cat chained to its trunk. A cat who goes round and round on its golden links, singing on his clockwise journey, and telling tales when unwinding to the left.

There, in that enchanted land, are miracles and wonders, and unseen beasts wandering by unknown paths in the shadowy woods.

There stands the house on hen's legs, without doors or windows, and grove and dale are full of visions strange.

There, at dawn, thirty heroes radiant exit from the briny waves, led by their sea monarch. There, the youthful prince takes the stern king prisoner in pa.s.sing, and in the clouds, the magician is bearing off the mighty warrior.

There the princess languishes in durance with her faithful wolf; there Baba Yaga rides by in her mortar and Czar Koschei wastes away in contemplation of his golden h.o.a.rds. There, in sum, are collected all the wonders of Russian folklore.

The Strugatskis, also, make use of this common cultural background to set the stage for their tale at the outset and to prepare the reader for the wonders of hybrid magi-science. But be not deceived-- behind the Daliesque landscapes, just as in his case, there underlie superb craftsmanship and an unyielding adherence to the rules of objective reason.

-- Leonid Renen.

Translator.

MONDAY BEGINS ON SAt.u.r.dAY by Arkadi & Boris Strugatski Translated by Leonid Renen DAW BOOKS, INC. DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER.

1301 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N. Y. 10019 ENGLISH TRANSLATION copyright 1977 by DAW Books, INC.

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Bob Pepper.

Originally published in Russian by the Young Guard Publishing House, Moscow, 1966.

Translation by Leonid Renen.

FIRST PRINTING, NOVEMBER 1977 PRINTED IN U.S.A.

"But what is the strangest, the most incomprehensible of all, is the fact that authors can undertake such themes-- I confess this is altogether beyond me, really... No, no, I don't understand it at all."

N.V. Gogol.

* THE FIRST TALE. Run Around a Sofa *

Chapter 1.

Teacher: Children, write down the proposition: "The fish was sitting in a tree."

Pupil: But is it true that fish sit in trees?

Teacher: Well . . . it was a crazy fish.

School Joke I was approaching my destination. All around, pressing up against the very edge of the road, the green of the forest yielded now and then to a meadow overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour and still couldn't make it, hanging low on the horizon. The car rolled along, crunching on a gravel surface. I steered around the bigger rocks, and each maneuver caused the empty canisters to rattle and clang in the trunk.

A couple of men came out of the woods on the right and stopped on the shoulder, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I took my foot off the gas, scrutinizing the pair. They seemed to be hunters, young, and maybe a bit older than myself. Deciding I liked their looks, I stopped.

The one who had raised his hand stuck his swarthy, hawk-nosed face through the window and asked, grinning, "Could you give us a lift to Solovetz ?"

The second man, with a reddish beard and without a moustache, peering over his shoulder, was also smiling. These were positively nice people.

"Sure thing. Get in," I said. "One in the front and one in the back, 'cause I have some junk on the rear seat."

"A true philanthropist," p.r.o.nounced the hawk-nosed one joyfully as he slid the gun off his shoulder and sat down next to me.

The bearded one was looking through the rear door in a quandary of indecision and said, "Eh, could you maybe move it a little?"

I leaned over the back of the seat and helped him clean off a s.p.a.ce occupied by a sleeping bag and a rolled-up tent. He sat down gingerly, placing his gun between his knees.

"Shut the door tighter," I said.

Everything was going along normally. The car started off. The hawk-nosed one turned around and started an animated discourse about how much nicer it was to be riding in a pa.s.senger car than to be traveling on foot. The bearded one mumbled a.s.sent and kept slamming the door. "Pick up the poncho," I counseled, looking at him through the rear-view mirror.

"You're pinching it in the door." After five minutes everything finally settled down. I asked, "Is it some ten kilometers to Solovetz?"

"Right" answered Hawk-nose, "or a little more. Though, in truth, the road isn't very good, made mostly for trucks."

"The road is quite decent," I contradicted. "I was promised I couldn't get through at all."

"On this road you can get through even in the fall."

"Here, maybe but from Korobetz on it's just a plain dirt road."

"It's a dry summer this year; everything is dried out from the drought."

"Over by Zatonyie there have been some rains, they say," noted thebearded one on the rear seat "Who said?" asked Hawk-nose.

"Merlin said."

For some reason they both laughed. I fished out my cigarettes, lighted up, and pa.s.sed them around.

"Clara Tsetkin brand," said Hawk-nose, studying the pack. "Are you from Leningrad?"

"Yes."

"Touring?"

"Touring," I said. "And you-- are you from around here?"

"Native," said Hawk-nose.

"Me, I am from Murmansk," offered the bearded one.

"For Leningrad it must be all the same-- North, whether it's Murmansk or Solovetz," said Hawk-nose.

"Well, not really," I said politely.

"Are you going to stop over in Solovetz?" asked Hawk-nose.

"Of course," I said. "It's Solovetz I am going to."

"You have friends or relatives there?"

"No," I said, "just going to wait up for some friends. They are taking the sh.o.r.e route and Solovetz is our rendezvous point"

I saw a heap of gravel piled up ahead, braked, and said, "Hang on tight" The car bounced and pitched. Hawk-nose banged his nose on the gun barrel. The engine roared, rocks flew up against the undercarriage.

"Poor old car," said Hawk-nose.

"Can't be helped," I said.

"It's not everyone who would drive on a road like this with his own car."

"I would," I said. The freshly graveled section came to an end.

"Oh, so it's not your own car," guessed Hawk-nose with some tone of disappointment, it seemed to me. I felt piqued.

"And what sense would there be in buying a car so you could drive on pavement? Where there is pavement there is nothing of interest and where it's interesting-- there's no pavement."

"Yes, of course," Hawk-nose commented diplomatically.

"It's dumb to make an idol out of a car," I a.s.serted.

"So it is," said the bearded one. "But not everyone thinks so."

We started talking cars and came to the conclusion that if you were going to buy anything at all, a GAZ-69 would be best, but unfortunately they were not for sale to the public. Later Hawk-nose asked, "So, where do you work?"

I answered, "Colossal!"

Exclaimed Hawk-nose, "A programmer! That's exactly what we are looking for. Listen. Quit your inst.i.tute and join up with us!"

"And what do you have to offer?"

"What do we have?" asked Hawk-nose, turning around.

"Aldan-three," said The Beard.

"A well-endowed machine," I said. "Has it been running well?"

"Well, how shall I say..

"I get it," I said.

"As a matter of fact, it hasn't been debugged yet," said The Beard.

"Stay here with us and fix it up."

"We'll arrange your transfer before you can count to two," added Hawk-nose.

"What are you working on?" I asked.

"As with all science-- the happiness of man."

"Understood," I said. "Something to do with s.p.a.ce?"

"That too," said Hawk-nose.

"Well, you know what they say-- let well enough alone," said I.

"Big city and good pay," said The Beard in a low voice, but I heard him. "Don't," I said, "don't judge it in terms of money."

"No, really, I was just kidding," said The Beard. "It's his idea of a joke," said Hawk-nose. "You couldn't find more interesting work anywhere else than with us."

"Why do you think so?"

"I am positive."

"But I am not convinced."

Hawk-nose chuckled. "We'll talk about that some more," he said. "Are you going to stay long in Solovetz?"

"Two days maximum."

"So we'll talk on day two."

The Beard announced: "Personally, I see the hand of fate in this. There we were walking through the woods and we meet a programmer. I sense that we are committed."

"You really need a programmer that badly?" I asked.