"Michael Moorcock - An Evening at Home" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

renounce him.

I was still trying to reach the door. I had decided to say nothing further but
to make my escape now, while attempting to redeem myself later. From outside,
I heard an impatient toot.

Fiorello came up to me. "Max, I don't plan to involve you. But you can't
realise what's going on. They beat me up -- squadristi thugs. I escaped. They
were planning to kill me. They said so. De Vecchi's their boss. He really
hates me. I don't think Mussolini understands. You know how much I admire him.
If you could put in a word, perhaps, we could clear all this up. He doesn't
mind as long as the communists are out of the country. I was simply getting
rid of another one." His attempt to smile at me was unfortunate. I murmured
that there was little I could do. I had no power and little real influence. I
was a scientist, after all. Not one of the political people. I was sure if he
threw himself on the Duce's mercy everything could be sorted out.

The horn sounded for the second time. The Duce would be furious by now. He had
been impatient to begin with.

I thought of suggesting to Fiorello that he go personally and ask the Duce for
clemency, since it seemed a convenient moment. By now Mandy had stopped
pouring drinks and was placing tall red glasses into uncomprehending hands.
"Do you mean to say," she continued firmly, settling herself on the couch
between Goering and La Scarfatti, "that you and Max have been doing something
behind my back?"
"And who is Max?" asked Goering agreeably.

Seryozha had found the gramophone and was winding it up. "What marvellous
records," he said. "You can't find these in Berlin." He put on Home on the
Range. I think it was Gene Autry's earliest recording. As the first bars began
to play, Seryozha threw up discretely behind a chair. Goering smiled
apologetically to his hostess. "He is not German," he explained. He leaned
forward and whispered something to her. Mandy got up and went in to the
bedroom.

The horn sounded for the third time. The beating of my heart suggested to me I
could probably not live much longer.

Mandy came back in to the room with our cocaine and the apparatus for taking
it.

It occurred to me to ask Fiorello if he knew the best way of getting into
Switzerland.

Mandy, stone-faced, began to chop out a line of coke for everyone. As Seryozha
fell to the floor, his face striking the carpet with a peculiar soft crunch,
she incorporated his line into her own.

Fiorello was still beside me. I had begun to tell him that our leader was