"viktor_pelevin_-_sigmund_in_a_cafe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelevin Viktor)

curiously.
Sigmund looked at the children again. It seemed that one of them
fetched some new toys. Beside the bricks and the ball, they now had
disheveled dolls and colored pieces of clay lying around them. The boy was
still busy with the bricks, but now instead of a house he was building a
long, low wall, upon which at regular intervals stood tin soldiers with high
red hats. A few openings were left in the wall, each guarded by three
soldiers -- one outside and two inside. The wall was shaped as a semicircle,
and at its center a carefully arranged podium of four bricks held the ball
-- which rested only on the bricks, not touching the floor. The girl was
sitting with her back to her brother and absent-mindedly biting at the tail
of a stuffed canary.
-- Aha! -- shouted Sigmund restlessly. -- Aha! Aha!
Now not only the whiskered gentleman glanced at him (the gentleman and
the lady were already standing at the hat rack and dressing up), but also
the hostess, who was adjusting the window shades with a long stick. Sigmund
looked at the hostess and then at the wall, which held a few paintings -- a
banal seascape with the moon and a beacon, and a huge, out-of-place
avant-guarde painting, showing from above two open grand pianos, in which
lay the dead Bounuel and Salvador Dali, both with strangely elongated ears.
-- Aha! -- shouted Sigmund with all might. -- Aha! Aha!! Aha!!!
Now people from all sides looked at him, and not just looked: the
hostess was approaching him with a long stick in her hand, and on the other
side -- the whiskered gentleman, holding his hat. The hostess frowned as
usual, but the gentleman's face expressed a touching, genuine interest. The
faces were getting closer until they occupied almost his entire view, and
Sigmund felt ill at ease and cringed into a fluffy bundle.
-- What a beautiful parrot you have here, -- the whiskered gentleman
said to the hostess. -- What else can he say?
-- Many things, -- answered the hostess. -- Come on, Sigmund, tell us
something.
She raised her hand and put the tip of a fat finger between the rods.
-- Nice boy Sigmund, -- Sigmund said flirtingly, moving however along
the rod to the far corner of the cage, just in case. -- Clever boy Sigmund.
-- Clever boy he is, -- the hostess said, -- but the cage is full of
his shit. Not a clean spot left.
-- Don't be too strict with the poor bird. It's his cage after all and
not yours, -- the whiskered gentleman said, preening his hair. -- He has to
live in it, too.
A moment later he apparently felt embarrassed about talking to a vulgar
barkeeper's wife. With a stiff face he put on his hat, turned and went
toward the door.

Last-modified: Sun, 26 Sep 1999 13:33:07 GMT