"Tom Reamy - San Diego Lightfoot Sue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reamy Tom)

Krahenest ("Crow's Nest").

I passed between the flanking three-footJiigh bronze statuettes of Thomas Edison andrMarie
Sklodowska Edison niched in one wall and those of . Count von Zeppelin and Thomas Sklodowska
Edison facing them from the other, and entered the select precincts of the finest German dining place
outside the Fatherland. I paused while my eyes traveled searchingly around the room with its restful dark
wood paneling deeply carved with beautiful representations of the Black Forest and its grotesque
supernatural denizensтАФkobolds, elves, gnomes, dryads (tastefully sexy), and the like. They interested me
since I am what Americans call a Sunday painter, though almost my sole subject matter is zeppelins seen
against blue sky and airy, soaring clouds.

The Oberkellner came hurrying toward me with menu tucked under his left elbow and saying, "Mem
Herri Charmed to see you once more! I have a perfect table-for-one with porthole looking out across
the Hudson."

But just then a youthful figure rose springily from behind a table set against the far wall, and a dear and
familiar voice rang out to me with "Hier, Papar

"Nein, Heir Ober," I smilingly told the headwaiter as I walked past him, "haute hob ich ein
Gesell-schafter, Mein Sohn."

I confidently made my way between tables occupied by well-dressed folk, both white and black.
My son wrung my hand with fierce family affection, though we had last parted only that morning. He
insisted that I take the wide, dark, leather-upholstered seat against the wall, which gave me a fine view of
the entire restaurant, while he took the facing chair.

"Because during this meal I wish to look only on you, Papa," he assured me with manly tenderness.

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FRITZ LEIBER

"And we have at least an hour and a half together, PapaтАФI have checked your luggage through, and it is
likely already aboard the Ostwald." Thoughtful, dependable boy!

"And now, Papa, what shall it be?" he continued after we had settled ourselves. "I see that today's special
is Sauerbraten mit Spatzel and sweet-sour red cabbage. But there is also Paprikahuhn andтАФ"

Leave the chicken to flaunt her paprika in lonely red splendor today," I interrupted him. "Sauerbraten
?


sounds fine."

Ordered by my Herr Ober, the aged wine waiter had already approached our table. I was about to give
him direction when my son took upon himself that task with an authority and a hostfulness that warmed
my heart. He scanned the wine menu rapidly but thoroughly.

"The Zinfandel 1933," he ordered with decision, though glancing my way to see if I concurred with his
judgment. I smiled and nodded.