"Arkady & Boris Strugatsky - The Final Circle Of Paradise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

Let's go to yonder bar. It's quiet there at this time."
We went in under a blue awning. Ahmad seated me at a
table, put my suitcase on a vacant chair, and went to the
counter. It was cool and an air conditioner sighed in the
background. Ahmad returned with a tray. There were tall glasses
and flat plates with butter-gold tidbits.
"Not very strong," said Ahmad, "but really cold to make up
for that."
"I don't like it strong in the morning either," I said.
I quaffed the glass. The stuff was good.
"A swallow -- a bite," counseled Ahmad, "Like this: a
swallow, a bite."
The tidbits crunched and melted in the mouth. In my view,
they were unnecessary. We were silent for some time, watching
the square from under the marquee. gently purring, the buses
pulled out one after another into their respective tree-lined
avenues. They looked ponderous yet strangely elegant in their
clumsiness.
"It would be too noisy there," said Ahmad. "Fine cottages,
lots of women -- to suit any taste -- and right on the water,
but no privacy. I don't think it's for you."
"Yes," I agreed. "The noise would bother me. Anyway, I
don't like vacationers, Ahmad. Can't stand it when people work
at having fun."
Ahmad nodded and carefully placed the next tidbit in his
mouth. I watched him chew. There was something professional and
concentrated in the movement of his lower jaw. Having
swallowed, he said, "No, the synthetic will never compare with
the natural product. Not the same bouquet." He flexed his lips,
smacked them gently, and continued, "There are two excellent
hotels in the center of town, but, in my view..."
"Yes, that won't do either," I said. "A hotel places
certain obligations on you. I never heard that anything
worthwhile has ever been written in a hotel."
"Well, that's not quite true," retorted Ahmad, critically
studying the last tidbit. "I read one book and in it they said
that it was in fact written in a hotel -- the Hotel Florida."
"Aah," I said, "you are correct. But then your city is not
being shelled by cannons."
"Cannons? Of course not. Not as a rule, anyway."
"Just as I thought. But, as a matter of fact, it has been
noted that something worthwhile can be written only in a hotel
which is under bombardment."
Ahmad took the last tidbit after all.
'That would be difficult to arrange," he said. "In our
times it's hard to obtain a cannon. Besides, it's very
expensive; the hotel could lose its clientele."
"Hotel Florida also lost its clients in its time.
Hemingway lived in it alone."