"Arkady & Boris Strugatsky - The Ugly Swans" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

lanky companion were wolfing down their dinner. The single bottle on the table was local mineral water.
Pavor and Golem had cleared away a place on the tablecloth and were playing dice, and Dr. R. Quad-riga
was holding his shaggy head and muttering over and over
The Ugly Swans 29

again: " 'The Legion of Freedom is the Backbone of the Presi-dent.' A mosaic. ... 'on the Happy
Anniversary of Your High-nesses' Birth.' 'The President is the Father of His Children.' An allegorical
painting...."
"I'm leaving," said Victor.
"Too bad," said Golem. "However, I wish you good luck."
"Say hello to Rosheper," said Pavor, winking.
"Member of Parliament Rosheper Nant," Quadriga perked up. "A portrait. Not too expensive.
Waist-length."
Victor picked up his lighter and pack of cigarettes and left. Behind him Quadriga pronounced in a clear
voice: "I believe, gentlemen, that it's time we became acquainted. The name is Rem Quadriga, doctor
honoris causae, but as for you, my dear sirs, I can't seem...." At the door, Victor bumped into the fat coach
of the soccer team Brothers in Reason. The coach was wet and looked worried. He let Victor pass.
Chapter III


The bus stopped. "Here we are," said the driver.
"Is this the health resort?" asked Victor. Outside the bus, the fog was dense and milky. The beam of the
headlights dis-solved into it, and nothing could be seen.
 'The resort, what else?" muttered the driver, lighting a cigarette.
Victor walked toward the exit. "Some fog," he said, stepping off the bus. "Can't see a thing."
"You'll get there," the driver promised indifferently. He spit
out the window. "They really picked a good place for a health
resort. Fog all day, fog at night "
"Have a nice trip back," said Victor.
The driver didn't answer. The engine whined, the doors slammed shut, and the huge, empty bus made its
turn, its glass lit up from inside like a department store closed for the night. No more than a dull spot of light,
it sped off to the city. Victor felt his way along the iron railing, found the gate, and stumbled along the path.
Now that his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, he could distinguish the brightly lit windows of the right
half of the building and the impenetrable darkness of the left half, where the Brothers in Reason slept
soundly after a full day's action in the rain. Through the fog, as though through cotton wadding, you could
hear the usual health re-sort din: the sound of a stereo, the clank of dishes, somebody's hoarse shout. Victor
forged ahead, trying to keep to the mid-dle of the sandy path so as not to knock into some plaster vase.
o
3

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He kept the bottle of gin clasped to his breast and was very careful, but, all the same, he tripped over
something soft and had to stumble ahead on all fours. From behind him came a halfhearted curse and a
suggestion that he should have turned the lights on. In the semidarkness Victor fumbled for the fallen bottle,
again clasped it to his breast, and went on, feeling his way with his free hand. He collided with a parked
car, ma-neuvered around it, and collided with another one. Nothing but goddamned cars in this place.
Victor, cursing, wound his way through them as though through a labyrinth, and for a long time could not
get near the murky glow that indicated the entrance to the lobby. The smooth sides of the cars were wet
from the condensed fog. Somewhere close there was romping and giggling.