"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky_Destination Amaltheia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

she? She'll turn up."
"Turn up," said Yurkovsky. "It's time for her to eat. She never
asks-she'd sooner starve."
"She won't starve herself to death, don't you fear," said Dauge.
"She's not had a bite for twelve days now-ever since the start. It's
bad for her."
"When she wants some grub she'll come," Dauge said with conviction.
"That is common to all forms of life."
Yurkovsky shook his head.
"Not she, she won't, Grisha," he said.
He got up and started feeling the ceiling again, inch by inch. There
was a knock on the door. Then it slid softly aside and in the doorway stood
short ebony-haired Charles Mollard, the radio astronomer.
"Come in?" said Mollard.
"That's right," said Dauge.
Mollard waved his arms.
"Mais - non," he exclaimed, smiling happily. He was always
smiling
happily. "Non come in. I wanted to say: may I come in?"
"Certainly," Yurkovsky said from up his chair. "Certainly you may,
Charles. Why not?"
Mollard walked in, slid the door shut and craned his neck with
curiosity.
"Voldemar," he said, rolling his r's exquisitely. "You learn to walk on
the ceiling?"
"Out, madame," Dauge said in his execrable accent. "I mean to
say
monsieur, of course. Fact is il cherche la Varya."
"No, no," Mollard ejaculated-and waved his arms again. "Not this. Only
Russian. I speak only Russian, do I not?"
Yurkovsky got down from his chair.
"Charles, have you seen my Varya?"
Mollard shook a finger at him.
"You joke," he said. "You joke for twelve days." He sat on the sofa
next to Dauge. "What is Varya? I heard about Varya many times, you search
for her today but I saw her not one time. Eh?" He looked at Dauge. "Is it a
bird? Or a cat? Or ... er....."
"Hippo?" said Dauge.
"What is a hippo?" Mollard enquired.
"C'est a kind of I'hirondelle," said Dauge. "A swallow."
 "0, I'hirondelle! exclaimed Mollard. "Hippo?"
"Ja," said Dauge. "Naturlich:'
"Non, non," said Mollard. "Only Russian!" and he turned to
Yurkovsky.
"Gregoire says truth?"
"Gregoire says rubbish," Yurkovsky said angrily. "Plain rubbish."
Mollard looked at him attentively.
"You are upset, Voldemar," he said. "Can I help?"
"I don't see how, Charles. One must search-feel everything with the
hands as I do...."