"Roger Zelazny & Robert Sheckley - If at Faust You Don't Succeed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

THE CONTEST


CHAPTER 1

The two representatives of Dark and Light had agreed to meet at the Halfway Tavern in Limbo, there to
set in motion the Contest that had been agreed between them.

Limbo was a gray sort of place with very even lighting. It existed between the Abode of Light and the
Abode of Dark, a nebulous waiting-room sort of a place, vague at the best of times, but not entirely
devoid of qualities.

There was the Halfway Tavern, for example, situated right in the middle of Limbo. The tavern was a
queer, rickety old wooden building with a crazy tilted roof. It had been built on the line that separates the
part of Limbo nearest Heaven from the part nearest Hell. This place didn't get much business, but it was
support-ed by equal contributions from Light and Dark. It was maintained for the succor of those spirits
who happened to find themselves passing through on their way to somewhere else.

"So this is the famous Halfway Tavern!" said the Archangel Michael. "I've never been here before. Do
they have a decent sort of a kitchen?"

"It is reputed to be quite good," said Mephistopheles. "But half an hour later, you don't know that you've
eaten anything. Persuasive but insubstantial, like the rest of Limbo."

"What's that region down there?" Michael asked, pointing.

Mephistopheles peered. "Oh, that's the waiting area. In the old days, that's where they sent virtuous
pagans and unbaptized babies, to wait until something could be done with them. That's not important
nowadays, but a lot of people still find their way there for one reason or another."

"I wonder if this is the best place for our meeting," Michael said, for he didn't like the look of some of the
things he could see going on in the waiting area.

"It was agreed beforehand between your people and mine," Mephistopheles said. "Limbo is neutral
territory, neither fish nor fowl, and certainly not good red meat. What better place for us to meet and
begin the contest? Come, shall we go in?"

Michael nodded a little reluctantly, but proceeded into the tavern.

Michael was tall even for an archangel, and well made, since heavenly bodies tended toward athleticism.
He had black kinky hair and a hooked nose and olive skin, souvenirs of his Semitic and Persian
ancestors. In the old days, Michael had been the guardian angel of Israel, back when there were still local
deities who had not been subsumed into the One God system that had proven so popular on Earth.
Michael could have had divine cosmetic surgery, since in Heaven you can look any way you want, as
long as you don't use your looks for your personal advantage, but he kept his features in memory of the
old time, even though he could have been a blue-eyed blond like the other archangels. He thought wiry
black hair and aquiline features lent him an air of distinction.

"It's chilly out there," Mephistopheles said, rubbing his hands together briskly. He was of average height