"Arkadi and Boris Strugatsky. Monday begins on Saturday (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

down on the sofa. All at once, I felt sleepy. Remembering that I had driven
the car for fourteen hours that day, I decided that perhaps there was no
point in all this rush, that my back ached, that everything was jumbled in
my head, that I didn't give a hang about the tiresome hag, and that I wished
everything would get settled so I could lie down and go to sleep....
"There you are," said Roman, appearing in the doorway. "The formalities
are over." He waved his hands, fanning ink-stained fingers. "Our digits are
fatigued; we wrote and wrote. . . . Go to bed. We are leaving, and you can
rest easy. What are you doing tomorrow?"
"Wait," I said, listless.
"Where?"
"Here, and at the post office."
"You'll not leave tomorrow . .. chances are?"
"Probably not. Most likely-- the day after tomorrow."
"Then we'll see you again. Our liaison is still ahead of us." He smiled
and went out with a wave of his hand. I should see him out and say good-bye
to Volodia, I thought lackadaisically, and lay down. And there was the old
woman in the room again. I got up. She looked hard at me for some time.
"I fear me, old fellow, that you'll be smacking through your teeth,"
she said.
"No I won't be," I said. Then, exhausted, "It's sleeping I'll be."
"Then lie down and sleep. . . . Just pay me and welcome to snooze."
I reached for my wallet in the back pocket. "What do I owe you?"
The crone raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Let's say a ruble for the
quarters. . . Fifty kopecks for the bed-clothes-- that's my own, not G.I.
For two nights, that comes out to be three rubles. . . . As to what you'll
throw in for generosity's sake-- that's for my troubles, you know-- that I
couldn't say...
I proffered her a five-ruble note.
"Make it a ruble out of generosity for now," said I, "and then we'll
see."
The crone snatched the money and retired, muttering something about
change. She was absent a fair time and I was about to forget the change and
the bed-sheets, but she came back and laid a handful of dirty coppers on the
table.
"And here's your change, governor," she said. "One nice ruble, exactly;
you needn't count."
"I won't count," I said. "How about the sheets?"
"I'll make your bed right away. You go take a walk in the yard, and
I'll get right to it."
I went out, extricating my pack of cigarettes. The sun had finally set
and the white night had arrived. Dogs were barking somewhere in the
distance. I sat down by the oak on a garden bench that had sunk into the
ground, lighted up, and stared at the pale, starless sky. The cat appeared
noiselessly out of somewhere, glanced at me with his fluorescent eyes, and
then rapidly climbed up the oak and disappeared in its foliage. I forgot
about him at once, and started when he began pottering above me. Some sort
of rubbish fell on my head. "You darned . . ." I said aloud, and shook
myself. The desire to sleep became overwhelming. The crone came out, and
wended her way to the well, not seeing me. I took this to mean that the bed