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

was ready, and went back to the room.
The perverse crone had made my bed on the floor. Oh no you don't, I
thought, slid the bolt on the door, dragged the bedding over onto the sofa,
and began to undress. The somber light fell through the window; the cat was
thrashing about noisily in the oak. I shook my head, to dislodge the rubbish
from my hair. It was strange and unexpected rubbish: largish dry fish
scales. Prickly to sleep on, I thought. I fell on the pillow and was
immediately asleep.

Chapter 2

... The deserted house became the lair of foxes and badgers, and
that is why weird spirits and shape-shifters can now appear here.

A. Weda



I woke up in the middle of the night because a conversation was going
on in the room. Two voices were talking in a barely audible whisper. They
were very similar, but one was a bit stifled and hoarse and the other
betrayed an extreme irritation.
"Stop wheezing," whispered the irritated one. "Can't you do without
it?"
"I can," responded the stifled one, and began to hack.
"Be quiet!" hissed the irritated voice.
"It's the wheezes," explained the stifled one. "The morning cough of
the smoker... ." He started hacking again.
"Get out of here," said the irritated one.
"He is asleep, in any case..."
"Who is he? Where did he come from?"
"How should I know?"
"What a disgusting development . . . such phenomenal bad luck."

Again the neighbors can't get to sleep, I thought, half awake. I
imagined I was at home. I have these neighbors there, two brother
physicists, who adore working through the night. Toward two A.M. they run
out of cigarettes and then they invade my room and start feeling about for
them, banging the furniture and cursing at each other.
I grabbed the pillow and flung it at random. Something fell with a
crash, and then silence ensued.
"You can return my pillow," I said, "and welcome to leave. The
cigarettes are on the table."
The sound of my own voice awakened me completely. I sat up. Somewhere
dogs were barking despondently; behind the wall the old woman snored
menacingly. At last I remembered where I was. There was nobody in the room.
In the dim light I saw the pillow on the floor and the trash that had
fallen from the wardrobe. The old crone will have my head, I thought,
jumping up. The floor was icy and I stepped over on the runners. The snoring
stopped. I froze. The floorboards creaked; something crackled and rustled in