"Boris and Arkady Strugatsky. The snail on the slope" - читать интересную книгу автора

passed the garage, cut across the sports ground, and went by dumps and the
hostel, in whose doorway stood a deathly-pale warden with motionless
pop-eyes, and by the long fencing beyond which could be heard the snarling
of engines. They kept quickening their pace and as there was little time
left, they began to run. But all the same, they burst into the canteen too
late, all the seats were taken. Only at the duty table in the far corner
were there two places, the third being occupied by driver Acey, and driver
Acey, observing them shuffling in indecision on the threshold, waved his
fork at them, inviting them over.
Everybody was drinking yogurt and Pepper took the same, so that they
had six bottles on the crusted tablecloth, and when Pepper moved his legs a
bit under the table, making himself more comfortable on the backless chair,
there was a clink of glass and an empty brandy bottle rolled out between the
little tables. Driver Acey swiftly grabbed it and thrust it back under the
table; more glass clinked.
"Careful with your feet," he said.
"I couldn't help it," said Pepper. "I didn't know."
"Did I know?" responded Acey. "There's four of them under there. Prove
your innocence later if you can."
"Well I, for instance, don't drink at all," said Haus-botcher with
dignity.
"We know how you don't drink," said Acey. "That's how we all don't
drink."
"But I have liver trouble!" Hausbotcher was growing uneasy. "Look,
here's the certificate." He pulled a crumpled exercise-book page out from
somewhere; it had a triangular stamp. He shoved it under Pepper's nose. It
was indeed a certificate written in an illegible medical hand. Pepper could
only make out one word "antabus." "I've got last year's and the year before
that as well, only they're in the safe."
Driver Acey didn't look at the paper. He drained a full glass of
yogurt, sniffed the joint of his index finger, and asked in a tearful voice:
"Well, what else is there in the forest? Trees." He wiped his eyes with
his sleeve. "But they don't stand still: jump. Got it?"
"Well?" asked Pepper eagerly, "what was that-- jump?"
"Like this. It stands still. A tree, right? Then it starts hunching and
bending, then whoosh! There's a noise, crashing, I don't know what all. Ten
yards. Smashed my cab. There it is standing again." "Why?" asked Pepper.
" 'Cos it's called a jumping tree," explained Acey pouring himself more
yogurt.
"Yesterday, a consignment of new electric saws arrived," announced
Hausbotcher, licking his lips. "Phenomenal productivity. I would go so far
as to say that they weren't electrosaws but saw-combines. Our saw-combines
of eradication."
All around they were drinking yogurt out of cut glasses, tin mugs,
little coffee cups, paper cones, straight out of the bottle. Everybody's
legs were stuck , under their chairs. And everyone probably could show his
certificate of liver, stomach, small intestine trouble. For this year and
for the last several.
"Then the manager calls me in," Acey went on, raising his voice, "and
he asks why my cab's stove in. 'Again,' he says, 'sod, giving people lifts?'