"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автора

some kind of dried leaves. Maxim took out one of the little sticks, bit off
a piece, and chewed it. He rolled down the window quickly, put his head out,
and spat. It was not food.
"Must not," he said, returning the box. "Taste bad."
The stranger stared at him and his mouth dropped open. The white stick
hung from his lip. Maxim, conforming with what appeared to be the local
custom, touched a stick to the end of his nose and introduced himself:
"Maxim."
The stranger mumbled something. A spark suddenly appeared in his hand;
he touched the tip of the white stick to it and instantly the car was filled
with nauseating smoke.
"Massaraksh!" shouted Maxim angrily and he flung open the door. "Must
not!"
Now he realized what these sticks were: when he was traveling with Guy,
almost all the men had poisoned the air with the very same kind of smoke,
but instead of white sticks they inserted in their mouths short and long
wooden objects which looked like the little wooden whistles children used in
ancient times. Apparently they inhaled some kind of narcotic - undoubtedly
a very harmful custom. Maxim recalled how relieved he was to learn that Guy
was also opposed to this custom.
The stranger quickly tossed the narcotic stick out the window and waved
his palm in front of his face. To be on the safe side, Maxim waved his hand,
too, and then introduced himself again. He learned that the stranger's name
was Fank, and with that the conversation ended. They sat and waited for
about five minutes, exchanged friendly glances, and pointing out to each
other the endless column of trucks, kept repeating: "Massaraksh!" Finally
the endless column ended and Fank turned onto the highway.
He seemed to be in a great hurry. At any rate, he accelerated the
engine into a velvety roar; then he switched on some evil-sounding device
and, ignoring all safety rules, started to pass the column of trucks,
narrowly missing the cars speeding toward him.
They passed the column of trucks. Nearly flying onto the shoulder, they
swerved around a red vehicle with a lone driver; leaped past a wooden cart
with enormous wobbly wheels drawn by an ancient tailless beast; forced a
group of pedestrians wearing canvas capes into a ditch; sailed beneath a
canopy of wet trees planted in even rows along both sides of the road - and
Fank kept accelerating. Realizing that the car had not been designed for
such speeds - it was much too unstable - Maxim felt uneasy.
Soon the road was lined with buildings. The car had burst into the
city, and Fank had to reduce his speed sharply.
The streets were disproportionately narrow and jammed with vehicles.
Hemmed in on all sides by vehicles of every conceivable description, Fank's
car hardly moved. A van ahead of them, its rear covered with flashy signs
and gaudy images of people and animals, almost blocked out the sky. On their
left crawled two identical cars, crowded with gesticulating men and women.
Beautiful women, colorful, unlike Fishface. Further to the left rolled some
sort of gyromat packed with passengers. On the right was a stationary strip
of asphalt closed to transport. People dressed in strange violet and black
clothing bumped, passed, and dodge done another as they shouldered their way
through the crowds.