"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автораdecided that he'd had enough of the city for the day and halted.
He noticed three luminous gold spheres, a blinking blue sign made of fluorescent glass tubes, and a door leading to a cellar cafe. He had already learned that the three spheres meant a place where food was available. Descending some chipped steps, he saw a small low-ceilinged room with a dozen tables, a floor thickly coated with clean sawdust, and glass shelves crammed with bottles of iridescent liquids. The cafe was almost empty. Behind a counter in front of the shelves a flabby elderly woman moved sluggishly; a short distance away, a short but strong-looking fellow with a thick black mustache sat casually at a small table. Maxim entered, chose a table in a recess away from the counter, and sat down. The old woman glanced in his direction and said something in a hoarse but loud voice. The man looked at him vacantly, turned away, picked up a tall glass of transparent liquid, and took a sip. A door opened, and an attractive young girl wearing a white lace apron entered the room. Noticing Maxim, she went to his table, but instead of meeting his eyes, she stared over his head. She had clear delicate skin, light down on her up-per lip, and beautiful gray eyes. Maxim brought his finger to the tip of his nose gallantly and introduced himself: "Maxim." The girl looked down at him in amazement as if seeing him now for the first time. She was so lovely that Maxim couldn't restrain a broad smile. Then she smiled and pointed to her nose: "Rada." "Good," said Maxim. "Supper." She nodded and asked a question. To be on the safe side, Maxim nodded and smiled. He watched her as she walked away. Her slim graceful figure The old woman uttered a lengthy comment and vanished be-hind the counter. Maxim noticed that the man was staring at him. Rather hostilely, too. Oh, well, forget it. He probably didn't appear particularly friendly himself. Rada reappeared and served Maxim a bowl of steaming porridge with meat and vegetables and a thick glass mug filled with a foaming liquid. "Good," said Maxim. He motioned to her to join him. If only she would sit with him and talk to him while he ate. What a pleasure it would be to hear her voice. He was anxious for her to know that he liked her and would enjoy her company. But Rada merely smiled and shook her head. She said some-thing - Maxim caught the words "to sit," and she returned to the counter. Too bad, thought Maxim. He picked up the two-pronged fork and began to eat, trying to compose a sentence from the thirty words he knew, a sentence that would express friendship and his need to communicate. As she leaned against the counter with her arms folded across her chest, Rada glanced at him from time to time. Each time their eyes met, they smiled at each other, and Maxim was somewhat surprised when Rada's smiles grew progressively weaker and more hesitant. He had very mixed feelings. He enjoyed looking at Rada, although his pleasure was marred by a growing uneasiness. And he was pleased that the meal had turned out to be surprisingly tasty and nourishing, but at the same time he felt the man's oppressive sidelong glances and the disapproval in the eyes of the old woman. He took a sip from the mug. Yes, it was beer - cold and fresh, but, |
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