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

decided 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
reminded him that this world, too, had its beautiful people.
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,