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

he thought, too strong.
The man said something, and Rada went over to his table. Justas a
smothered conversation began, a fly attacked Maxim and he had to struggle
with it. Powerful, blue, and impudent, it seemed to jump in all directions
at once; it buzzed and whined, as if declaring its love for Maxim. It
insisted on staying with him and his plate. It walked on it, licked it. It
was stubborn and verbose. The escapade ended with the fly falling into his
beer when Maxim swung at the wrong moment. He set the mug down squeamishly
on another table and continued eating. Rada returned, this time unsmiling;
she looked away and asked him something.
"Yes," replied Maxim, playing it safe again. "Rada good."
She gazed at him in undisguised fright, moved off to the counter, and
returned carrying a small glass of brown liquid on a saucer.
"Tasty," said Maxim, looking at the girl with warmth and concern. "What
is bad? Rada, sit here. Talk. Must talk. Must not go."
To Maxim's surprise, his carefully prepared speech made a poor
impression on Rada. He thought she was about to cry. She whispered something
and ran from the room. The old woman be-hind the counter uttered several
angry words. "I'm doing some-thing wrong," thought Maxim, upset. "But what?"
Obviously the man and the woman did not care to have Rada sit and talk with
him. But since they clearly were neither government officials nor guardians
of the law, and since he apparently had not violated any laws, the best
thing would be to ignore their hostile stares.
The man drained his glass, took a thick black polished cane from under
the table, and walked slowly toward Maxim. He sat down opposite him, placed
the cane across the table, and without looking at Maxim but obviously
addressing him, spoke slowly and laboriously, repeating frequently
"Massaraksh." The hostility and enmity in Ms speech were strangely diluted
by the indifference in his intonation and facial expression and by the
emptiness of his colorless glassy eyes.
"I don't understand," said Maxim angrily.
The man slowly turned a blank face to him and seemed to look right
through him. Slowly and distinctly he asked Maxim a question, then suddenly
whipped a long shiny knife out of his cane. Maxim was bewildered. Not
knowing what to say or how to react, he picked up a fork and twirled it in
his fingers. The effect was startling. The man jumped back, knocking over
his chair. Holding his knife in front of him, he crouched down absurdly. The
old woman let out a piercing shriek. Taken by surprise, Maxim jumped up.
Suddenly the man was beside him. At that instant Rada appeared, planted
herself between them, and shouted, first at the man, then at Maxim. At this
point Maxim was totally con-fused. The man picked up his cane, returned the
knife to its hiding place, and walked toward the exit quietly. He turned
around in the doorway, muttered something, and vanished.
Rada, pale and trembling, picked up the overturned chair, wiped up the
brown puddle on the table, and cleared away the dirty dishes. She returned
and said something to Maxim, to which he replied, as usual, "Yes." It was
hopeless. Rada repeated the same words, but this time she sounded angry,
although Maxim felt that she was more frightened than angry. "No," he
replied, and instantly the woman behind the counter began to yell so hard
her cheeks shook. Finally Maxim admitted, "I don't under-stand."