"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. The Final Circle of Paradise (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

table stood an elegant phonor and a tiny remote-control box for
the TV. The screen stood at the foot of the bed, while at the
head the widow had hung a very natural-looking picture of field
flowers in a crystal vase. The picture was painted with
luminous paints and the dewdrops glistened in the darkened
room.
I punched the TV control at random and stretched out on
the bed. It was soft yet somehow firm. The TV roared loudly. An
inebriated-looking man launched himself out of the screen,
crashed through some sort of railing, and fell from a great
height into a colossal fuming vat. There was a loud splash and
the phonor exuded a smell. The man disappeared in the bubbling
liquid and then reappeared, holding in his teeth something
reminiscent of a well-boiled boot. The unseen audience broke
out in a storm of horse laughs. Fade out... soft lyrical music.
A white horse pulling a phaeton appeared out of green woods and
advanced toward me. A pretty girl in a bathing suit sat in the
carriage. I turned off the TV, got up, and went to look at the
bathroom.
There was a piny smell and flickering of germicidal lamps.
I undressed, threw the underwear into the hopper, and climbed
into the shower. Taking my time, I dressed in front of the
mirror, combed my hair, and shaved. The shelves were loaded
with rows of vials, hygienic devices, antiseptics, and tubes
with pastes and greases. At the edge of one shelf there was a
pile of flat colorful boxes with the logo "Devon." I switched
off the razor and took one of the boxes. A germicidal lamp
flickered in the mirror, just as it did that day in Vienna,
when I stood just like this studiously regarding just such a
little box, because I did not want to go out to the bedroom,
where Raffy Reisman loudly argued about something with the
doctor; while the green oily liquid still oscillated in the
bath, over which hung the steamy vapor and a screeching radio
receiver, attached to a porcelain hook for towels, howled,
hooted, and snorted until Raffy turned it off in irritation.
That was in Vienna, and just as here, it was very strange to
see in a bathroom a box of Devon - a popular repellent which
did an excellent job of chasing mosquitoes, chiggers, gnats,
and other bloodsucking insects which were long forgotten in
Vienna and here in a seaside resort town. Only in Vienna there
had been an overlay of fear.
The box which I held in my hand was almost empty, with
only one tablet remaining. The rest of the boxes were still
scaled. I finished shaving and returned to the bedroom. I felt
like calling Rimeyer again, but abruptly the house came to
life. The pleated drapes flew open with a soft whine, the
windowpanes slid away in their frames, and the bedroom was
flooded with warm air, laden with the scent of apples. Someone
was talking somewhere, light footsteps sounded overhead, and a
severe-sounding female voice said, "Vousi - at least eat some