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

"Isn't that written on it?"
"There is a legend," I said. "But who put it up and why?"
The doorman shuffled his feet.
"I beg your pardon," he said guiltily, "I just can't
answer
your question. The monument has been there a long time,
while I came here very recently. I don't wish to misinform you.
Maybe the porter..."
I sighed.
"Well, don't worry about it. Where is a telephone?"
"To your right, if you please," he said looking delighted.
A porter started out in my direction, but I shook my head
and picked up the receiver and dialed Rimeyer's number. This
time I got a busy signal. I went to the elevator and up to the
ninth floor.
Rimeyer, looking untypically fleshy, met me in a dressing
gown, out of which stuck legs in pants and with shoes on. The
room stank of cigarette smoke and the ashtray was full of
butts. There was a general air of chaos in the whole suite. One
of the armchairs was knocked over, a woman's slip was lying
crumpled on the couch, and a whole battery of empty bottles
glinted under the table.
"What can I do for you?" asked Rimeyer with a touch of
hostility, looking at my chin. Apparently he was recently out
of his bathroom, and his sparse colorless hair was wet against
his long skull. I handed him my card in silence. Rimeyer read
it slowly and attentively, shoved it in his pocket, and
continuing to look at my chin, said, "Sit down."
I sat.
"It is most unfortunate. I am devilishly busy and don't
have a minute's time."
"I called you several times today," said I.
"I just got back. What's your name?"
"Ivan."
"And your last name?"
"Zhilin."
"You see, Zhilin, to make it short, I have to get dressed
and leave again." He was silent awhile, rubbing his flabby
cheeks. "Anyway there's not much to talk about.... However, if
you wish, you can sit here and wait for me. If I don't return
in an hour, come back tomorrow at twelve. And leave your
telephone number and address, write it down right on the table
there...."
He threw off the bathrobe, and dragging it along, walked
off into the adjoining room.
"In the meantime," he continued, "you can see the town,
and a miserable little town it is.... But you'll have to do it
in any case. As for me, I am sick to my stomach of it."
He returned adjusting his tie. His hands were trembling,
and the skin on his face looked gray and wilted. Suddenly I