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

client."
"Come in," replied a quiet voice.
I entered. The salon was light and airy and smelled
pleasantly. Everything in it shone - the chrome, the mirrors,
the antique parquet floor. Shiny half-domes hung from the
ceiling on glistening rods. In the center stood a huge white
barber chair. The Master was advancing to meet me. He had
penetrating immobile eyes, a hooked nose, and a gray Van Dyke.
More than anything else he reminded me of a mature, experienced
surgeon. I greeted him with some timidity, He nodded and,
surveying me from head to foot, began to circle around me. I
began to feel uncomfortable.
"I would like you to bring me up to the current fashion,"
said I, trying not to let him out of my field of view.
But he restrained me gently by my sleeve and. stood
breathing softly behind my back for a few seconds. "No doubt!
No doubt at all", he murmured, then touched me lightly on my
shoulder. "Please," he said sternly, "take a few steps forward
- five or six - then turn abruptly to face me."
I obeyed. He regarded me pensively, pulling on his beard.
I thought he was hesitating.
"On the other hand," he said, "sit down."
"Where?" I said.
"In the chair, in the chair."
I lowered myself into its softness and watched him
approach me slowly. His intelligent face was suddenly suffused
with a look of profound chagrin.
"But how is such a thing possible?" he said. "It's
absolutely awful."
I couldn't find anything to say.
"Gross disharmony," he muttered. "Repulsive... repulsive."
"Is it really that bad?" I asked.
"I don't understand why you came to me," he said, "since
you obviously don't place any value at all on your appearance."
"I am beginning to, from this day on," I said.
He waved his hand.
"Never mind... I will work on you, but..." He shook his
head, turned impulsively, and went to a high table covered with
shiny devices. The back of the chair depressed smoothly, and I
found myself in a half-reclining position. A big hemisphere
descended toward me from above, radiating warmth, while
hundreds of tiny needles seemed to sink into the nape of my
neck, eliciting a strange combination of simultaneous pain and
pleasure.
"Is it gone yet?" he asked.
The sensation abated.
"It's gone," I said.
"Your skin is good," growled the Master with a certain
satisfaction.
He returned with an assortment of the most unlikely