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

wiping his lips with a dainty handkerchief. The hat was
equipped with a transparent green shade and a green ribbon on
which was stamped "Welcome." On his right earlobe glistened a
pendant radio.
"Welcome aboard," said the man.
"Hello," said I.
"A pleasure to have you with us. My name is Ahmad."
"And my name is Ivan," said I. "Pleased to make your
acquaintance."
We nodded to each other and regarded the tourists entering
the buses. They were happily noisy and the warm wind rolled
their discarded butts and crumpled candy wrappers along the
square. Ahmad's face bore a green tint from the light filtering
through his cap visor.
"Vacationers," he said. "Carefree and loud. Now they will
be taken to their hotels and will immediately rush off to the
beaches."
"I wouldn't mind a run on water skis," I observed.
"Really? I never would have guessed. There's nothing you
look less like than a vacationer."
"So be it," I said. "In fact I did come to work"
"To work? Well, that happens too, some do come to work
here. Two years back Jonathan Kreis came here to paint a
picture." He laughed. "Later there was an assault-and-battery
case in Rome, some papal nuncio was involved, can't remember
his name."
"Because of the picture?"
"No, hardly. He didn't paint a thing here. The casino was
where you could find him day or night. Shall we go have a
drink?"
"Let's. You can give me a few pointers."
"It's my pleasurable duty - to give advice," said Ahmad.
We bent down simultaneously and both of us took hold of
the suitcase handle.
"It's okay - I'll manage."
"No," countered Ahmad, "you are the guest and I the host.
Let's go to yonder bar. It's quiet there at this time."
We went in under a blue awning. Ahmad seated me at a
table, put my suitcase on a vacant chair, and went to the
counter. It was cool and an air conditioner sighed in the
background. Ahmad returned with a tray. There were tall glasses
and flat plates with butter-gold tidbits.
"Not very strong," said Ahmad, "but really cold to make up
for that."
"I don't like it strong in the morning either," I said.
I quaffed the glass. The stuff was good.
"A swallow - a bite," counseled Ahmad, "Like this: a
swallow, a bite."
The tidbits crunched and melted in the mouth. In my view,
they were unnecessary. We were silent for some time, watching