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

here."
We looked at each other awhile,, then he growled
something, backed up, and slid the glass door in front of him.
"I am no Intel," I said. "I am a poor tourist. A rich
one."
He looked at me with his nose flattened against the glass.
I made a motion as though knocking a drink back. Re mumbled
something and went back into the darkness of the place - I
could see him wandering aimlessly among empty tables. The place
was called the Smile. I smiled and went on.
Around the corner was a wide main thoroughfare. A huge
van, plastered with advertisements, was parked by the curb. Its
back was swung down for a counter, on which were piled
mountains of cans, bottles, toys, and stacks of
cellophane-wrapped clothing and underwear. Two teenage girls
twittered some sort of nonsense while selecting blouses.
"Pho-o-ny," squeaked one. The other, turning the blouse this
way and that, replied, "Spangles, spangles and not phony."
"Here by the neck it phonies." "Spangles." "Even the star
doesn't glimmer."
The driver of the van, a gaunt man with huge, horn-rimmed
dark glasses, sat on the step of the advertising rotunda. His
eyes were not visible, but, judging by his relaxed mouth and
sweat-beaded nose, he was asleep. I approached the counter. The
girls stopped talking and stared at me with parted mouths. They
must have been about sixteen, and their eyes were vacant and
blue, like those of young kittens.
"Spangles," I said. "No phonying and lots of sparkle."
"And around the neck?" asked the one who was trying on the
blouse.
"Around the neck it's practically a masterpiece."
"Spangles," said the other uncertainly.
"OK, let's look at another one," offered the first
peacefully. "This one here."
"This one is better, the silvery one with the frame."
I saw books. They were magnificent books. There was a
Strogoff with such illustrations as I had never even heard of.
There was Change of Dream with an introduction by
Saroyan. There was a Walter Mintz in three volumes. There was
almost an entire Faulkner, The New Politics by Weber,
Poles of Magnificence by Ignatova, The Unpublished
Sian She-Cuey, History of Fascism in the "Memory of
Mankind" edition. There were current magazines, and almanacs,
pocket Louvres, Hermitage, and Vatican. There was everything!
"It phonies too but it has a frame." "Spangles." I grabbed the
Mintz. Holding the two volumes under my arm, I opened the
third. Never have I seen such a complete Mintz. There were even
the щmigrщ letters.
"How much will that be?" I called.
The girls gaped again; the driver sucked in his lips and