"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Probationers (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

resting the chin on her interlocked fingers, looking at the bitumen field
outside the window.
Daugeh stopped and leaned heavily on the closest table. He had not seen
her in twenty years, but recognised instantly. His throat became dry and
bitter.
- What is it, Uncle Grisha? - alarmed, asked Bykov-junior.
Daugeh stood straight.
- This is my wife, - he said calmly. - Come.
"What wife?" - thought Grisha with some fear.
- Perhaps I should wait for you in the car? - he asked.
- Nonsense, rubbish, - said Daugeh. - Come.
They approached the table.
- Good day, Masha, - spoke Daugeh.
The woman raised her head. Her eyes widened. She reclined slowly in the
chair.
- You... didn't leave? - she said.
- No.
- Are you leaving later?
- No. I am staying.
She kept looking at him with widely opened eyes. Her eyelashes were
heavily made up. A lattice of wrinkles under the eyes. And plenty of
wrinkles on the neck.
- What does it mean - 'I am staying'? - she asked with distrust.
He grabbed the back of the chair.
- Can we join you? - he asked. - This is Grisha Bykov. Bykov's son.
Then she smiled at Grisha with that habitually-promising gleaming
smile, which Daugeh hated so much.
- Pleased to meet you, - she said. - Sit down, boys.
Grisha and Daugeh sat.
- I am Maria Sergeyevna, - said she, examining Grisha. - I am the
sister of Vladimir Sergeyevich Yurkovski.
Grisha lowered his eyes and bowed slightly.
- I know your father, - she continued. She stopped smiling. - I owe him
much, Gregory... Alexeyevich.
Grisha stayed quiet. He felt awkward. He understood nothing. Daugeh
said in a strained voice:
- What will you drink, Masha?
- Jaymou, - she replied, with a dazzling smile.
- Is that strong? - asked Daugeh. - However, its all the same. Grisha,
can you please bring two Jaymou's.
He was looking at her, the smooth tanned hands, smooth open shoulders,
a light thin dress with cut a little too low. She kept amazingly well for
her years, even her braids stayed exactly the same, bulky and thick, the
sort that nobody wears any more, bronze, without one grey strand, layered
around her head. He chuckled, slowly unzipped his thick warm coat and pulled
off a thick layered helmet with earflaps. Her face twitched when she saw his
bare scalp with sparse silver coloured bristles around the ears. He chuckled
again.
- At last we have met, - said he. - And why are you here? Waiting for
someone?