"Robert A. Heinlein - Job, A Comedy of Justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

to the island they live on. It then could take you to your ship. But we can do
better. My cousin has an automobile. He wil take you.’
‚Good. How much will he charge me?’ Taxis in Polynesia are always
outrageous, especially when the drivers have you at their mercy, of which
they have none. But it occurred to me that I could afford to be robbed as I
was bound to show a profit on this jape. Three hundred minus one taxi fare. I
picked up my hat. ‚Where’s my wallet?’

‚Your wallet?’
‚My billfold. I left it in my hat. Where is it? This isn’t funny; my money was in
it. And my cards.’
‚Your money? Oh! Votre portefeuille. I am sorry; my English is not perfect.
The officer from your ship, your excursion guide, took care of it.’
‚That was kind of him. But how am I to pay your cousin? I don’t have a franc
on me.’
We got that straightened out. The ship’s excursion escort, realising that he
would be leaving me strapped in rescuing my billfold, had prepaid my ride
back to the ship. My kanaka friend took me to his cousin’s car and introduced
me to his cousin - not too effectively, as the cousin’s English was limited to
‚Okay, Chief!’ and I never did get his name straight.
‚His automobile was a triumph of baling wire and faith. We went roaring back
to the dock at full throttle, frightening chickens and easily outrunning baby
goats. I did not pay much attention as I was bemused by something that had
happened just before we left. The villagers were waiting for their bus to
return; we walked right through them. Or started to. I got kissed. I got kissed
by all of them. I had already seen the Polynesian habit of kissing where we
would just shake hands, but this was the first time it had happened to me.
My friend explained it to me: ‚You walked through their fire, so you are an
honorary member of their village. They want to kill a pig for you. Hold a feast
in your honor.’
I tried to answer in kind while explaining that I had to return home across the
great water but I would return someday, God willing. Eventually we got away.
But that was not what had me most bemused. Any unbiased judge would
have to admit that I am reasonably sophisticated. I am aware that some
places do not have America’s high moral standards and are careless about
indecent exposure. I know that Polynesian women used to run around naked
from the waist up until civilization came along - shucks, I read the National
Geographic.
But I never expected to see it.
Before I made my fire walk the villagers were dressed just as you would
expect: grass skirts but with the women’s bosoms covered.
But when they kissed me hello-goodbye they were not. Not covered, I mean.
Just like the National Geographic.
Now I appreciate feminine beauty. Those delightful differences, seen under
proper circumstances with the shades decently drawn, can be dazzling. But
forty-odd (no, even) of them are intimidating. I saw more human feminine
busts than I had ever seen before, total and cumulative, in my entire life. The
Methodist Episcopal Society for Temperance and Morals would have been
shocked right out of their wits.
With adequate warning I am sure that I could have enjoyed the experience.