"Arkady & Boris Strugatsky - Monday begins on Saturday" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

I leaned over the back of the seat and helped him clean off a space
occupied by a sleeping bag and a rolled-up tent. He sat down gingerly,
placing his gun between his knees.
"Shut the door tighter," I said.
Everything was going along normally. The car started off. The
hawk-nosed one turned around and started an animated discourse about how
much nicer it was to be riding in a passenger car than to be traveling on
foot. The bearded one mumbled assent and kept slamming the door. "Pick up
the poncho," I counseled, looking at him through the rear-view mirror.
"You're pinching it in the door." After five minutes everything finally
settled down. I asked, "Is it some ten kilometers to Solovetz?"
"Right" answered Hawk-nose, "or a little more. Though, in truth, the
road isn't very good, made mostly for trucks."
"The road is quite decent," I contradicted. "I was promised I couldn't
get through at all."
"On this road you can get through even in the fall."
"Here, maybe but from Korobetz on it's just a plain dirt road."
"It's a dry summer this year; everything is dried out from the
drought."
"Over by Zatonyie there have been some rains, they say," noted the
bearded one on the rear seat
"Who said?" asked Hawk-nose.
"Merlin said."
For some reason they both laughed. I fished out my cigarettes, lighted
up, and passed them around.
"Clara Tsetkin brand," said Hawk-nose, studying the pack. "Are you from
Leningrad?"
"Yes."
"Touring?"
"Touring," I said. "And you-- are you from around here?"
"Native," said Hawk-nose.
"Me, I am from Murmansk," offered the bearded one.
"For Leningrad it must be all the same-- North, whether it's Murmansk
or Solovetz," said Hawk-nose.
"Well, not really," I said politely.
"Are you going to stop over in Solovetz?" asked Hawk-nose.
"Of course," I said. "It's Solovetz I am going to."
"You have friends or relatives there?"
"No," I said, "just going to wait up for some friends. They are taking
the shore route and Solovetz is our rendezvous point"
I saw a heap of gravel piled up ahead, braked, and said, "Hang on
tight" The car bounced and pitched. Hawk-nose banged his nose on the gun
barrel. The engine roared, rocks flew up against the undercarriage.
"Poor old car," said Hawk-nose.
"Can't be helped," I said.
"It's not everyone who would drive on a road like this with his own
car."
"I would," I said. The freshly graveled section came to an end.
"Oh, so it's not your own car," guessed Hawk-nose with some tone of
disappointment, it seemed to me. I felt piqued.