"Arkadi and Boris Strugatsky. Monday begins on Saturday (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

quite knowing what to do with myself.
"Ah, and here's the landlady!" cried The Beard. "And how be ye,
Granny-, Naina, light of my eyes, Kievna!
The landlady must have been well on the other side of a hundred. She
came toward us slowly, leaning on a knobby cane, dragging her feet clad in
felt boots with galoshes over them. Her face was a dark sepia web of
wrinkles, out of which jutted a nose as sharp and curved as a yatagan. and
her eyes peered pale and dim, as though obscured by cataracts.
"Greetings, greetings, my young one," she pronounced in an unexpectedly
resonant basso. "So this will be the new programmer? Hello, friend, welcome,
and make yourself at home!"
I bowed, feeling well advised to keep quiet. Over the black kerchief
tied under her chin, the old hag's head was covered with a nylon scarf,
which was gaily decorated with a picture of the Atomium and bearing the same
inscription in several languages: Brussels World Fair. Sparse bristles stuck
out under her nose and on her chin. She was dressed in black broadcloth and
a quilted vest
"Here's the situation, Naina Kievna," said Hawk-nose, wiping rust from
his palms. "We have to put up our new colleague for two nights. May I
present.. - Mmm..
"Don't bother," said the crone, riveting me with her gaze. "I can see
for myself. Privalov, Alexander Ivanovich, 1938, male, Russian, member of
VLKSM, no, no, has not participated, had not, was not, but will have, my
crystal one, a long, long road and an interest in a government house, and
what you should fear and avoid, my very diamond, is an ill-willed redheaded
man, and won't you gild my palm, my precious. . .
"Ha-hm!" Hawk-nose pronounced loudly, and the crone stopped short.
"Just call me Sasha. . . ." I squeezed out the previously prepared
phrase.
"And where shall I put him?" inquired the crone.
"In the spare room, of course," said Hawk-nose in a somewhat irritated
manner.
"And who will be responsible?"
"Naina Kievna!" roared Hawk-nose in the best rolling tones of a
provincial tragedian. He grabbed the old hag under the arm and dragged her
off toward the house. You could hear them arguing.
"But we agreed!"
"And what if he swipes something?"
"Can't you be quiet! He is a programmer, don't you understand? A
Comsomol! Well educated!"
"And what if he starts sucking his teeth?"
I turned toward Volodia, ill at ease. Volodia tittered.
"It's a bit embarrassing," I said.
"Don't worry; it's going to work out just fine . . ." He was going to
say something else, when the crone started shouting: "And the sofa-- how
about the sofa?"
I started nervously and said, "You know what? I think I'd better go,
no?
"Let's have no more of that kind of talk," Volodia said decisively.
"Everything will be worked out. It's just that the old woman is looking to