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

the square from under the marquee. gently purring, the buses
pulled out one after another into their respective tree-lined
avenues. They looked ponderous yet strangely elegant in their
clumsiness.
"It would be too noisy there," said Ahmad. "Fine cottages,
lots of women - to suit any taste - and right on the water,
but no privacy. I don't think it's for you."
"Yes," I agreed. "The noise would bother me. Anyway, I
don't like vacationers, Ahmad. Can't stand it when people work
at having fun."
Ahmad nodded and carefully placed the next tidbit in his
mouth. I watched him chew. There was something professional and
concentrated in the movement of his lower jaw. Having
swallowed, he said, "No, the synthetic will never compare with
the natural product. Not the same bouquet." He flexed his lips,
smacked them gently, and continued, "There are two excellent
hotels in the center of town, but, in my view..."
"Yes, that won't do either," I said. "A hotel places
certain obligations on you. I never heard that anything
worthwhile has ever been written in a hotel."
"Well, that's not quite true," retorted Ahmad, critically
studying the last tidbit. "I read one book and in it they said
that it was in fact written in a hotel - the Hotel Florida."
"Aah," I said, "you are correct. But then your city is not
being shelled by cannons."
"Cannons? Of course not. Not as a rule, anyway."
"Just as I thought. But, as a matter of fact, it has been
noted that something worthwhile can be written only in a hotel
which is under bombardment."
Ahmad took the last tidbit after all.
'That would be difficult to arrange," he said. "In our
times it's hard to obtain a cannon. Besides, it's very
expensive; the hotel could lose its clientele."
"Hotel Florida also lost its clients in its time.
Hemingway lived in it alone."
"Who?"
"Hemingway."
"Ah... but that was so long ago, in the fascist times. But
times have changed, Ivan."
"Yes," said I, "and therefore in our times there is no
point in writing in hotels."
"To blazes with hotels then," said Ahmad. "I know what you
need. You need a boarding house." He took out a notebook.
"State your requirements and we'll try to match them up."
"Boarding house," I said. "I don't know. I don't think so,
Ahmad. Do understand that I don't want to meet people whom I
don't want to know. That's to begin with. And in the second
place, who lives in private boarding houses? These same
vacationers who don't have enough money for a cottage. They too
work hard at having fun. They concoct picnics, meets, and song