"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

the ashtray and went into the elevator.
He didn't manage to close the door in time and others crowded in: a fat
man breathing asthmatically, a heavily perfumed lady with a grumpy little
boy eating chocolate, and a heavyset old woman with a poorly shaved chin.
Redrick was pushed into the corner. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out
the boy with chocolate saliva dripping down his chin, whose face was fresh
and pure, without a single hair. And to shut out his mother, whose scrawny
bosom was embellished with a necklace made of large black sprays set in
silver. And to shut out the bulging sclerotic whites of the eyes of the fat
man, and the hideous warts on the swollen face of the old woman. The fat man
tried to light a cigarette, but the old woman attacked him and kept after
him until she got out on five. As soon as she did, the fat man lit up with a
look that proclaimed that he was defending his civil rights, and broke out
coughing and hacking as soon as he inhaled, sticking out his lips like a
camel and jabbing Redrick in the ribs with his elbow.
Redrick got out on the eighth floor and walked down the thick carpet on
the corridor, cozily illuminated by hidden lamps. It smelled of expensive
tobacco, French perfumes, the soft natural leather of stuffed wallets,
expensive ladies of the night, and solid gold cigarette cases. It reeked of
everything, of the lousy fungus that was growing on the Zone, drinking on
the Zone, eating, exploiting, and growing fat on the Zone and that didn't
give a damn about any of it, especially about what would happen later, when
it had eaten its full and gotten power, and when everything that was once in
the Zone was outside the Zone. Redrick pushed open the door to 874 without
knocking.
Throaty, sitting on a table by the window, was performing a ritual over
a cigar. He was still in his pajamas and his thinning hair, though wet, was
carefully parted. His unhealthy puffy face was smoothly shaved.
"Aha," he said without looking up. "Punctuality is the politeness of
kings. Good day, young man!"
He finished clipping the end of the cigar, took it in both hands,
brought it up to his nose, and passed it back and forth under it.
"Where is good old Burbridge?" he asked and looked up. His eyes were
clear, blue, angelic.
Redrick put the briefcase on the sofa, sat down, and took out his
cigarettes.
"Burbridge isn't coming."
"Good old Burbridge," Throaty repeated. He took the cigar between two
fingers and carefully brought it to his mouth. "Old Burbridge's nerves are
acting up."
He kept looking at Redrick with his clear blue eyes, never blinking. He
never blinked. The door opened slightly and Bones slipped into the room.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked from the doorway.
"Ah, hello," Redrick said cheerily, flipping ashes on the floor. Bones
shoved his hands in his pockets and came closer, taking broad steps with his
huge pigeon-toed feet. He stopped in front of Redrick.
"We've told you a hundred times," he reproached him. "No contacts
before a meeting. And what do you do?"
"I say hello," Redrick replied. "And you?"
Throaty laughed. Bones was irritated.