"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Probationers (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

the address and the phone number... - she hastily scribbled on a hotel form.
- Here. Call around six or just go straight there. It's nearby.
Yura stood up, took the paper and thanked her.
- And where are you staying? - asked the administrator.
- You see, - said Yura, - I haven't checked in anywhere yet. And I
don't wish to. I must leave today.
- Ah, - said the administrator, - well, bon voyage. Calm plazma, as our
interplanetary pilots say.
Yura thanked her again and went out on the street.
In a shady side street, close to the hotel, he saw a cafe where the
siesta has either ended or has not yet begun. Under a broad flowery marquee,
right on the grass stood the tables and the roast pork smell was present.
Over the marquee a sign was hanging: "Your old Mickey Mouse" with the image
of the famous Disney character. Yura hesitantly walked into the marquee.
Naturally, such cafes only exist in foreign cities. Behind a long metallic
stand with colourful bottles in the background stood a bold red-cheeked
barman in a white jacket with rolled up sleeves. His large hairy arms were
lazily resting amongst silver lids, covering the dishes with free snacks. On
barman's left stood an bizarre silver device, from which aromatic steam
puffs rose. On the right, under a glass cover, various sandwiches stood in
splendour on cardboard plates. Above the barman's head two posters were
affixed. One, written in English, informed patrons, that "The first drink is
free, second one - twenty four cents, all others - eighteen cents each". The
other poster, in Russian, announced: "Your old Mickey Mouse is competing for
the superior service award".
The cafe only had two patrons. One of them was sleeping at the table in
the corner, his uncombed head resting on his arms. Next to him on the grass
lay a shrivelled greasy backpack.
The other visitor, a bulky man in a chequered shirt was eating a stew
with gusto, unhurriedly, and talking to the barman across two rows of
tables. When Yura walked in, the barman was saying:
- I am not mentioning photon powered rockets and atomic reactors. I
want to talk about cafes and bars. That's where I know a thing or two. Take,
for instance, your soviet cafes and our western cafes here, in
Mirza-Charlie. I know the turnover of each place in town. Who goes to your
soviet cafes? And, above all, why? Women come to your soviet cafes to eat
ice-cream and to dance with non-drinking pilots at night...
Then the barman noticed Yura and paused.
- Her is a lad, - said he. - This is a Russian lad. He came to "Mickey
Mouse" during the day. Consequently, he is a newcomer. He wants to eat.
The man in a chequered shirt looked at Yura with curiosity.
- Good afternoon, - said Yura to the barman. - I am, in fact, hungry.
How is it done here with you?
Barman gave an echoing laugh.
- Here, with us, it is done precisely how it is done with you, - said
he. - Expediently, tastily and politely. What would you like to have, my
lad?
- Joyce, bring him the okroshka and a pork schnitzel. And you, comrade,
take a sit next to me. First of all, there is a nice unexplained fresh
draft, and secondly it would be easier for us to continue an ideological