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The Lovers :: Фармер Филип Хосе
Страница: 74 из 127I'll take you to a symphony concert one of these days, and you'll hear what great music is like.'
The wog led the man to one of the curtained-off booths scattered along the walls. They sat down. A waitress came to them. Sweat ran off her forehead and down her tubular nose.
'Keep your mask on until we've gotten our drinks,' said Fobo. 'Then we can close the curtains.'
The waitress said something in Wog.
Fobo repeated in American for Hal's benefit. 'Beer, wine, or beetlejuice. Myself, I wouldn't touch the first two. They're for women and children.'
Hal didn't want to lose face. He said, with a bravado he didn't feel, 'The latter, of course.'
Fobo held up two fingers. The waitress returned quickly with two big steins. The wog leaned his nose into fumes and breathed deeply. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, lifted the stein, and drank a long time. When he put the container down, he belched loudly and then smacked his lips.
'Tastes as good coming up as going down!' he bellowed.
Hal felt queasy. He had been whipped too many times as a child for his uninhibited eructations.
'But Hal,' said Fobo, 'you are not drinking!'
Yarrow said weakly, 'Damifino,' Siddo for, 'I hope this doesn't hurt,' and he drank.
Fire ran down his throat like lava down a volcano's slope. And, like a volcano, Hal erupted. He coughed and wheezed; liquor spurted out of his mouth; his eyes shut and squeezed out big tears.
'Very good, isn't it?' said Fobo calmly.
'Yes, very good,' croaked Yarrow from a throat that seemed to be permanently scarred. Though he had spat most of the stuff out, some of it must have dropped straight through his intestines and into his legs, for he felt a hot tide down there swinging back and forth as if pulled by some invisible moon circling around and around in his head, a big moon that bulged and brushed against the inside of his skull.
'Have another.'
The second drink he managed better – outwardly, at least, for he did not cough or sputter. But inwardly he was not so unconcerned. His belly writhed, and he was sure he would disgrace himself. After a few deep breaths, he thought he would keep the liquor down. Then, he belched. The lava got as far as his throat before he manage to stop it.
'Pardon me,' he said, blushing.
'Why?' said Fobo.
Hal thought that was one of the funniest retorts he had ever heard. He laughed loudly and sipped at the stein. If he could empty it swiftly and then buy a quart for Jeannette, he could get back before the night was completely wasted.
The wog led the man to one of the curtained-off booths scattered along the walls. They sat down. A waitress came to them. Sweat ran off her forehead and down her tubular nose.
'Keep your mask on until we've gotten our drinks,' said Fobo. 'Then we can close the curtains.'
The waitress said something in Wog.
Fobo repeated in American for Hal's benefit. 'Beer, wine, or beetlejuice. Myself, I wouldn't touch the first two. They're for women and children.'
Hal didn't want to lose face. He said, with a bravado he didn't feel, 'The latter, of course.'
Fobo held up two fingers. The waitress returned quickly with two big steins. The wog leaned his nose into fumes and breathed deeply. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, lifted the stein, and drank a long time. When he put the container down, he belched loudly and then smacked his lips.
'Tastes as good coming up as going down!' he bellowed.
Hal felt queasy. He had been whipped too many times as a child for his uninhibited eructations.
'But Hal,' said Fobo, 'you are not drinking!'
Yarrow said weakly, 'Damifino,' Siddo for, 'I hope this doesn't hurt,' and he drank.
Fire ran down his throat like lava down a volcano's slope. And, like a volcano, Hal erupted. He coughed and wheezed; liquor spurted out of his mouth; his eyes shut and squeezed out big tears.
'Very good, isn't it?' said Fobo calmly.
'Yes, very good,' croaked Yarrow from a throat that seemed to be permanently scarred. Though he had spat most of the stuff out, some of it must have dropped straight through his intestines and into his legs, for he felt a hot tide down there swinging back and forth as if pulled by some invisible moon circling around and around in his head, a big moon that bulged and brushed against the inside of his skull.
'Have another.'
The second drink he managed better – outwardly, at least, for he did not cough or sputter. But inwardly he was not so unconcerned. His belly writhed, and he was sure he would disgrace himself. After a few deep breaths, he thought he would keep the liquor down. Then, he belched. The lava got as far as his throat before he manage to stop it.
'Pardon me,' he said, blushing.
'Why?' said Fobo.
Hal thought that was one of the funniest retorts he had ever heard. He laughed loudly and sipped at the stein. If he could empty it swiftly and then buy a quart for Jeannette, he could get back before the night was completely wasted.