Read Online The Dead Mountaineer's Inn by Arkady Strugatsky - Free Book Online Page B

sitting, while the other was standing in front of him. Tanning, I thought, and went to wash up. While I was washing, it occurred to me that a cup of coffee might be nice, a good pick-me-up, and that a snack wouldn’t be a bad thing either. I lit a cigarette and stepped into the hallway. It was already almost three.
    I met Hinkus on the landing. He had just come down the attic stairs, and looked strange for some reason. He was naked to the waist and shiny with sweat; his face was so white it was practically green; his eyes weren’t blinking; he was clutching a ball of crumpled clothes to his chest with both hands.
    Catching sight of me, he shuddered visibly and stopped.
    â€œTanning?” I asked, out of politeness. “Don’t get burned. You look ill.”
    Having expressed in this way concern for my fellow man’s well-being, I walked past him downstairs without waiting for a response. Hinkus clonked his way down the stairs behind me.
    â€œI need a drink,” he said hoarsely.
    â€œHot up there?” I asked, without turning around.
    â€œY-yes … Very hot.”
    â€œWatch out,” I said. “March sun in the mountains is a bad idea.”
    â€œI’m okay … I’ll have a drink, and then I’ll be okay.”
    We went down to the lobby.
    â€œYou should probably get dressed,” I advised. “What if Mrs. Moses were there …”
    â€œRight,” he said. “Sure. I completely forgot.”
    He stopped and began hurriedly putting on his shirt andjacket; I went down to the pantry, where I procured a plate of cold roast beef, some bread and coffee from Kaisa. Hinkus, dressed and looking much less green, joined me and demanded something stronger.
    â€œIs Simone up there too?” I asked. The idea of whiling away some time with a game of pool had floated into my head.
    â€œUp where?” Hinkus asked sharply, carefully bringing a full snifter to his lips.
    â€œOn the roof.”
    Hinkus’s hand trembled, scattering drops of brandy on his palm. He took a quick gulp, stuck his nose into the air and, after wiping his mouth with his hand, said:
    â€œNo. No one else is up there.”
    I looked at him with surprise. His lips were pursed; he poured himself a second glass.
    â€œThat’s strange,” I said. “For some reason it seemed to me that Simone was up there with you—on the roof, I mean.”
    â€œTake a deep breath the next time anything ‘seems’ to you—you’ll make fewer mistakes that way,” the youth counselor replied, and drank. And then he poured himself another one.
    â€œWhat’s got into you?” I asked.
    He stared at the full glass silently for a little while, before suddenly saying:
    â€œListen: do you want to suntan on the roof?”
    â€œNo thanks,” I said. “I’m afraid of getting burned. Sensitive skin.”
    â€œYou never go tanning?”
    â€œNo.”
    He thought about this, grabbed the bottle, screwed the cap back on.
    â€œThe air’s great up there,” he said. “And the view’s gorgeous. The whole valley in the palm of your hand. The mountains …”
    â€œLet’s shoot some pool,” I suggested. “Do you play?”
    His sick little eyes looked me straight in the face for the first time.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I’d rather get some fresh air.”
    He unscrewed the cap again and poured himself a fourth glass. I finished off my roast beef, drank my coffee and got up. Hinkus stared languidly into his brandy.
    â€œWell, don’t fall off the roof,” I said.
    He smiled curtly, but didn’t respond. I went back up to the second floor again. I didn’t hear any billiard balls clacking, so I made my way to Simone’s room. No one answered my knock. Unintelligible voices were coming from behind the door to the next room, so I knocked on it. No Simone here, either. Du Barnstoker