Chapter 2. 5. Comfort

  The bar Plagiarism on Street Scandal opens in the evening and is open until the morning, but, as a rule, everyone manages to either leave or get drunk.

  As always, there were several regulars crowded at the entrance, the most exemplary, diligent ones.

  From time to time they exchanged laconic and surprisingly spontaneous remarks.

  I paused at the threshold.

  A red sunset spread over the misty slums.

  Inside it was clean and decent, the floors and the counter gleamed, and it was cool.

  The neat Code erased any stain with visible pleasure. He was also haunted by all sorts of roughness, bulges, and unevenness.

  “Father bought a batch of new robots,” said Pass. “They are colorful. I call them perfections. Looks like it, doesn't it? Shall we sit here?”

  “You go,” I said. “I'll stand here.”

  The girls made slight grimaces.

  “Good manners,” said Dish. “Do you want to get drunk?”

  “We'll get drunk too,” the mischievous Pass reassured her. “Okay, we'll be in the hall.”

  “I'll be there soon,” I said.

  They left, and I went up to the counter and ordered a cocktail.

  I gave Stamp, the imperturbable bartender, a coin and said:

  “I'll be here all evening.”

  Stamp looked at the coin, at me, and easily agreed.

  I doubt he's learned to count.

  “How are you?”

  “Good, thank you,” I said.

  A man with a thin, fox-like face came up and, trying to make his tone as casual as possible, asked:

  “Did Auction happen to stop by today?”

  Stamp's face became indifferently stony, he straightened up even more, looking to the side, at the wall.

  “No, I didn't see him,” he said.

  “Sorry. I thought maybe you saw him.”

  “No,” said Stamp.

  “Too bad,” said the man and turned away.

  At the counter were the sociable method Absurd, stylish, in a youth T-shirt, and the celebrity Drama, proud of his old suit.

  They greeted each other ceremoniously.

  They are related.

  Otherwise, they are complete opposites.

  Antipode sat modestly in the corner.

  A new student appeared at the school out of nowhere, immediately stayed for the next year, which he finished as an excellent student, absorbing all knowledge like a sponge.

  The first time he failed at anything, but the second time he did everything better than anyone else.

  At the shooting range, any weapon in his hands at first gave a mandatory miss, then the weapon accurately hit the target.

  Since Antipode was not inferior in sophisticated gluttony to the native Lagoon, accordingly, he was considered his capital relative.

  Lagoon grumbled a little, for the sake of order, but the half-breed had so many relatives' wombs that one more glutton, one less - did not matter.

  Moreover, the newcomer was not a burden to anyone, lived unpretentiously in the theater, grew fat, taking advantage of the abundant benefit performances, and under the plausible pretext of cavalry hurried, rushed to the next series of dinner events.

  He reached the goal without delays and misses.

  For some reason.

  Antipode diligently avoided meeting my gaze, but I noticed a serious bruise on his face.

  Method also did not notice me.

  In public, he always unkindly did not notice me.

  As the norm.

  I, in turn, looked carefully at Absurd. He or not he?

  He spoke passionately and confidentially to Drama:

  “I can't look at my students calmly. They irritate me. They have so many shortcomings. I want to remake them. Change them. Walking metabolisms. Fertilizers. No spirituality. Just reflexes.”

  Indeed, I thought. I did not expect this from the eloquent method.

  Indeed - he should care about spirituality.

  What else should he suffer about?

  After all, the method is not a shepherd, whose task is atomically simple - to preserve the flock.

  The method should influence its charges, help them get rid of their shortcomings, create various unusual, unfamiliar situations.

  Behind his back, everyone considered the teacher an insignificant but courteous person, and for this reason society was not embarrassed by him.

  A versatile personality, Absurd did not give anyone peace.

  It is good, I thought, to live in a society where no one pays demanding attention to a person.

  No one will constantly evaluate a person, what kind of person he is, good or bad, a suitable person or not, smart or dumb, cripple or athlete.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  A person exists, independently, and this is the main thing.

  And under these circumstances, everyone will straighten out, I believe, by themselves.

  If for real, not artificially.

  When a person is on his own, he will become himself.

  What kind of mania is this, someone always gathering everyone into a squad?

  Each person can live separately, calmly, but no, everyone must gather in a bunch, orderly, like a pyramid, like at a sale.

  “How are you? Are you okay? Are you normal?” Stamp, the new bartender, our classmate, asked Antipode in an original way to keep up the conversation in his new status, and suddenly turned pale out of habit, although his face is not pale, like that of an elderly person who has already lived a life.

  But he maturely threw off the burden of wit imposed on him in childhood.

  It always seemed to him that they were laughing not at his grimaces, but at him himself.

  That benevolent laughter almost visibly fell upon him, like an avalanche.

  “Did you fall?” he quietly said to Antipode as an antidote to his thoughts, but the latter made a categorically scary face in response and covered himself with a spread palm.

  A successful joke.

  Three more people approached the counter: two intellectuals and a gymnast.

  The gymnast was very lightly dressed, even for the evening heat.

  I looked at her and took a sip from my glass.

  One of the intellectuals said:

  “Give us a cocktail, Commander.”

  “I'll make it now.”

  The intellectual silently and stoically watched as the unathletic Stamp slowly and awkwardly mixed the cocktail.

  He poured the slop separately.

  From a closed box in the wall.

  “We really liked your cocktail Stink,” the man said. “How do you make it?”

  “It's very simple!” Stamp said, smiling. He looked like a rat. “Please!”

  “Diet really liked the cocktail,” the first man repeated.

  “She felt sick right away the first time,” the second man said.

  “That's not true,” Diet said in a velvety voice. “I didn't feel sick at all. Everyone gets used to dirt easily. Dirt is beautiful.”

  “Funny!” said the second man. “You're kidding, Diet.”

  “A little,” Diet said. “I usually never feel sick.”

  The first man looked at her carefully, apparently expecting her to continue, but she said nothing, and he grinned:

  “How do you do it, dear?”

  “I try not to overfill,” Diet explained.

  “The surest way,” laughed the second man.

  I thought they would leave and sit at a table like most of the customers, but they didn't.

  “Have you been with us long?” the bartender politely inquired of the first man.

  “No,” he answered. “Recently. I arrived yesterday.”

  “We arrived,” said Diet, emphasizing the first word.

  “I'm with you,” said the second man.

  “Filter, say something,” asked Diet.

  She sat down on a high swivel chair, and the shiny leather pants stretched over her hips.

  Her feet barely reached the floor.

  “Why?” asked Filter.

  “We'll be cheerful,” said Diet.

  “I don't know how to joke,” said Filter. “It's not my job.”

  “You try it,” Diet said. “Maybe you'll like it.”

  “It doesn't matter,” said the first man. “Whether someone likes it or not.”

  “What's important?” asked Diet.

  “The fact is important. The event.”

  “For example?”

  “For example, I fell. It hurts, but when it hurts, it's not funny.”

  “On the contrary, when someone trips and falls, everyone has a lot of fun,” I said unexpectedly for myself.

  Everyone turned their heads at once and looked at me, not surprised or questioning, just like at something that distracted their attention.

  “What did you say?” the second man asked politely.

  “I'm saying,” I said, “that often when a person falls into the abyss, others find it funny.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Why should I think,” I said. “I know for sure.”

  “A fact...”

  “Your example raises many questions: why did you fall? And then, you're right,” I said to the first man, “others may not find it funny at all.”

  “Bored?” the woman asked.

  I smiled.

  “I don't know. The audience is indifferent.”

  “Yes,” Diet said in a low voice. “Humor.”

  “I'm never bored,” Filter said. “I wanted to say - I don't take risks. But I don't get bored when I'm scared.”

  “Do you often get bored?” Diet asked.

  “Always,” Filter said and asked Stamp: “Can I smoke here?”

  Stamp leaned over, not hearing the question, but guessed what it was about:

  “You smoke.”

  The darling of Absurd is coping. He observes the external outline - and that's the norm.

  Few people approached Stamp himself - altruists did everything.

  “When were you bored?” Diet inquired.

  “Never,” said Filter, lighting up.

  “You let me,” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” said Filter, holding out a packet of meringues. “You take it.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I'm not looking for anything,” Filter continued his thought, “I don't spoil the impression of boredom. From the original, so to speak, apathy.”

  I lit up with pleasure. Good meringues, I thought. I haven't smoked such cigarettes for a long time.

  I wonder where they come from. Not meringues, people.

  However, why should I think. Of course, these are guests from the capital. Celestials.

  I took a cocktail.

  “... this is a company,” Stamp was saying to the brunette who had just approached the counter.

  “Yes,” said the brunette, “I bought a guarantee, and now I have useless insurance instead of stability.”

  “Chic,” said Stamp sympathetically. “This is their style. Nothing reliable. Why don't you buy something stronger. Perhaps Refutable?”

  “I'm waiting,” said the brunette. “Then I'll applaud. I know no one is interested in pendulums...”

  I went into the hall and looked around for my friends.

  I didn't notice them right away.

  It seems there were more of them than necessary.

  I approached them and discovered that in my absence they had managed to get well drunk - Pass with the girls and the people who had joined them - two guys, large, with square jaws.

  Guests, I thought with interest, and Dish noticed me, stood up, hugged me around the neck and said, squinting:

  “He's wonderful... but sober!” She shook her head, directed her dull gaze at the floor, then sharply bowed her head and simultaneously raised her glass, spilling the drink: “But! Tinsel has no place in brilliant company...”

  She was completely drunk.

  Quickly, I thought.

  I drank a full glass.

  Dish watched carefully.

  “That's right...” she said. “Now everything is in order...”

  I sat down on a free chair and spread my legs on the floor.

  Drunken conversations resumed around me again, and I was completely sober.

  I noticed that one of the guys cast a second intent glance at me.

  “What's the matter?” I asked quite amiably.

  “This place is actually occupied...” he said.

  “By whom?” I asked in surprise.

  The guy pointed forward.

  A girl and two guys were walking towards us between the tables, one of whom was... Client.

  “Client is here?” I thought, puzzled. “What a sensation!”

  But when they approached, I stood up and calmly greeted him. I didn't like his appearance at once.

  Client was pale, and his gaze was strange.

  “You should meet,” he said. “This is Gift.”

  I felt a little uncomfortable.

  What a meeting...

  I recognized the girl named Gift as the same one I had the good fortune to contemplate in the Client's window.

  Now our eyes met, just like then, and I, meeting the girl's sharp, mocking, attentive gaze, was the first to lower my eyes and say:

  “I am glad to meet you.”

  Without a doubt, she recognized me.