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too--unfortunately for him--he distinguished himself by
rather high
requirements. Quite inconvenient for a spy. For a cavalier and man
of the
world, for a renowned connoisseur of court etiquette and for a
person who
was sent to the provinces, there to fight duels to settle love
affairs, it
was only fitting to have twenty mistresses. Rumata made heroic
endeavors to
keep up with his reputation. Half the members of his agency,
rather than
devote their time to more serious efforts, spread the most
despicable
rumors--rumors calculated to arouse the envy and delight of the young
men of
the Arkanarian Guard. Dozens of overjoyed and disappointed
ladies whom
Rumata visited until late in the night--reciting poems all the time
(third
night watch: fraternal kiss on the lady's cheek, a mighty leap
over the
balcony's balustrade and right into the arms of the commander of
the night
watch, whom he knew well)--dozens of ladies would outdo each
other with
tales of the marvelous style of the genuine cavalier from the
big city.
Rumata used the vanity of these women, depraved to the
point of
repulsiveness, for his own purposes. However, the question of
underwear was
never touched on.
How much simpler had been the business with the handkerchiefs!
On the
occasion of the very first ball be had pulled an elegant silk cloth
from his
waistcoat pocket, and with flourish had proceeded to dry his lips
with it.
And at the next ball, the manly youths were drying their sweaty
faces with
large or small pieces of cloth of various colors, gaily embroidered
and with
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
monograms. And within one month, the ladies' men were outdoing each
other by
draping bedsheets over their hand, dragging the four comers
elegantly along
the floor behind them ...
Rumata put on his green trousers and a white batiste shirt
with a
freshly pressed, upturned collar.
"Any callers?" he inquired of the boy.
"The barber is waiting," said the boy. "And there are two dons
sitting
in the drawing room, Don Tameo and Don Sera. They had me bring
them some
wine and are quarreling violently. They are waiting to have
breakfast with
you."
"Go and get the barber. Tell the noble dons that I'll join
them very
soon. But don't be rude to them, do you hear me? You must always
remain
polite."
Breakfast was not very opulent and left room for an early
lunch. A
strongly spiced roast was served along with dogs' ears,
marinated in
vinegar. They drank Irukanian sparkling wine, the viscous, brown
Estorian
and the white Soanian. While he skillfully dissected a leg of lamb
with the
aid of two daggers, Don Tameo complained about the overbearing
temerity of
the lower classes. "I will lodge a complaint at the highest
instance," he
declared. "The nobility demands that the plebs, the peasants,
and the
artisans be forbidden to show their faces in public places and
in the
street. Let them use the courtyards and back entrances. In those
instances
where the appearance of a peasant cannot be avoided--for example,
when they
deliver bread, meat, or wine--they should obtain a special permit
from the
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
Ministry for the Protection of the Crown.'"
"What a clever brain!" Don Sera spoke with enthusiasm and
sprayed the
area before him liberally with saliva and juice from the meat.
"But last
night at the Court . . ." And he related the latest gossip. Don
Reba's
current flame. Lady in waiting Okana, had been careless enough to
step on
the king's sore foot. His Highness flew into a rage and turned to
Don Reba,
ordering him to mete out an exemplary punishment to the evildoer.
Whereupon
Don Reba, without even so much as batting an eyelid, replied; "It
will be
carried out, Your Highness. This very night!"
"I laughed so hard that two buttons popped off my waistcoat!"
remarked
Don Sera, cocking his head to one side.
Protoplasm, though Rumata. Nothing but ingesting and
digesting and
procreating protoplasm.
"Indeed, noble dons," he said. "Don Reba is truly a very, very
clever
man."
"Ho, Ho!" said Don Sera. "Much more--he is an intellectual
luminary!"
"An outstanding statesman," said Don Tameo emphatically, with a
knowing
expression.
"Yes it's really very strange," Don Rumata continued with a
friendly
smile, "when you remember the kind of things people would tell
about him
hardly a year ago. Do you recall, Don Tameo, how wittily you
expressed
yourself on the subject of his bow legs?"
Don Tameo's drink almost went down the wrong way as he
quickly
swallowed a little glass of Irukanian wine.
"I can't remember a thing," he grumbled. "And besides I am not
known as
a wit--"
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
"Oh surely you must remember," said Don Sera and reproachfully
wagged
his head.
"Yes, indeed!" shouted Don Rumata. "You were present
at the
conversation, Don Sera! I remember so well how you laughed at Don
Tameo's
witty ideas. You laughed so hard that something popped off the
clothes you
were wearing."
Don Sera turned red and blue in the face and started to
justify his
remarks with long-winded and distorted explanations. He was lying
in his
teeth, of course. Don Tameo's face had grown somber. He made a long
face. He
devoted himself wholeheartedly to the strong Estorian wine, and
since he
had--according to his own words--"begun two mornings ago, and had
not been
able to desist till now," he had to be supported from either side
when they
finally departed.
It was a sunny, friendly day. The common people stood around
in the
streets and gaped as if there were something to look at;
little boys
whistled and screamed, throwing mud at each other; prettily
bedecked
housewives with bonnets on their heads leaned out of the windows;
daring
servant girls flashed their shy glances from moist eyes. Don
Sera's mood
began to improve. He tripped a peasant and almost split his sides to
see how
the man wallowed in the mud. Don Tameo suddenly noticed that he had
put on
his fez with the double sword ornament back to front. He yelled:
"Stop! Stay
put!" and raised his fez, held it up steady, while he tried to turn
his body
180 degrees underneath the fez. Another item popped off Don
Sera's
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
waistcoat. Rumata seized a pretty servant girl passing by the group,
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