The Final Circle of Paradise

"Kiven hurt his leg – right? Brush became an antique and is now quite useless. That makes three – right? And on the right they haven't got nobody. Phinney is on the right, and that's worse than nobody. A waiter, that's what be is."

"What are you drinking?" I asked.

"I don't drink at all," replied the brown one with dignity, breathing strong fumes at me. "I have jaundice. Ever hear of it?"

Behind me, someone fell off a stool. The noise modulated up and down. The brown one, sitting down next to me, was shouting out some story about some character who almost died of fresh air after breaking some pipe at work. It was hard to understand any part of it, as various stories were being shouted from all sides.

"… Like a fool, he quieted down and left, and she called s taxi truck, loaded up his stuff, and had it dumped outside the town…"

"… I wouldn't have your TV in my outhouse. You can't think of one improvement on the Omega, my neighbor is an engineer, and that's just what he says – you can't think up an improvement on the Omega…"

"… That's the way their honeymoon ended. When they returned home, his father enticed him in the garage – and his father is a boxer – and trounced him until he lost consciousness. They called a doctor later…"

"… So, all right, we took enough for three… and their rule is, you know, take as much as you wish, but you get to swallow all of it… and they are watching us by now, and he is carried away – and says – let's take more… well, I says to myself, enough of this, time to break knuckles…"

"… Dear child, with your bust, I wouldn't know any grief, such a bosom is one in a thousand, but don't think I'm flattering you, that's not my style…"

A scrawny girl with bangs down to the tip of her nose climbed up on the vacant stool next to me and began to pound with puny fists on the bar, yelling, "Barman, barman, a drink."

The din died down again, and I could hear behind me a tragic whisper – "Where did he get it?" "From Buba, you know him, he is an engineer." "Was it real?" "It's scary, you could croak." "Then you need some kind of pill -" "Quiet, will you?"

"Oh, all right, who would be listening to us? You got one?"

"Buba gave me one package, he says any drugstore has them by the ton… here, look." "De… Devon – what is it?" "Some sort of medicine, how would I know?" I turned around. One was red-faced with a shirt unbuttoned down to his navel, and with a hairy chest. The other was strangely haggard-looking with a large-pored nose. Both were looking at me.

"Shall we have a drink?" I said.

"Alcoholic," said the pore-nose.

"Don't, Pete. Don't start up, please," said the red-faced one.

"If you need some Devon, I've got it," I said loudly.

They jumped back. Pore-nose began to look around cautiously. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see several faces turn toward us and grow still.

"Let's go, Pat," said red-face. "Let's go! The hell with him."

Someone put a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw a handsome sunburned man with powerful muscles.

"Yes?" I said.

"Friend," he said benevolently, "drop this business. Drop it while it's not too late. Are you a Rhinoceros?"

"I am a hippopotamus," I joked.

"No, don't. I'm serious. Did you get beat up, maybe?"

"Black and blue."

"All right, don't feel bad about it. Today it's you, tomorrow it's them… As for Devon and all that – that's crap, believe me. There's lots of crap in the world, but that is the crap of all crap."

The girl with the bangs advised me, "Crack him in the teeth… what's he sticking his nose in for… lousy dick."

"Lapping it up, and doing it up brown, aren't you?" said the sunburned one coolly, and turned his back on us. His back was huge, and studded with bulging muscles under a tight half-transparent shirt.

"None of your business," said the girl at his back. Then she said to me, "Listen, friend, call the barman for me – I can't seem to get through to him."

I gave her my glass and asked, "What's to do?"

"In a minute, we'll all go," replied the girl. Having swallowed the alcohol, she went limp all at once. "As to what to do – that's up to luck. Without luck, you can't make out.

Or you need money if you deal with promoters. You're probably a visitor? Nobody here drinks that dry vodka. How is it your way, you should tell me about it… I'm not going anywhere today, I'll go to the salon instead. I feel terrible and nothing seems to help… Mother says – have a child. But that's dull too, what do I need one for?"

She closed her eyes and lowered her chin on her entwined fingers. She looked brazen, but at the same time crestfallen. I attempted to rouse her but she stopped paying attention to me, and suddenly started shouting again, "Barman, barman, a drink!"