Chapter I.XI

As the credits came to an end, Galbraith only now noticed that he was the only one still in the premises of the bootleg cinema. Stretching out to his full height, he stood up from the chair and, straightening his stiff muscles, left the dim room. The mustachioed German usher was still standing at the entrance. The inspector wanted to exchange a few words with him regarding what he had just seen.

- Have you seen this film yourself? - he asked, handing the German a cigarette.

- How could I not watch what I was going to show to the audience? - the usher responded with some resentment, accepting the gift.

- Well, what do you think of it? 

- I have no idea if you know, but this director, to put it mildly, specializes in films for adults, so the creation itself is appropriate, - the usher replied, taking a drag.

Galbraith remembered shots of half-naked women in the slums, two scenes with the main character's naked lover... Yes, it was difficult to disagree with this definition.

- And if you dig little deeper? - the inspector did not let up.

- So, it's actually based on a Russian book, - as if revealing some shameful secret, the mustachioed usher answered embarrassedly.

- Have you read it?

- Never had a chance. But experts say that the director did not understand its essence and ended up filming rare nonsense.

"Nonsense... Well", the inspector thought, "Yes, it's hard not to resist using this word to describe the wild, absurd mixture of the Middle Ages, space and helicopters, generously sprinkled with ugly makeup on the actors and cheap scenery..."

- If you're asking me about this film like that, does that mean it made an impression on you? - the usher taker himself decided to ask the question.

- I like it, - Galbraith answered briefly.

The inspector could not even expect what he would receive in response to this modest phrase.

- Ha-ha! If you, an American, liked the delusional creation of not the best German director, then I'm even afraid to imagine the depths to which your own filmmakers have sunk!

Galbraith involuntarily leaned against the wall. And the usher, stretching forward his hand in which he held a smoking cigarette, continued his speech as a critic.

- The machine of your cinema consists more than entirely of parts stolen in Europe! You steal the worst ideas of our directors and make this, as you call it, a business out of it! Your cinema is not dead, it has been dead since birth! - the German spoke accusatoryly.

"Maybe", Galbraith thought, "Could finally tell this proud German that, as an Englishman, it was funny for him to listen to an insult to a culture foreign to me?". Although deep down he understood that the usher did not care what nationality his listener was - he simply wanted to vent his frustration at the fact that, due to lack of work in his homeland, he had to smuggle in a country for which he had imbibed hatred almost with his mother's milk.

- Okay, okay, I understand, - he said. - By the way, aren't you Korble himself?

The usher stopped his anti-American ranting and looked at his interlocutor in surprise.

- You are probably the first person to confuse me with onkel Korble! Every German here knows him!

- Well, I'm not German, - Galbraith winked at him slyly.

- I'm his right hand, if it hasn't dawned on you yet, - the usher hit himself in the chest.

- Good luck staying here! - he waved his hand.

The inspector walked down the street in a good mood, around him passers-by were scurrying back and forth along the sidewalk, excited about something. At that moment, the world seemed amazingly beautiful and attractive to him.A noticeable heat was already hanging over the city, the air was trembling, and it seemed that a barely noticeable glow was emanating from the city buildings. Just an optical illusion, thought Galbraith. For the joy he went into one of the shops spread throughout the city and bought a piece of smoked meat and a bottle of white wine - it's not like there's no food left in his refrigerator, the inspector just wanted to before falling into bed, sit by the window for a while and wash down finely chopped boiled pork with alcohol, look at the street, at the fallen leaves lying on the wet pavement and remembering everyone with whom he had at least some pleasant moments of his life. 

However, as soon as Galbraith stepped through the threshold of his apartment, he suddenly felt that the fun seemed to have disappeared from his head. Instead of setting a small table by the window and sitting in a chair, the inspector pulled off his loafers, hung his jacket on the always open kitchen door and, putting the boiled pork with a bottle in the refrigerator, put a frying pan on the stove. Opening the window in the kitchen, he noisily sucked in the cold air. Galbraith felt a little better. A few minutes later he, getting ready to go to work again tomorrow, started preparing dinner.

Lately Galbraith has been lazy about cooking anything more complicated than pasta, but today he decided to make a small exception - he will treat himself to an omelette with tomatoes. For this purpose, he pulled out the two above-mentioned vegetables from the refrigerator, crumbled them and threw them into a hot frying pan. Then the inspector took out a deep plastic plate and broke three eggs into it. Then added a little milk, a pinch of salt and thoroughly beat this mixture with a fork  - alas, he had neither a mixer nor a whisk at home. Having poured the milk-egg mixture into the frying pan, Galbraith covered it with a lid and, after adjusting the flame of the burner, went to his bedroom. There he sat down on the bed and stared out the window, behind which dusk was already gathering.

Ten minutes passed. He reluctantly got up and went to the kitchen, where dinner was already waiting for him. Placing the omelette on a plate, he pulled a chair closer to the table and began to eat. Moments from the film he watched in the illegal cinema for German immigrants were still flashing through his mind. The inspector tried to remember what the essence of this work was, but only shots of the protagonist's naked girlfriend came to mind. Then Galbraith began to turn over in his mind all the phrases that other spectators uttered during the session, but since his knowledge of the German language did not allow him to understand it by ear, he quickly stopped this pointless activity.