the world that could compare in beauty to our Medeo.” “That’s pretty likely,” Sargel agreed graciously with his wife, and suddenly tensed up all over. “Hmm… Where did you hear about this?” Malika straightened up, her eyes cold. “There was a meeting, Sar,” she said, slurring every word while trying not to alert Bagila. “With the students at the institute!” Sargel gave a short nod, his Adam’s apple twitching as if he had swallowed a piece of ice, and the round mound went up and down his throat like a piston. After that, while the waiter brought and set the champagne, they sat in silence. Bagila felt uncomfortable from this tense nervous silence, she didn’t know where to put her hands, she touched the fork for no reason, moved the wine glass along the tablecloth and straightened her hair now and then, afraid to look at Sargel and Malika. “Do you have any chocolates?” Malika asked the waiter. “We have Pushkin’s Tales.” “Bring one bar… And ice cream.” “One moment,” the undersized guy, bowing too obsequiously, left whilst stepping slowly. “I don’t like waiters, specifically men,” Malika said, opening champagne in a business-like way. “And in the West, they don’t like waitresses…” Re- plied Sargel. “That’s not true! That’s all hearsay,” Malika fiercely disagreed unexpectedly, waving her husband away as if he had said something monstrously stupid. “From the very beginning, nature divided duties between women and men. Then we ourselves mixed everything up so that now you can’t figure what people are really supposed to do.” It can be seen that the champagne was warm, as soon as the wire on the cork moved away, it rushed out of the bottle with force. Malika could not hold the cork, and the champagne gushed from the neck into the face of Sargel, who, not wanting to argue with his wife, stared demonstratively nonchalantly out the window. He sobbed convulsively and began to sneeze like a cat bathed in water. “Sar, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” Malika said with sincere pity, trying to wipe her husband’s face. Even after that, Sargel did not leave the heights of gentlemanly endurance, to which he exalted himself at the very beginning of the evening. He picked up the napkin with which Malika rubbed his face, dried his eyes and neck from the foam and said: “Well, after that, how can we not love
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