A lump rose in the girl's throat.
Both from tears of tenderness, and from the hard, macaroni-like trash that stubbornly refused to go down.
The fourth packet was already next in line, another obstacle on the path to a crown-like triumph, when a small boy stepped out from the dense unity of people and animals. He was wearing shorts, a white silk shirt, and a red neckerchief tied around his neck.
He walked straight up to the table, looked at SeaAsia with a long, piercing gaze, and quietly, very quietly, offered:
— Miss, are you really that hungry? I'm watching how you're attacking the food, and it seems to me you haven't eaten for a very, very long time. I have a little pocket money, so if you want, I can buy you some food so you won't be hungry. Just please, don't torture yourself anymore.
The contestant choked — from surprise, astonishment, and laughter all at once. Hastily washing everything down with cherry juice, she replied:
— Thank you, kind little one, but it's not what you think. It's just a sort of quiz.
— Time's up! You've lost! — Viktor shouted, tugging at his mask, slipping a hand underneath to scratch his cheeks. — The fair is closed for today. Come back tomorrow, if it comes at all.
Was it even worth asking whether SeaAsia was upset?
Her gloomy gaze dropped to the ground, and she didn't want to look at Denzel approaching her. No one likes losers. At least, that's what she believed. The young man, however, held a different view:
— You looked wonderful and you held up bravely.
— Like a hamster stuffing itself with maximum food, — she waved him off. But he wouldn't let gloom ruin the tone of today's adventure.
Gently turning her head, he pointed to a bench standing about twenty feet away from the fair:
— Look. Someone wants to talk to you.
And who could that be?
— Oh, it's my and Denzel's old man. What a meeting! Just a second… I'll order flowers and start carpeting the whole path to him, — Pixie said, holding a radiophone and dialing a delivery number.
— What do you mean, your old man? You're my brother, not Denzel's! — SeaAsia exclaimed. But there was no time to think it over, because Grandpa was already smiling serenely and patting the seat beside him, motioning for them to sit down.
The entire bench was covered with newspapers — even the metal legs. They didn't flutter in the wind, because apparently they'd been glued down. Grandpa eagerly explained the purpose of this setup:
— I'm paying tribute to tradition. Back in the day, these benches served two key purposes: feeding pigeons and reading newspapers.
The pigeons haven't gone anywhere — they're timeless birds, and their hunger doesn't depend on changing eras. The same can't be said for these sheets of paper. So of course I read all the news on my phone now, and when I get tired, I can always read the first random excerpt that catches my eye from these newspapers.
— Interesting… — SeaAsia drawled as she sat down, and Denzel confirmed his interest with a nod. — And what stood out to you the most from what you read?
— Naturally, the story of my own life, published by the leading tabloids. They're memoirs. You see, I wasn't always just Grandpa. Once upon a time, I worked in a secret division of the Special Services.
— Wow! — SeaAsia exclaimed, while Pixie dropped the phone receiver, which instantly turned into a new tattoo, and fell to his knees with a cry:
— My entire previous life has been a lie! This world has rotted completely — from false weather forecasts all the way to my own relative. Combine those two, and you get a combo my psyche simply won't survive!
And Grandpa went on:
— It so happened that both the Philadelphia Experiment, Project Blue Book, and basically all the more or less significant backstage events of world history passed me by. I was never issued a badge for secret government bases, because my first and last name are far too long — they simply wouldn't fit on any cardboard or plastic card. And wearing an inscription across the entire surface of one's torso isn't customary.