The play was going on for a couple of minutes already and except for Sindbad everybody watched the fight of the two guys with tense attention when some grit got into the incidentally well-oiled entertaining machine which was manifested itself in such a way that one of the swords might have slipped aside and impaled the snifty loaf with the soup in it in front of Sindbad, then raised it high and splashed it into the corner of the room at a couple of meters farther away. The public laughed loosely at the incident, but the gentlemen in black suits glanced at each other shyly because they knew Sindbad’s “profile,” they knew that for him eating, culinary delights were sacred, and if somebody disturbed him in this activity – spat into his soup, as it were, or just picked it up and threw it somew
