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ET ALIA
Morning found the concessionaires in sight of Chebokary. Ostap was dozing at the rudder while Ippolit Matveyevich sleepily moved the oars through the water. Both were shivering from the chilliness of the night. Pink buds blossomed in the east. Ippolit Matveyevich's pince-nez was all of a glitter. The oval lenses caught the light and alternately reflected one bank and then the other. A signal beacon from the left bank arched in the biconcave glass. The blue domes of Chebokary sailed past like ships. The garden in the east grew larger, and the buds changed into volcanoes, pouring out lava of the best sweetshop colours. Birds on the bank were causing a noisy scene. The gold nosepiece of the pince-nez flashed and dazzled the Grossmeister. The sun rose. Ostap opened his eyes and stretched himself, tilting the boat and cracking his joints. "Good morning, Pussy," he said, suppressing a yawn. "I come to bring greetings and to tell you the sun is up and is making something over there glitter with a bright, burning light. . ." "The pier. . . ." reported Ippolit Matveyevich. Ostap took out the guide-book and consulted it. "From all accounts it's Chebokary. I see: 'Let us note the pleasantly situated town of Chebokary.' "Do you really think it's pleasantly situated, Pussy? 'At the present time Chebokary has 7,702 inhabitants' "Pussy! Let's give up our hunt for the jewels and increase the population to 7,704. What about it? It would be very effective. We'll open a 'Petits Chevaux' gaming-house and from the 'Petits Chevaux' we'll have une grande income. Anyway, to continue: 'Founded in 1555, the town has preserved some very interesting churches. Besides the administrative institutions of the Chuvash Republic, Chebokary also has a workers' school, a Party school, a teachers' institute, two middle-grade schools, a museum, a scientific society, and a library. On the quayside and in the bazaar it is possible to see Chuvash and Cheremis nationals, distinguishable by their dress. . . .'" But before the friends were able to reach the quay, where the Chuvash and Cheremis nationals were to be seen, their attention was caught by an object floating downstream ahead of the boat. "The chair!" cried Ostap. "Manager! It's our chair!" The partners rowed over to the chair. It bobbed up and down, turned over, went under, and came up farther away from the boat. Water poured freely into its slashed belly. It was the chair opened aboard the Scriabin, and it was now floating slowly towards the Caspian Sea. "Hi there, friend!" called Ostap. "Long time no see. You know, Vorobyaninov, that chair reminds me of our life. We're also floating with the tide. People push us under and we come up again, although they aren't too pleased about it. No one likes us, except for the criminal investigation department, which doesn't like us, either. Nobody has any time for us. If the chess enthusiasts had managed to drown us yesterday, the only thing left of us would have been the coroner's report. 'Both bodies lay with their feet to the south-east and their heads to the north-west. There were jagged wounds in the bodies, apparently inflicted by a blunt instrument.' The enthusiasts would have beaten us with chessboards, I imagine. That's certainly a blunt instrument. The first body belonged to a man of about fifty-five, dressed in a torn silk jacket, old trousers, and old boots. In the jacket pocket was an identification card bearing the name Konrad Karlovich Michelson . ..' That's what they would have written about you, Pussy." "And what would they have written about you?" asked Ippolit Matveyevich irritably. "Ah! They would have written something quite different about me. It would have gone like this: 'The second corpse belonged to a man of about twenty-seven years of age. He loved and suffered. He loved money and suffered from a lack of it. His head with its high forehead fringed with raven-black curls was turned towards the sun. His elegant feet, size forty-two boots, were pointing towards the northern lights. The body was dressed in immaculate white clothes, and on the breast was a gold harp encrusted with mother-of-pearl, bearing the words of the song "Farewell, New Village!" The deceased youth engaged in poker-work, which was clear from the permit No. 86/1562, issued on 8/23/24 by the Pegasus-and-Parnasus craftsmen's artel, found in the pocket of his tails.' And they would have buried me, Pussy, with pomp and circumstance, speeches, a band, and my grave-stone would have had the inscription 'Here lies the unknown central-heating engineer and conqueror, Ostap-Suleiman-Bertha-Maria Bender Bey, whose father, a Turkish citizen, died without leaving his son, Ostap-Suleiman, a cent. The deceased's mother was a countess of independent means." Conversing along these lines, the concessionaires nosed their way to the bank. That evening, having increased their capital by five roubles from the sale of the Vasyuki boat, the friends went aboard the diesel ship Uritsky and sailed for Stalingrad, hoping to overtake the slow-moving lottery ship and meet the Columbus Theatre troupe in Stalingrad. The Scriabin reached Stalingrad at the beginning of July. The friends met it, hiding behind crates on the quayside. Before the ship was unloaded, a lottery was held aboard and some big prizes were won. They had to wait four hours for the chairs. First to come ashore was the theatre group and then the lottery employees. Persidsky's shining face stood out among them. As they lay in wait, the concessionaires could hear him shouting: "Yes, I'll come to Moscow immediately. I've already sent a telegram. And do you know which one? 'Celebrating with you.' Let them guess who it's from." Then Persidsky got into a hired car, having first inspected it thoroughly, and drove off, accompanied for some reason by shouts of "Hooray!" As soon as the hydraulic press had been unloaded, the scenic effects were brought ashore. Darkness had already fallen by the time they unloaded the chairs. The troupe piled into five two-horse carts and, gaily shouting, went straight to the station. "I don't think they're going to play in Stalingrad," said Ippolit Matveyevich. Ostap was in a quandary. "We'll have to travel with them," he decided. "But where's the money? Let's go to the station, anyway, and see what happens." At the station it turned out that the theatre was going to Pyatigorsk via Tikhoretsk. The concessionaires only had enough money for one ticket. "Do you know how to travel without a ticket?" Ostap asked Vorobyaninov. "I'll try," said Vorobyaninov timidly. "Damn you! Better not try. I'll forgive you once more. Let it be. I'll do the bilking." Ippolit Matveyevich was bought a ticket in an upholstered coach and with it travelled to the station Mineral Waters on the North Caucasus Railway. Keeping out of sight of the troupe alighting at the station (decorated with oleander shrubs in green tubs), the former marshal went to look for Ostap. Long after the theatre had left for Pyatigorsk in new little local-line coaches, Ostap was still not to be seen. He finally arrived in the evening and found Vorobyaninov completely distraught. "Where were you?" whimpered the marshal. "I was in such a state?" "You were in a state, and you had a ticket in your pocket! And I wasn't, I suppose! Who was kicked off the buffers of the last coach of your train? Who spent three hours waiting like an idiot for a goods train with empty mineral-water bottles? You're a swine, citizen marshal! Where's the theatre? " "In Pyatigorsk." "Let's go. I managed to pick up something on the way. The net income is three roubles. It isn't much, of course, but enough for the first purchase of mineral water and railway tickets." Creaking like a cart, the train left for Pyatigorsk and, fifty minutes later, passing Zmeika and Beshtau, brought the concessionaires to the foot of Mashuk.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Date: 2015-01-02; view: 896
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