The Twelve Chairs (16 page)

"No. Tomorrow at five."
They could not leave the chairs at once, just like that.
"Do you mind if we have a look at them?" Ippolit Matveyevich stammered.
The concessionaires examined  the chairs at great length, sat on  them,
and, for the sake of appearances, looked at the other lots. Vorobyaninov was
breathing hard and kept nudging Ostap.
"Take your hat off to me, Marshal!"
Ippolit Matveyevich was not only prepared to take his hat off to Ostap;
he was even ready to kiss the soles of his crimson boots.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow," he kept saying.
He felt an urge to sing.

While the friends were  leading a cultured  and  edifying way of  life,
visiting museums and making passes at girls, the  double-widow Gritsatsuyev,
a fat and feeble woman, was consulting and conspiring with her neighbours in
Plekhanov Street, Stargorod.
They examined the note left by Bender in groups, and even held it up to
the  light.  But  it  had no watermark,  and even  if it had, the mysterious
squiggles of the splendid Ostap would not have been any clearer.
Three days passed. The horizon remained clear. Neither  Bender, the tea
strainer, the imitation-gold bracelet, nor the chair returned. These animate
and inanimate objects had all disappeared in the most puzzling way.
The widow then decided to take drastic measures. She went to the office
of  the Stargorod Truth, where they briskly  concocted for her the following
notice:
MISSING FROM HOME.  I implore anyone knowing  the whereabouts  of  Com.
Bender  to inform me. Aged 25-30, brown  hair, last  seen dressed in a green
suit,  yellow  boots and a blue waistcoat. Information  on the above  person
will be adequately rewarded. Gritsatsuyev, 15 Plekhanov St.
"Is he your son?" they asked sympathetically in the office.
"Husband!" replied the martyr, covering her face with a handkerchief.
"Your husband!"
"Why not? He's legal."
"Nothing. You ought really to go to the militia."
The  widow was alarmed.  She was terrified  of the  militia. She  left,
accompanied by curious glances.
Three  times  did the columns  of the  Stargorod Truth  send out  their
summons, but  the great land  was  silent. No one came forward who  knew the
whereabouts of a brown-haired man in  yellow  boots. No one  came forward to
collect the adequate reward. The neighbours continued to gossip.
People became used  to  the Stargorod tramway  and rode  on it  without
trepidation. The conductors shouted "Full up" in fresh voices and everything
proceeded as though the trams had been going since the  time of St. Vladimir
the  Red Sun.  Disabled  persons of all  categories,  women and children and
Victor  Polesov  sat at the front of the cars. To the cry of "Fares  please"
Polesov used to  answer "Season" and remain next to the  driver. He did  not
have a season ticket, nor could he have had one.
The sojourn of Vorobyaninov and the smooth operator left a deep imprint
on the town.
The conspirators  carefully  kept the secret  entrusted to  them.  Even
Polesov  kept  it, despite  the fact  that he  was dying  to blurt  out  the
exciting  secret to the first person he met.  But  then, remembering Ostap's
powerful  shoulders,  he stood  firm.  He  only  poured  out  his  heart  in
conversations with the fortune-teller.
"What do you think,  Elena Stanislavovna?" he  would  ask.  "How do you
explain the absence of our leaders? "
Elena  Stanislavovna   was  also  very   intrigued,  but  she  had   no
information.
"Don't you  think,  Elena  Stanislavovna,"  continued the indefatigable
mechanic, "that they're on a special mission at present?"
The fortune-teller was convinced that this was the case. Their  opinion
was apparently shared by the parrot in the red underpants as well. It looked
at Polesov with a round, knowing eye as if to say: "Give me  some  seeds and
I'll tell  you all about  it. You'll be governor, Victor. All the  mechanics
will be  in your charge.  And  the  yard-keeper from  no. 5 will  remain  as
before- a conceited bum."
"Don't  you  think  we  ought   to  carry   on   without   them,  Elena
Stanislavovna? Whatever happens, we can't sit around doing nothing."
The  fortune-teller agreed  and  remarked:  "He's  a hero,  our Ippolit
Matveyevich."
"He is a hero,  Elena Stanislavovna, that's  clear. But what about  the
officer   with  him?  A   go-getting  fellow.  Say  what  you   like,  Elena
Stanislavovna, but things can't go on like this. They definitely can't."
And Polesov  began to act. He made regular visits to all the members of
the secret society "Sword  and Ploughshare", pestering Kislarsky, the  canny
owner of the Odessa Roll Bakery of  the Moscow Bun  artel, in particular. At
the sight of Polesov, Kislarsky's face darkened. And his talk of the need to
act drove the timid bun-maker to distraction.
Towards  the week-end they all met at Elena Stanislavovna's in the room
with the parrot. Polesov was bursting with energy.
"Stop blathering, Victor," said the clear-thinking Dyadyev. "What  have
you been careering round the town for days on end for?"
"We must act!" cried Polesov.
"Act yes, but  certainly not shout. This is  how  I see the  situation,
gentlemen. Once Ippolit Matveyevich has spoken, his words are sacred. And we
must assume we haven't long to wait.  How it will  all  take place, we don't
need  to know;  there are  military people to take care of that. We are  the
civilian  contingent-  representatives  of   the  town  intelligentsia   and
merchants. What's important for us? To be ready. Do we have anything?  Do we
have a centre? No.  Who will  be governor  of the town? There's no  one. But
that's the main  thing, gentlemen. I don't think the British will  stand  on
ceremony with the Bolsheviks. That's our first sign. It will all change very
rapidly, gentlemen, I assure you."
"Well,  we don't doubt that in the least,"  said Charushnikov,  puffing
out his cheeks.
"And a very good thing you don't. What do you think, Mr. Kislarsky? And
you, young men?"
Nikesha  and Vladya  both looked absolutely  certain of a rapid change,
while Kislarsky happily nodded assent, having gathered from what the head of
Fastpack had said that he  would  not be required to participate directly in
any  armed clashes. "What are  we to do?" asked Polesov impatiently. "Wait,"
said  Dyadyev. "Follow  the  example of  Mr. Vorobyaninov's  companion.  How
smart! How shrewd! Did you notice how quickly he got around to assistance to
waifs and  strays?  That's  how  we should  all act. We're only  helping the
children. So, gentlemen, let's nominate our candidates."
"We  propose  Ippolit  Matveyevich  Vorobyaninov   as  marshal  of  the
nobility," exclaimed the young Nikesha and Vladya.
Charushnikov coughed condescendingly. "What do  you mean!  Nothing less
than a minister for him. Higher, if you like. Make him a dictator."
"Come, come, gentlemen," said Dyadyev, "a marshal  is the last thing to
think about. We need a governor. I think. . ."
"You, Mr. Dyadyev," cried  Polesov ecstatically. "Who else  is there to
take the reins in our province."
"I am most flattered by  your confidence ..  ." Dyadyev began,  but  at
this point Charushnikov, who had suddenly turned pink, began to speak.
"The question, gentlemen," he said in a strained voice,  "ought to have
been aired."
He tried not to look at Dyadyev.
The owner of Fastpack also looked at his boots, which had wood shavings
sticking to them.
"I don't object,"  he said. "Let's put it to the vote. Secret ballot or
a show of hands? "
"We  don't need to  do it  in the Soviet style," said Charushnikov in a
hurt voice. "Let's vote in an honest European way, by secret ballot."
They  voted  on  pieces  of  paper. Dyadyev  received  four  votes  and
Charushnikov two. Someone had abstained. It was clear from  Kislarsky's face
that he was the one. He did not  wish to spoil his relations with the future
governor, whoever he might be.
When Polesov  excitedly  announced the results of  the-honest  European
ballot,  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  They  tried  not  to  look  at
Charushnikov. The unsuccessful candidate for governor sat in humiliation.
Elena Stanislavovna felt very  sorry  for him, as  she had voted in his
favour. Charushnikov obtained his second vote by voting for himself; he was,
after all, well versed in electoral procedure.
"Anyway,  I propose  Monsieur Charushnikov  as mayor,"  said the kindly
Elena Stanislavovna immediately.
"Why 'anyway'?"  asked the magnanimous governor. "Not anyway,  but  him
and no  one  else.  Mr. Charushnikov's public activity is well known  to  us
all."
"Hear, hear I" they all cried.
"Then we can consider the election accepted?"
The humiliated Charushnikov  livened up and even tried to protest. "No,
no, gentlemen,  I request a vote. It's even more  necessary  to vote  for  a
mayor  than  for  a  governor.  If  you wish  to  show  me  your confidence,
gentlemen, I ask  you to hold  a ballot." Pieces  of  paper poured  into the
empty   sugar-bowl.    "Six   votes   in   favour   and   one   abstention."
"Congratulations,  Mr. Mayor," said Kislarsky, whose face gave  away that he
had abstained this time, too. "Congratulations !'
Charushnikov swelled with pride.
"And now it only remains to take some refreshment, Your Excellency," he
said  to Dyadyev.  "Polesov, nip down to the October  beer-hall. Do you have
any money?"
Polesov  made  a  mysterious  gesture  with  his hand and  ran off. The
elections were temporarily adjourned and resumed after supper.
As  ward of  the educational  region they  appointed  Raspopov,  former
headmaster of  a private school,  and now a second-hand book  dealer. He was
greatly praised. R was only Vladya who  protested  suddenly, after his third
glass of vodka.
"We  mustn't  elect  him.  He  gave  me  bad  marks  in  logic  at  the
school-leaving exams." They all went for Vladya.
"At such a decisive hour, you must not think of your own good. Think of
the fatherland."
They brainwashed Vladya so quickly that he even voted in favour of  his
tormentor. Raspopov was elected by six votes with one abstention.
Kislarsky  was  offered  the post  of  chairman  of the  stock-exchange
committee. He did not object, but abstained during the voting just in case.
Drawing  from  among  friends  and relations, they elected  a  chief of
police, a head of the assay office, and a customs and excise inspector; they
filled  the  vacancies of regional  public  prosecutor, judge,  clerk of the
court,  and  other  law  court officials;  they appointed  chairmen for  the
Zemstvo  and merchants'  council,  the children's  welfare  committee,  and,
finally,  the shop-owners' council. Elena  Stanislavovna was elected ward of
the Drop-of-Milk  and White-Flower  societies.  On account  of  their youth,
Nikesha  and  Vladya  were appointed  special-duty  clerks attached  to  the
governor.
"Wait a minute," exclaimed Charushnikov suddenly. "The governor has two
clerks,  and  what about  me?"  "A  mayor is  not entitled  to  special-duty
clerks." "Then give me a secretary."
Dyadyev consented. Elena Stanislavovna also had something to say.
"Would it be possible,"  she said,  faltering,  "I know  a young man, a
nice and well-brought-up boy. Madame Cherkesov's son. He's a very, very nice
and clever  boy. He  hasn't a job  at present  and has to keep going  to the
employment office.  He's  even a  trade-union member. They promised to  find
work for him in  the union. Couldn't you take him?  His mother would be very
grateful."
"It  might be  possible," said Charushnikov graciously.  "What  do  you
think, gentlemen? All right. I think that could be arranged."
"Right, then-that seems to be about all," Dyadyev observed.
"What about me?" a high-pitched, nervous voice suddenly said.
They all turned around. A very upset Victor Polesov was standing in the
corner next to the  parrot. Tears  were bubbling  on his black  eyelids. The
guests  all felt  very  ashamed,  remembering that  they  had  been drinking
Polesov's vodka  and  that he was basically  one of  the  organizers  of the
Stargorod branch of the Sword and Ploughshare.
Elena Stanislavovna seized her head and gave a horrified screech.
"Victor Mikhailovich!"  they all gasped.  "Pal! Shame  on you! What are
you doing in the corner? Come out at once."
Polesov  came  near.  He  was  suffering.  He  had  not  expected  such
callousness from his fellow-members of the Sword and Ploughshare.
Elena  Stanislavovna was unable to  restrain  herself. "Gentlemen," she
said, "this is awful. How could you  forget Victor Mikhailovich, so dear  to
us  all?" She  got  up  and  kissed  the  mechanic-aristocrat  on  his sooty
forehead. "Surely Victor Mikhailovich is worthy of being a ward  or a police
chief."
"Well, Victor Mikhailovich," asked the governor, "do  you want to  be a
ward?"
"Well of course,  he  would make a splendid,  humane  ward," put in the
mayor, swallowing a mushroom and frowning.
"But what about Raspopov? You've already nominated Raspopov."
"Yes, indeed, what shall we do with Raspopov?"
"Make him a fire chief, eh?"
"A fire chief!" exclaimed Polesov, suddenly becoming excited.
A vision  of fire-engines, the glare of lights, the  sound of the siren
and the drumming of hoofs suddenly flashed through his mind. Axes glimmered,
torches  wavered, the ground heaved, and black dragons carried him to a fire
at the town theatre.
"A fire chief! I want to be a fire chief!"
"Well, that's fine. Congratulations! You're now the fire chief."
"Let's drink to the  prosperity of the fire brigade," said the chairman
of the stock-exchange committee sarcastically.
They all went for him.
"You were always left-wing! We know you!"
"What do you mean, gentlemen, left-wing?"
"We know, we know I"
"Left-wing!"
"All Jews are left-wing I"
"Honestly, gentlemen, I don't understand such jokes."
"You're left-wing, don't try to hide it!"
"He dreams about Milyukov at night."
"Cadet! You're a Cadet."
"The Cadets sold Finland," cried Charushnikov suddenly.
"And took money from the Japanese. They split the Armenians."
Kislarsky could not endure the  stream of groundless accusations. Pale,
his eyes blazing, the chairman of  the stock-exchange committee grasped hold
of his chair and said in a ringing voice:
"I was  always a  supporter of the Tsar's  October  manifesto and still
am."
They began to sort out who belonged to which party.
"Democracy  above  all,   gentlemen,"  said   Charushnikov.  "Our  town
government must be democratic."
"But without Cadets! They did the dirty on us in 1917."
"I  hope,' said  the governor acidly, "that there aren't any  so-called
Social Democrats among us."
There  was   nobody   present  more   left-wing  than  the  Octobrists,
represented at the meeting by Kislarsky. Charushnikov declared himself to be
the  "centre".  The  extreme  right-wing  was  the  fire  chief.  He was  so
right-wing that he did not know which party he belonged to.
They talked about war.
"Any day now," said Dyadyev.
"There'll be a war, yes, there will."
"I advise stocking up with a few things before it's too late."
"Do you think so?" asked Kislarsky in alarm.
"Well, what  do  you  think?  Do you suppose  you  can  get anything in
wartime? Flour would disappear from the market right away. Silver coins will
vanish  completely. There'll be all sorts of paper currency, and stamps will
have the same value as banknotes, and all that sort of thing."
"War, that's for sure."
"You  may  think  differently, but  I'm spending all  my  spare cash on
buying up essential commodities," said Dyadyev.
"And what about your textile business? "
"Textiles can  look  out for  themselves, but  the  flour and sugar are
important."
"That's what I advise you. I urge you, even."
Polesov laughed derisively.  "How can the Bolsheviks fight? What  with?