The Twelve Chairs (22 page)

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Authors: Ilya Ilf

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Dramas & Plays, #Regional & Cultural, #Russian, #Drama & Plays

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CONVERSATION WITH A NAKED ENGINEER
Ostap's appearance in the editorial offices was preceded by a number of
events of some importance.
Not finding Ernest Pavlovich at home (the apartment was locked and the
owner probably at work), the smooth operator decided to visit him later on,
and in the meantime he wandered about the town. Tortured by a thirst for
action, he crossed streets, stopped in squares, made eyes at militiamen,
helped ladies into buses, and generally gave the impression by his manner
that the whole of Moscow with its monuments, trams, vegetable vendors,
churches, stations and hoardings had gathered at his home for a party. He
walked among the guests, spoke courteously to them, and found something nice
to say to each one. So many guests at one party somewhat tired the smooth
operator. Furthermore, it was after six o'clock and time to visit engineer
Shukin.
But fate had decided that before seeing Ernest Pavlovich, Ostap had to
be delayed a couple of hours in order to sign a statement for the militia.
On Sverdlov Square the smooth operator was knocked down by a horse. A
timid white animal descended on him out of the blue and gave him a shove
with its bony chest. Bender fell down, breaking out in a sweat. It was very
hot. The white horse loudly apologized and Ostap briskly jumped up. His
powerful frame was undamaged. This was all the more reason for a scene.
The hospitable and friendly host of Moscow was unrecognisable. He
waddled up to the embarrassed old man driving the cab and punched him in his
padded back. The old man took his punishment patiently. A militiaman came
running up.
"I insist you report the matter," cried Ostap with emotion.
His voice had the metallic ring of a man whose most sacred feelings had
been hurt. And, standing by the wall of the Maly Theatre, on the very spot
where there was later to be a statue to the Russian dramatist Ostrovsky,
Ostap signed a statement and granted a brief interview to Perdidsky, who had
come hurrying over. Persidsky did not shirk his arduous duties. He carefully
noted down the victim's name and sped on his way.
Ostap majestically set off again. Still feeling the effects of the
clash with the white horse, and experiencing a belated regret for not having
been able to give the cab-driver a belt on the neck as well, Ostap reached
Shukin's house and went up to the seventh floor, taking two stairs at a
time. A heavy drop of liquid struck him on the head. He looked up and a thin
trickle of dirty water caught him right in the eye.
Someone needs his nose punching for tricks like that, decided Ostap.
He hurried upward. A naked man covered with white fungus was sitting by
the door of Shukin's apartment with his back to the stairs. He was sitting
on the tiled floor, holding his head in his hands and rocking from side to
side.
The naked man was surrounded by water oozing from under the apartment
door.
"Oh-oh-oh," groaned the naked man. "Oh-oh-oh."
"Is it you splashing water about?" asked Ostap irritably. "What a place
to take a bath. You must be crazy!"
The naked man looked at Ostap and burst into tears.
"Listen, citizen, instead of crying, you ought to go to the bathroom.
Just look at yourself. You look like a picador."
"The key," moaned the engineer.
"What key?" asked Ostap.
"Of the ap-ap-apartment."
"Where the money is?"
The naked man was hiccupping at an incredible rate.
Nothing could daunt Ostap. He began to see the light. And, finally,
when he realized what had happened, he almost fell over the banister with
laughter.
"So you can't get into the apartment. But it's so simple."
Trying not to dirty himself against the naked engineer, Ostap went up
to the door, slid a long yellow fingernail into the Yale lock, and carefully
began moving it up and down, and left and right.
The door opened noiselessly and the naked man rushed into the flooded
apartment with a howl of delight.
The taps were gushing. In the dining-room the water had formed a
whirlpool. In the bedroom it had made a calm lake, on which a pair of
slippers floated about as serenely as swans. Some cigarette ends had
collected together in a corner like a shoal of sleepy fish.
Vorobyaninov's chair was standing in the dining-room, where the flood
of water was greatest. Small white waves lapped against all four legs. The
chair was rocking slightly and appeared to be about to float away from its
pursuer. Ostap sat down on it and drew up his feet. Ernest Pavlovich, now
himself again, turned off all the taps with a cry of "Pardon me! ! Pardon
me!", rinsed himself, and appeared before Bender stripped to the waist in a
pair of wet slacks rolled up to the knee.
"You absolutely saved my life," he exclaimed with feeling. "I apologize
for not shaking your hand, but I'm all wet. You know, I almost went crazy."
"You seemed to be getting on that way."
"I found myself in a horrible situation."
And Ernest Pavlovich gave the smooth operator full details of the
misfortune which had befallen him, first laughing nervously and then
becoming more sober as he relived the awful experience.
"Had you not come, I would have died," he said in conclusion.
"Yes," said Ostap, "something similar once happened to me, too. Even a
bit worse."
The engineer was now so interested in anything concerned with such
situations that he put down the pail in which he was collecting water, and
began listening attentively.
"It was just like what happened to you," began Bender, "only it was
winter, and not in Moscow, but Mirgorod during one of those merry little
periods of occupation, between Makhno and Tyunuynik in '19. I was living
with a family. Terrible Ukrainians ! Typical property-owners. A one-storey
house and loads of different junk. You should note that with regard to
sewage and other facilities, they have only cesspools in Mirgorod. Well, one
night I nipped out in my underclothes, right into the snow. I wasn't afraid
of catching cold-it was only going to take a moment. I nipped out and
automatically closed the door behind me. It was about twenty degrees below.
I knocked, but got no answer. You can't stand in one spot or you freeze. I
knocked, ran about, knocked, and ran around, but there was no answer. And
the thing is that not one of those devils was asleep. It was a terrible
night; the dogs were howling and there was a sound of shots somewhere
nearby. And there's me running about the snowdrifts in my summer shorts. I
kept knocking for almost an hour. I was nearly done. And why didn't they
open the door- what do you think? They were busy hiding their property and
sewing up their money in cushions. They thought it was a police raid. I
nearly slaughtered them afterwards."
This was all very close to the engineer's heart.
"Yes," said Ostap, "so you are engineer Shukin."
"Yes, but please don't tell anyone about this. It would be awkward."
"Oh, sure! Entre nous and tete a tete, as the French say. But I came to
see you for a reason, Comrade Shukin."
"I'll be extremely pleased to help you."
"Grand merci!. It's a piddling matter. Your wife asked me to stop by
and collect this chair. She said she needed it to make a pair. And she
intends sending you instead an armchair."
"Certainly," exclaimed Ernest Pavlovich. "Only too happy. But why
should you bother yourself? I can take it for you. I can do it today."
"No, no. It's no bother at all for me. I live nearby."
The engineer fussed about and saw the smooth operator as far as the
door, beyond which he was afraid to go, despite the fact that the key had
been carefully placed in the pocket of his wet slacks.
Former student Ivanopulo was presented with another chair. The
upholstery was admittedly somewhat the worse for wear, but it was
nevertheless a splendid chair and exactly like the first one.
Ostap was not worried by the failure of the chair, the fourth in line.
He was familiar with all the tricks of fate.
It was the chair that had vanished into the goods yard of October
Station which cut like a huge dark mass through the well-knit pattern of his
deductions. His thoughts about that chair were depressing and raised grave
doubts.
The smooth operator was in the position of a roulette player who only
bets on numbers; one of that breed of people who want to win thirty-six
times their stake all at once. The situation was even worse than that. The
concessionaires were playing a kind of roulette in which zero could come up
eleven out of twelve times. And, what was more, the twelfth number was out
of sight, heaven knows where, and possibly contained a marvellous win.
The chain of distressing thoughts was interrupted by the advent of the
director-in-chief. His appearance alone aroused forebodings in Ostap.
"Oho!" said the technical adviser. "I see you're making progress. Only
don't joke with me. Why have you left the chair outside? To have a laugh at
my expense? "
"Comrade Bender," muttered the marshal.
"Why are you trying to unnerve me? Bring it here at once. Don't you see
that the new chair that I am sitting on has made your acquisition many times
more valuable? "
Ostap leaned his head to one side and squinted.
"Don't torment the child," he said at length in his deep voice.
"Where's the chair? Why haven't you brought it?"
Ippolit Matveyevich's muddled report was interrupted by shouts from the
floor, sarcastic applause and cunning questions. Vorobyaninov concluded his
report to the unanimous laughter of his audience.
"What about my instructions?" said Ostap menacingly. "How many times
have I told you it's a sin to steal. Even back in Stargorod you wanted to
rob my wife, Madame Gritsatsuyev; even then I realized you had the character
of a petty criminal. The most this propensity will ever get you is six
months inside. For a master-mind, and father of Russian democracy, your
scale of operations isn't very grand. And here are the results. The chair
has slipped through your fingers. Not only that, you've spoiled an easy job.
Just try making another visit there. That Absalom will tear your head off.
It's lucky for you that you were helped by that ridiculous fluke, or else
you'd have been behind bars, misguidedly waiting for me to bring you things.
I shan't bring you anything, so keep that in mind. What's Hecuba to me?
After all, you're not my mother, sister, or lover."
Ippolit Matveyevich stood looking at the ground in acknowledgment of
his worthlessness.
"The point is this, chum. I see the complete uselessness of our working
together. At any rate, working with as uncultured a partner as you for forty
per cent is absurd. Volens, nevolens, I must state new conditions."
Ippolit Matveyevich began breathing. Up to that moment he had been
trying not to breathe.
"Yes, my ancient friend, you are suffering from organizational
impotence and greensickness. Accordingly, your share is decreased. Honestly,
do you want twenty per cent?"
Ippolit Matveyevich shook his head firmly.
"Why not? Too little for you?"
"T-too little."
"But after all, that's thirty thousand roubles. How much do you want?"
"I'll accept forty."
"Daylight robbery!" cried Ostap, imitating the marshal's intonation
during their historic haggling in the caretaker's room. "Is thirty thousand
too little for you? You want the key of the apartment as well?"
"It's you who wants the key of the apartment," babbled Ippolit
Matveyevich.
"Take twenty before it's too late, or I might change my mind. Take
advantage of my good mood."
Vorobyaninov had long since lost the air of smugness with which he had
begun the search for the jewels.
The ice that had started moving in the caretaker's room, the ice that
had crackled, cracked, and smashed against the granite embankment, had
broken up and melted. It was no longer there. Instead there was a wide
stretch of rushing water which bore Ippolit Matveyevich along with it,
'buffeting him from side to side, first knocking him against a beam, then
tossing him against the chairs, then carrying him away from them. He felt
inexpressible fear. Everything frightened him. Along the river floated
refuse, patches of oil, broken hen-coops, dead fish, and a ghastly-looking
cap. Perhaps it belonged to Father Theodore, a duck-bill cap blown off by
the wind in Rostov. Who knows? The end of the path was not in sight. The
former marshal of the nobility was not being washed ashore, nor had he the
strength or wish to swim against the stream.
He was being carried out into the open sea of adventure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TWO VISITS
Like  an unswaddled babe that  clenches and unclenches  its waxen fists
without stopping, moves its legs, waggles its cap-covered head, the size of
a large Antonov apple, and blows bubbles, Absalom Vladimirovich Iznurenkov
was eternally in a state of unrest. He moved his plump legs, waggled his
shaven chin, produced sighing noises, and made gestures with his hairy arms
as though doing gymnastics on the end of strings.
He led a very busy life, appeared everywhere, and made suggestions
while tearing down the street like a frightened chicken; he talked to
himself very rapidly as if working out the premium on a stone, iron-roofed
building. The whole secret of his life and activity was that he was
organically incapable of concerning himself with any one matter, subject, or
thought for longer than a minute.
If his joke was not successful and did not cause instant mirth,
Iznurenkov, unlike others, did not attempt to persuade the chief editor that
the joke was good and required reflection for complete appreciation; he
immediately suggested another one.
"What's bad is bad," he used to say, "and that's the end of it."
When in shops, Iznurenkov caused a commotion by appearing and
disappearing so rapidly in front of the sales people, and buying boxes of
chocolates so grandly, that the cashier expected to receive at least thirty
roubles. But Iznurenkov, dancing up and down by the cash desk and pulling at
his tie as though it choked him, would throw down a crumpled three-rouble
note on to the glass plate and make off, bleating gracefully.
If this man had been able to stay still for even as little as two
hours, the most unexpected things might have happened.
He might have sat down at a desk and written a marvellous novel, or
perhaps an application to the mutual-assistance fund for a permanent loan,
or a new clause in the law on the utilization of housing space, or a book
entitled How to Dress Well and Behave in Society.
But he was unable to do so. His madly working legs carried him off, the
pencil flew out of his gesticulating hands, and his thoughts jumped from one
thing to another.
Iznurenkov ran about the room, and the seals on the furniture shook
like the earrings on a gypsy dancer. A giggling girl from the suburbs sat on
the chair.
"Ah! Ah!" cried Absalom Vladimirovich, "divine! Ah! Ah! First rate! You
are Queen Margot."
The queen from the suburbs laughed respectfully, though she understood
nothing.
"Have some chocolate, do! Ah! Ah! Charming."
He kept kissing her hands, admiring her modest attire, pushing the cat
into her lap, and asking, fawningly: "He's just like a parrot, isn't he? A
lion. A real lion. Tell me, isn't he extraordinarily fluffy? And his tail.
It really is a huge tail, isn't it?"
The cat then went flying into the corner, and, pressing his hands to
his milk-white chest, Absalom Vladimirovich began bowing to someone outside
the window. Suddenly a valve popped open in his madcap mind and he began to
be witty about his visitor's physical and spiritual attributes.
"Is that brooch really made of glass? Ah! Ah! What brilliance.
Honestly, you dazzle me. And tell me, is Paris really a big city? Is there
really an Eiffel Tower there? Ah! What hands! What a nose!"
He did not kiss the girl. It was enough for him to pay her compliments.
And he talked without end. The flow of compliments was interrupted by the
unexpected appearance of Ostap.
The smooth operator fiddled with a piece of paper and asked sternly:
"Does Iznurenkov live here? Is that you? "
Absalom Vladimirovich peered uneasily into the stranger s stony face.
He tried to read in his eyes exactly what demands were forthcoming; whether
it was a fine for breaking a tram window during a conversation, a summons
for not paying his rent, or a contribution to a magazine for the blind.
"Come on, Comrade," said Ostap harshly, "that's not the way to do
things-kicking out a bailiff."
"What bailiff? " Iznurenkov was horrified.
"You know very well. I'm now going to remove the furniture. Kindly
remove yourself from that chair, citizeness," said Ostap sternly.
The young citizeness, who only a moment before had been listening to
verse by the most lyrical of poets, rose from her seat.
"No, don't move," cried Iznurenkov, sheltering the chair with his body.
"They have no right."
"You'd better not talk about rights, citizen. You should be more
conscientious. Let go of the furniture! The law must be obeyed."
With these words, Ostap seized the chair and shook it in the air.
"I'm removing the furniture," said Ostap resolutely.
"No, you're not."
"What do you mean, I'm not, when I am?" Ostap chuckled, carrying the
chair into the corridor.
Absalom kissed his lady's hand and, inclining his head, ran after the
severe judge. The latter was already on his way downstairs.
"And I say you have no right. By law the furniture can stay another two
weeks, and it's only three days so far. I may pay!"
Iznurenkov buzzed around Ostap like a bee, and in this manner they
reached the street. Absalom Vladimirovich chased the chair right up to the
end of the street. There he caught sight of some sparrows hopping about by a
pile of manure. He looked at them with twinkling eyes, began muttering to
himself, clapped his hands, and, bubbling with laughter, said:
"First rate! Ah! Ah! What a subject!"
Engrossed in working out the subject, he gaily turned around and rushed
home, bouncing as he went. He only remembered the chair when he arrived back
and found the girl from the suburbs standing up in the middle of the room.
Ostap took the chair away by cab.
"Take note," he said to Ippolit Matveyevich, "the chair was obtained
with my bare hands. For nothing. Do you understand?"
When they had opened the chair, Ippolit Matveyevich's spirits were low.
"The chances are continually improving," said Ostap, "but we haven't a
kopek. Tell me, was your late mother-in-law fond of practical jokes by any
chance? "
"Why?"
"Maybe there aren't any jewels at all."
Ippolit Matveyevich waved his hands about so violently that his jacket
rode up.
"In that case everything's fine. Let's hope that Ivanopulo's estate
need only be increased by one more chair."
"There was something in the paper about you today, Comrade Bender,"
said Ippolit Matveyevich obsequiously.
Ostap frowned. He did not like the idea of being front-page news. "What
are you blathering about? Which newspaper?"
Ippolit Matveyevich triumphantly opened the Lathe. "Here it is. In the
section 'What Happened Today'."
Ostap became a little calmer; he was only worried about public
denouncements in the sections "Our Caustic Comments" and "Take the
Malefactors to Court".
Sure enough, there in nonpareil type in the section "What Happened
Today" was the item:

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