The Twelve Chairs (22 page)

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.

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: