Eugene Petrov - The Twelve Chairs

night before, Ippolit Matveyevich counted up his cash-in-hand, locked the

house, put the key in his back pocket and took the no. 7 express to

Stargorod.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SMOOTH OPERATOR

At half past eleven a young man aged about twenty-eight entered

Stargorod from the direction of the village of Chmarovka, to the north-east.

A waif ran along behind him.

"Mister!" cried the boy gaily, "gimme ten kopeks!"

The young man took a warm apple out of his pocket "and handed it to the

waif, but the child still kept running behind. Then the young man stopped

and, looking ironically at the boy, said quietly:

"Perhaps you'd also like the key of the apartment where the money is?"

The presumptuous waif then realized the complete futility of his

pretensions and dropped behind.

The young man had not told the truth. He had no money, no apartment

where it might have been found, and no key with which to open it. He did not

even have a coat. The young man entered the town in a green suit tailored to

fit at the waist and an old woollen scarf wound several times around his

powerful neck. On his feet were patent-leather boots with orange-coloured

suede uppers. He had no socks on. The young man carried an astrolabe.

Approaching the market, he broke into a song: "O, Bayadere, tum-ti-ti,

tum-ti-ti."

In the market he found plenty going on. He squeezed into the line of

vendors selling wares spread out on the ground before them, stood the

astrolabe in front of him and began shouting:

"Who wants an astrolabe? Here's an astrolabe going cheap. Special

reduction for delegations and women's work divisions !"

At first the unexpected supply met with little demand; the delegations

of housewives were more interested in obtaining commodities in short supply

and were milling around the cloth and drapery stalls. A detective from the

Stargorod criminal investigation department passed the astrolabe-vendor

twice, but since the instrument in no way resembled the typewriter stolen

the day before from the Central Union of Dairy Co-operatives, the detective

stopped glaring at the young man and passed on.

By lunchtime the astrolabe had been sold to a repairman for three

roubles.

"It measures by itself," he said, handing over the astrolabe to its

purchaser, "provided you have something to measure."

Having rid himself of the calculating instrument, the happy young man

had lunch in the Tasty Corner snack bar, and then went to have a look at the

town. He passed along Soviet Street, came out into Red Army Street

(previously Greater Pushkin Street), crossed Co-operative Street and found

himself again on Soviet Street. But it was not the same Soviet Street from

which he had come. There were two Soviet Streets in the town. Greatly

surprised by this fact, the young man carried on and found himself in Lena

Massacre Street (formerly Denisov Street). He stopped outside no. 28, a

pleasant two-storeyed private house, which bore a sign saying:

USSR RSFSR

SECOND SOCIAL SECURITY HOME

OF THE

STAR-PROV-INS-AD

and requested a light from the caretaker, who was sitting by the

entrance on a stone bench.

"Tell me, dad," said the young man, taking a puff, "are there any

marriageable young girls in this town? "

The old caretaker did not show the least surprise.

"For some a mare'd be a bride," he answered, readily striking up a

conversation.

"I have no more questions," said the young man quickly. And he

immediately asked one more: "A house like this and no girls in it?"

"It's a long while since there've been any young girls here," replied

the old man. "This is a state institution-a home for old-age women

pensioners."

"I see. For ones born before historical materialism?"

"That's it. They were born when they were born."

"And what was here in the house before the days of historical

materialism?"

"When was that?"

"In the old days. Under the former regime."

"Oh, in the old days my master used to live here."

"A member of the bourgeoisie")"

"Bourgeoisie yourself! I told you. He was a marshal of the nobility."

"You mean he was from the working class?"

"Working class yourself! He was a marshal of the nobility."

The conversation with the intelligent caretaker so poorly versed in the

class structure of society might have gone on for heaven knows how long had

not the young man got down to business.

"Listen, granddad," he said, "what about a drink?"

"All right, buy me one!"

They were gone an hour. When they returned, the caretaker was the young

man's best friend.

"Right, then, I'll stay the night with you," said the newly acquired

friend.

"You're a good man. You can stay here for the rest of your life if you

like."

Having achieved his aim, the young man promptly went down into the

caretaker's room, took off his orange-coloured boots, and, stretching out on

a bench, began thinking out a plan of action for the following day.

The young man's name was Ostap Bender. Of his background he would

usually give only one detail. "My dad," he used to say, "was a Turkish

citizen." During his life this son of a Turkish citizen had had many

occupations. His lively nature had prevented him from devoting himself to

any one thing for long and kept him roving through the country, finally

bringing him to Stargorod without any socks and without a key, apartment, or

money.

Lying in the caretaker's room, which was so warm that it stank, Ostap

Bender weighed up in his mind two possibilities for a career.

He could become a polygamist and calmly move on from town to town,

taking with him a suitcase containing his latest wife's valuables, or he

could go the next day to the Stargorod Commission for the Improvement of

Children's Living Conditions and suggest they undertake the popularization

of a brilliantly devised, though yet unpainted, picture entitled "The

Bolsheviks Answer Chamberlain" based on Repin's famous canvas "The Zaporozhe

Cossacks Answer the Sultan". If it worked, this possibility could bring in

four hundred or so roubles.

The two possibilities had been thought up by Ostap during his last stay

in Moscow. The polygamy idea was conceived after reading a law-court report

in the evening paper, which clearly stated that the convicted man was given

only a two-year sentence, while the second idea came to Bender as he was

looking round the Association of Revolutionary Artists' exhibition, having

got in with a free pass.

Both possibilities had their drawbacks, however. To begin a career as a

polygamist without a heavenly grey polka-dot suit was unthinkable. Moreover,

at least ten roubles would be needed for purposes of representation and

seduction. He could get married, of course, in his green field-suits, since

his virility and good looks were absolutely irresistible to the provincial

belles looking for husbands, but that would have been, as Ostap used to say,

"poor workmanship". The question of the painting was not all plain sailing

either. There might be difficulties of a purely technical nature. It might

be awkward, for instance, to show Comrade Kalinin in a fur cap and white

cape, while Comrade Chicherin was stripped to the waist. They could be

depicted in ordinary dress, of course, but that would not be quite the same

thing.

"It wouldn't have the right effect!" said Ostap aloud.

At this point he noticed that the caretaker had been prattling away for