Eugene Petrov - The Twelve Chairs

the corner on the floor, continued eating in the hope that fate would spare

them, but the loud-speaker cheerfully went on: •

"Evecrashshsh . . . viduso . . . valuable invention. Railwayman of the

Murmansk Railway, Comrade Sokutsky, S Samara, O Oriel, K Kaliningrad, U

Urals, Ts Tsaritsina, K Kaliningrad, Y York. So-kuts-ky."

The trumpet wheezed and renewed the broadcast in a thick voice.

". . . vented a system of signal lights for snow ploughs. The invention

has been approved by Dorizul. . . ."

The old women floated away to their rooms like grey ducklings. The

loud-speaker, jigging up and down by its own power, blared away into the

empty room:

"And we will now play some Novgorod folk music."

Far, far away, in the centre of the earth, someone strummed a balalaika

and a black-earth Battistini broke into song:

"On the wall the bugs were sitting,

Blinking at the sky;

Then they saw the tax inspector

And crawled away to die."

In the centre of the earth the verses brought forth a storm of

activity. A horrible gurgling was heard from the loud-speaker. It was

something between thunderous applause and the eruption of an underground

volcano.

Meanwhile the disheartened fire inspector had descended an attic ladder

backwards and was now back in the kitchen, where he saw five citizens

digging into a barrel of sauerkraut and bolting it down. They ate in

silence. Pasha Emilevich alone waggled his head in the style of an epicurean

and, wiping some strings of cabbage from his moustache, observed:

"It's a sin to eat cabbage like this without vodka."

"Is this a new intake of women?" asked Ostap.

"They're orphans," replied Alchen, shouldering the inspector out of the

kitchen and surreptitiously shaking his fist at the orphans.

"Children of the Volga Region?"

Alchen was confused.

"A trying heritage from the Tsarist regime?"

Alchen spread his arms as much as to say: "There's nothing you can do

with a heritage like that."

"Co-education by the composite method?"

Without further hesitation the bashful Alchen invited the fire

inspector to take pot luck and lunch with him.

Pot luck that day happened to be a bottle of Zubrovka vodka,

home-pickled mushrooms, minced herring, Ukrainian beet soup containing

first-grade meat, chicken and rice, and stewed apples.

"Sashchen," said Alexander Yakovlevich, "I want you to meet a comrade

from the province fire-precaution administration."

Ostap made his hostess a theatrical bow and paid her such an

interminable and ambiguous compliment that he could hardly get to the end of

it. Sashchen, a buxom woman, whose good looks were somewhat marred by

sideburns of the kind that Tsar Nicholas used to have, laughed softly and

took a drink with the two men.

"Here's to your communal services," exclaimed Ostap.

The lunch went off gaily, and it was not until they reached the stewed

fruit that Ostap remembered the point of his visit.

"Why is it," he asked, "that the furnishings are so skimpy in your

establishment?"

"What do you mean?" said Alchen. "What about the harmonium?"

"Yes, I know, vox humana. But you have absolutely nothing at all of any

taste to sit on. Only garden benches."

"There's a chair in the recreation room," said Alchen in an offended

tone. "An English chair. They say it was left over from the original

furniture."

"By the way, I didn't see your recreation room. How is it from the

point of view of fire hazard? It won't let you down, I hope. I had better

see it."

"Certainly."

Ostap thanked his hostess for the lunch and left.

No primus was used in the recreation room; there was no portable stove

of any kind; the chimneys were in a good state of repair and were cleaned

regularly, but the chair, to the incredulity of Alchen, was missing. They

ran to look for it. They looked under the beds and under the trunks; for

some reason or other they moved back the harmonium; they questioned the old

women, who kept looking at Pasha Emilevich timidly, but the chair was just

not there. Pasha Emilevich himself showed great enthusiasm in the search.

When all had calmed down, Pasha still kept wandering from room to room,

looking under decanters, shifting iron teaspoons, and muttering:

"Where can it be? I saw it myself this morning. It's ridiculous !"

"It's depressing, girls," said Ostap in an icy voice.

"It's absolutely ridiculous!" repeated Pasha Emilevich impudently.

At this point, however, the Eclair fire extinguisher, which had been

hissing the whole time, took a high F, which only the People's Artist,

Nezhdanova, can do, stopped for a second and then emitted its first stream

of foam, which soaked the ceiling and knocked the cook's cap off. The first

stream of foam was followed by another, mouse-grey in colour, which bowled

over young Isidor Yakovlevich. After that the extinguisher began working

smoothly. Pasha Emilevich, Alchen and all the surviving brothers raced to

the spot.

"Well done," said Ostap. "An idiotic invention!"

As soon as the old women were left alone with Ostap and without the

boss, they at once began complaining:

"He's brought his family into the home. They eat up everything."

"The piglets get milk and we get porridge."

"He's taken everything out of the house."

"Take it easy, girls," said Ostap, retreating. "You need someone from

the labour-inspection department. The Senate hasn't empowered me . . ."

The old women were not listening.

"And that Pasha Melentevich. He went and sold a chair today. I saw him

myself."

"Who did he sell it to? " asked Ostap quickly.

"He sold it. . . that's all. He was going to steal my blanket. . ."

A fierce struggle was going on in the corridor. But mind finally

triumphed over matter and the extinguisher, trampled under Pasha Emilevich's

feet of iron, gave a last dribble and was silent for ever.

The old women were sent to clean the floor. Lowering his head and

waddling slightly, the fire inspector went up to Pasha Emilevich.

"A friend of mine," began Ostap importantly, "also used to sell

government property. He now lives a monastic life in the penitentiary."

"I find your groundless accusations strange," said Pasha, who smelled

strongly of foam.

"Who did you sell the chair to?" asked Ostap in a ringing whisper.

Pasha Emilevich, who had supernatural understanding, realized at this

point he was about to be beaten, if not kicked.

"To a second-hand dealer."

"What's his address?"

"I'd never seen him before."

"Never?"

"No, honestly."

"I ought to bust you in the mouth," said Ostap dreamily, "only

Zarathustra wouldn't allow it. Get to hell out of here!"

Pasha Emilevich grinned fawningly and began walking away.

"Come back, you abortion," cried Ostap haughtily. "What was the dealer

like?"

Pasha Emilevich described him in detail, while Ostap listened

carefully. The interview was concluded by Ostap with the words: "This

clearly has nothing to do with fire precautions."

In the corridor the bashful Alchen went up to Ostap and gave him a gold

piece.

"That comes under Article 114 of the Criminal Code," said Ostap.

"Bribing officials in the course of their duty."

Nevertheless he took the money and, without saying good-bye, went

towards the door. The door, which was fitted with a powerful contraption,

opened with an effort and gave Ostap a one-and-a-half-ton shove in the