Eugene Petrov - The Twelve Chairs

difficulties involved in their treasure hunt. To find their way into the

theatre as they had planned proved impossible. Galkin, Palkin, Malkin,

Chalkin and Zalkind slept in the wings, since their modest earnings

prevented them from living in a hotel.

The days passed, and the friends were slowly reaching the end of their

tether, spending their nights 'at the site of Lermontov's duel and

subsisting by carrying the baggage of peasant tourists.

On the sixth day Ostap managed to strike up an acquaintance with

Mechnikov, the fitter in charge of the hydraulic press. By this time,

Mechnikov, who had no money and was forced to get rid of his daily hang-over

by drinking mineral water, was in a terrible state and had been observed by

Ostap to sell some of the theatre props at the market. Final agreement was

reached during the morning libation by a spring. The fitter called Ostap

"Palsie" and seemed about to consent.

"That's possible," he said. "That's always possible, palsie. It's my

pleasure, palsie."

Ostap realized at once that the fitter knew his stuff.

The contracting parties looked one another in the eye, embraced,

slapped each other's backs and laughed politely.

"Well," said Ostap, "ten for the whole deal."

"Palsie!" exclaimed the astonished fitter, "don't make me mad. I'm a

man who's suffering from the narzan."

"How much do you want then?"

"Make it fifty. After all, it's government property. I'm a man who's

suffering."

"All right, accept twenty. Agreed? I see from your eyes you agree."

"Agreement is the result of complete non-objection on both sides."

"There are no flies on this one," whispered Ostap to Vorobyaninov.

"Take a lesson."

"When will you bring the chairs?"

"You'll get the chairs when I get the money."

"That's fine," said Ostap without thinking.

"Money in advance," declared the fitter. "The money in the morning, the

chairs in the evening; or, the money in the evening, the chairs the next

morning."

"What about the chairs this morning, the money tomorrow evening," tried

Ostap.

"Palsie, I'm a man who's suffering. Such terms are revolting."

"But the point is, I won't receive my money by telegraph until

tomorrow," said Ostap.

"Then we'll discuss the matter tomorrow," concluded the obstinate

fitter. "And in the meantime, palsie, have a nice time at the spring. I'm

off. Simbievich has me by the throat. I've no strength left. Can you expect

a man to thrive on mineral water?"

And resplendent in the sunlight, Mechnikov went off.

Ostap looked severely at Ippolit Matveyevich.

"The time we have," he said, "is the money we don't have. Pussy, we

must decide on a career. A hundred and fifty thousand roubles, zero zero

kopeks awaits us. We only need twenty roubles for the treasure to be ours.

We must not be squeamish. It's sink or swim. I choose swim."

Ostap walked around Ippolit Matveyevich thoughtfully.

"OS with your jacket, marshal," he said suddenly, "and make it snappy."

He took the jacket from the surprised Vorobyaninov, threw it on the

ground, and began stamping on it with his dusty boots.

"What are you doing?" howled Vorobyaninov. "I've been wearing that

jacket for fifteen years, and it's as good as new."

"Don't get excited, it soon won't be. Give me your hat. Now, sprinkle

your trousers with dust and pour some mineral water over them. Be quick

about it."

In a few moments Ippolit Matveyevich was dirty to the point of

revulsion.

"Now you're all set and have every chance of earning honest money."

"What am I supposed to do?" asked Ippolit Matveyevich tearfully. "You

know French, I hope? "

"Not very well. What I learned at school." "Hm . . . then we'll have to

operate with what you learned at school. Can you say in French, 'Gentleman,

I haven't eaten for six days'?"

"M'sieu," began Ippolit Matveyevich, stuttering, "m'sieu . . . er . . .

je ne mange .. , that's right, isn't it? Je ne mange pas . . . er How do you

say 'six'? Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six. It's: 'Je ne mange pas six

jours' "

"What an accent, Pussy! Anyway, what do you expect from a beggar. Of

course a beggar in European Russia wouldn't speak French as well as

Milerand. Right, pussy, and how much German do you know?"

"Why all this?" exclaimed Ippolit Matveyevich. "Because," said Ostap

weightily, "you're now going to the Flower Garden, you're going to stand in

the shade and beg for alms in French, German and Russian, emphasizing the

fact that you are an ex-member of the Cadet faction of the Tsarist Duma. The

net profit will go to Mechnikov. Understand?"

Ippolit Matveyevich was transfigured. His chest swelled up like the

Palace bridge in Leningrad, his eyes flashed fire, and his nose seemed to

Ostap to be pouring forth smoke. His moustache slowly began to rise.

"Dear me," said the smooth operator, not in the least alarmed. "Just

look at him! Not a man, but a dragon."

"Never," suddenly said Ippolit Matveyevich, "never has Vorobyaninov

held out his hand."

"Then you can stretch out your feet, you silly old ass!" shouted Ostap.

"So you've never held out your hand?"

"No, I have not."

"Spoken like a true gigolo. You've been living off me for the last

three months. For three months I've been providing you with food and drink

and educating you, and now you stand like a gigolo in the third position and

say . . . Come off it, Comrade! You've got two choices. Either you go right

away to the Flower Garden and bring back ten roubles by nightfall, or else

I'm automatically removing you from the list of shareholders in the

concession. I'll give you five to decide yes or no. One. . ."

"Yes," mumbled the marshal.

"In that case, repeat the words."

"M'sieu, je ne mange pas six jours. Geben Sie mir bitte etwas Kopek fur

ein Stuck Brot. Give something to an ex-member of the Duma."

"Once again. Make it more heart-rending."

Ippolit Matveyevich repeated the words.

"All right. You have a latent talent for begging. Off you go.

The rendezvous is at midnight here by the spring. That's not for

romantic reasons, mind you, but simply because people give more in the

evening."

"What about you?" asked Vorobyaninov. "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry about me. As usual, I shall be where things are most

difficult."

The friends went their ways.

Ostap hurried to a small stationery shop, bought a book of receipts

with his last ten-kopek bit, and sat on a stone block for an hour or so,

numbering the receipts and scribbling something on each one.

"System above all," he muttered to himself. "Every public kopek must be

accounted for."

The smooth operator marched up the mountain road that led round Mashuk

to the site of Lermontov's duel with Martynov, passing sanatoriums and rest

homes.

Constantly overtaken by buses and two-horse carriages, he arrived at

the Drop.

A narrow path cut in the cliff led to a conical drop. At the end of the

path was a parapet from which one could see a puddle of stinking malachite

at the bottom of the Drop. This Drop is considered one of the sights of

Pyatigorsk and is visited by a large number of tourists in the course of a

day.

Ostap had seen at once that for a man without prejudice the Drop could

be a source of income.

"What a remarkable thing," mused Ostap, "that the town has never

thought of charging ten kopeks to see the Drop. It seems to be the only