Eugene Petrov - The Twelve Chairs

The tropical flora fawned on the engineer. Cacti stretched out their

spiky mittens towards him. Dracaena shrubs rustled their leaves. Banana

trees and sago palms chased the flies from his face, and the roses with

which the verandah was woven fell at his feet.

But all in vain. Bruns was hungry. He glowered petulantly at the

mother-of-pearl bay, and the distant cape at Batumi, and called out in a

singsong voice:

"Moosie, moosie!"

The sound quickly died away in the moist sub-tropical air. There was no

answer. Bruns had visions of a large golden-brown goose with sizzling,

greasy skin, and, unable to control himself, yelled out:

"Moosie, where's the goosie?"

"Andrew Mikhailovich," said a woman's voice from inside, "don't keep on

at me."

The engineer, who was already pouting his lips into the accustomed

shape, promptly answered:

"Moosie, you haven't any pity for your little hubby."

"Get out, you glutton," came the reply from inside.

The engineer did not give in, however. He was just about to continue

his appeals for the goose, which had been going on unsuccessfully for two

hours, when a sudden rustling made him turn round.

From the black-green clumps of bamboo there had emerged a man in torn

blue tunic-shirt-belted with a shabby twisted cord with tassels-and frayed

striped trousers. The stranger's kindly face was covered with ragged

stubble. He was carrying his jacket in his hand.

The man approached and asked in a pleasant voice:

"Where can I find Engineer Bruns?"

"I'm Engineer Bruns," said the goose-charmer in an unexpectedly deep

voice. "What can I do for you?"

The man silently fell to his knees. It was Father Theodore.

"Have you gone crazy? " cried the engineer. "Stand up, please."

"I won't," said Father Theodore, following the engineer with his head

and gazing at him with bright eyes.

"Stand up."

"I won't."

And carefully, so that it would not hurt, the priest began beating his

head against the gravel.

"Moosie, come here!" shouted the frightened engineer. "Look what's

happening! Please get up. I implore you."

"I won't," repeated Father Theodore.

Moosie ran out on to the verandah; she was very good at interpreting

her husband's intonation.

Seeing the lady, Father Theodore promptly crawled over to her and,

bowing to her feet, rattled off:

"On you, Mother, on you, my dear, on you I lay my hopes."

Engineer Bruns thereupon turned red in the face, seized the petitioner

under the arms and, straining hard, tried to lift him to his feet. Father

Theodore was crafty, however, and tucked up his legs. The disgusted Bruns

dragged his extraordinary visitor into a corner and forcibly sat him in a

chair (a Hambs chair, not from Vorobyaninov's house, but one belonging to

General Popov's wife).

"I dare not sit in the presence of high-ranking persons," mumbled

Father Theodore, throwing the baker's jacket, which smelt of kerosene,

across his knees.

And he made another attempt to go down on his knees.

With a pitiful cry the engineer restrained him by the shoulders.

"Moosie," he said, breathing heavily, "talk to this citizen. There's

been some misunderstanding."

Moosie at once assumed a businesslike tone.

"In my house," she said menacingly, "kindly don't go down on anyone's

knees."

"Dear lady," said Father Theodore humbly, "Mother!"

"I'm not your mother. What do you want? "

The priest began burbling something incoherent, but apparently deeply

moving. It was only after lengthy questioning that they were able to gather

that he was asking them to do him a special favour and sell him the suite of

twelve chairs, one of which he was sitting on at that moment.

The engineer let go of Father Theodore with surprise, whereupon the

latter immediately plumped down on his knees again and began creeping after

the engineer like a tortoise.

"But why," cried the engineer, trying to dodge Father Theodore's long

arms, "why should I sell my chairs? It's no use how much you go down on your

knees like that, I just don't understand anything."

"But they're my chairs," groaned the holy father.

"What do you mean, they're yours? How can they be yours? You're crazy.

Moosie, I see it all. This man's a crackpot."

"They're mine," repeated the priest in humiliation.

"Do you think I stole them from you, then?" asked the engineer

furiously. "Did I steal them? Moosie, this is blackmail."

"Oh, Lord," whispered Father Theodore.

"If I stole them from you, then take the matter to court, but don't

cause pandemonium in my house. Did you hear that, Moosie? How impudent can

you get? They don't even let a man have his dinner in peace."

No, Father Theodore did not want to recover "his" chairs by taking the

matter to court. By no means. He knew that Engineer Bruns had not stolen

them from him. Oh, no. That was the last idea he had in his mind. But the

chairs had nevertheless belonged to him before the revolution, and his wife,

who was on her deathbed in Voronezh, was very attached to them. It was to

comply with her wishes and not on his own initiative that he had taken the

liberty of finding out the whereabouts of the chairs and coming to see

Citizen Bruns. Father Theodore was not asking for charity. Oh, no. He was

sufficiently well off (he owned a small candle factory in Samara) to sweeten

his wife's last few minutes by buying the old chairs. He was ready to

splurge and pay twenty roubles for the whole set of chairs.

"What?" cried the engineer, growing purple. "Twenty roubles? For a

splended drawing-room suite? Moosie, did you hear that? He really is a nut.

Honestly he is."

"I'm not a nut, but merely complying with the wishes of my wife who

sent me."

"Oh, hell!" said the engineer. "Moosie, he's at it again. He's crawling

around again."

"Name your price," moaned Father Theodore, cautiously beating his head

against the trunk of an araucaria.

"Don't spoil the tree, you crazy man. Moosie, I don't think he's a nut.

He's simply distraught at his wife's illness. Shall we sell him the chairs

and get rid of him? Otherwise, he'll crack his skull."

"And what are we going to sit on?" asked Moosie.

"We'll buy some more."

"For twenty roubles?"

"Suppose I don't sell them for twenty. Suppose I don't sell them for

two hundred, but supposing I do sell them for two-fifty?"

In response came the sound of a head against a tree.

"Moosie, I'm fed up with this!"

The engineer went over to Father Theodore, with his mind made up and

began issuing an ultimatum.

"First, move back from the palm at least three paces; second, stand up

at once; third, I'll sell you the chairs for two hundred and fifty and not a

kopek less."

"It's not for personal gain," chanted Father Theodore, "but merely in

compliance with my sick wife's wishes."

"Well, old boy, my wife's also sick. That's right, isn't it, Moosie?

Your lungs aren't in too good a state, are they? But on the strength of that

I'm not asking you to . . . er . . . sell me your jacket for thirty kopeks."

"Have it for nothing," exclaimed Father Theodore.

The engineer waved him aside in irritation and then said coldly:

"Stop your tricks. I'm not going to argue with you any more.

I've assessed the worth of the chairs at two hundred and fifty roubles

and I'm not shifting one cent." "Fifty," offered the priest.

"Moosie," said the engineer, "call Bagration. Let him see this citizen