Part Three. Private Individual

Chapter Twenty-Six

At the asphalt platform of the Ryazan Station in Moscow, there stood a short lettered train. It had only six cars: a baggage car, where, contrary to the norm, instead of luggage, food supplies were stored on ice; a dining car, from which a white-clad chef peeked out; and a government salon.…once owned by the singer Valtseva (now, instead of the famous performer of the romance “Everyone says I’m fickle, everyone says that I love no one. But why do I forget everyone, yet one person I cannot forget,” representatives of the government and members of the Council of Nationalities were traveling).The other three cars were passenger cars, and the delegation of shock workers, as well as foreign and Soviet correspondents, were to be seated on their sofas covered with rough striped covers. The train was preparing to head out onto the junction of the Eastern Railway.

The journey was set to be a long one. The porters were cramming travel baskets with dangling black locks onto the train’s vestibule. The Soviet press was bustling along the platform, waving their polished plywood suitcases. Foreigners watched the porters carrying their thick leather suitcases, trunks, and cardboard boxes adorned with colorful stickers from travel agencies and shipping companies. The passengers had managed to stock up on a book titled “Eastern…main line“on the cover of which was an image of a camel sniffing the rails. The book was being sold right there from a luggage cart. The author of the book, journalist Palamidov, had already passed by the cart several times, watching the customers with envy. He was considered an expert on the Highway and was heading there.”already.for the third time.

The time for departure was approaching, but the farewell scene was nothing like…wasteThere was nothing ordinary about the passenger train. There were no old women on the platform, and no one was leaning out of the window with a baby to cast a final glance at their grandfather. Of course, there was no grandfather either, whose dim eyes usually reflected the fear of railway drafts. Naturally, no one was kissing goodbye. The delegation of shock workers was brought to the station by union officials, who hadn’t yet had time to discuss the matter of farewell kisses. The Moscow correspondents were seen off by editorial staff, who were used to handling such occasions with handshakes. As for the foreign correspondents, thirty in total, they were heading to the opening of the Highway in full force, accompanied by their wives and gramophones, so there was no one to see them off.

The expedition participants, in line with the moment, spoke louder than usual, inexplicably grabbed their notebooks, and scolded those seeing them off for not joining them on such an interesting journey. In particular, the journalist Lavouzyan was quite noisy. He was young at heart.and over the years, but in his curls, like the moon in the jungle, his bald spot shone.

“You’re disgusting to look at!” he shouted at those seeing him off. “Can you even understand what the Eastern Highway is all about?”

If the hands of the hot Lavozhyan were not…The text for translation: would.He was busy with a large typewriter in a leatherette case, and if it weren’t for that, he might have even hit one of his friends, as he was so passionate and dedicated to the work of newspaper reporting. He already wanted to send a lightning telegram to his editorial office, but he had nothing to say.

The first to arrive at the station, the union official Ukhudshansky, strolled leisurely along the train. He was carrying with him the “Turkestan”Edge.“Complete geographical description of our homeland, a reference and travel book for Russian people,” written by Semenov-Tyan-Shansky.Shansky, published in 1903. He would stop near groups of those departing and their see-offs, and with a somewhat satirical tone in his voice, he would say:

“Are you leaving? Well, well.”Текст для перевода: ..

“Are you staying? Well, well.”Текст для перевода: ..

In this manner, he walked to the front of the train, leaning back for a long time to look at the locomotive, and finally said to the engineer:

– Are you working? Well, well.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

Then journalist Ukhudshansky went into the compartment, unfolded the latest issue of his professional publication, and immersed himself in reading his own article titled “Improving the Work of Shop Committees,” with the subtitle “Committees Are Not Restructuring Enough.” The article contained a report on some meeting, and the author’s attitude towards the described event could be summed up in one phrase: “Holding a meeting? Well, well.”It seems that there is no text provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.Ukhudzhansky read until the very moment of his departure.

One of the escorts, a person with a pink plush nose and velvet temples, uttered a prophecy that terrified everyone.

“I know about those trips,”saidHe went by himself. I know your future. There are about a hundred of you here. In total, you will be traveling for a whole month. Two of you will miss the train at a small, remote station without any money or documents and will catch up with you only a week later, hungry and ragged. Someone will definitely have their suitcase stolen. It might be Palamidov, or Lavouzyan, or Navrotsky. And the one who suffers will complain the whole way.The text for translation: ,.begging the neighbors for a shaving brush. He will return the brush unwashed and will lose the basin. One traveler, of course, will die, and the friends of the deceased, instead of going to the funeral, will be forced to transport the dear ashes to Moscow. It’s very boring and unpleasant to carry ashes. Moreover, there will be a quarrel on the road. Believe me! Someone, at least the same Palamidov or Ukhudzhansky, will commit an anti-social act. And you will judge him for a long time and with great sadness, while he will squeal and moan in denial. I know everything. You are currently wearing hats and caps, but you will return in tubeteikas. The silliest among you will buy a full set of armor from a Bukhara Jew: a velvet hat trimmed with wolf fur and a thick cotton blanket sewn into the shape of a robe. And, of course, every evening you will sing in the carriage “Stenka Razin,” foolishly wailing: “And he throws her overboard into the approaching wave.” What’s more, even foreigners will sing: “Down the mother river, down…”Volga“Sur notre mère Volga,” or “On our mother Volga.”

Lavoisier became enraged and raised his hand against the writing prophet.carТекст для перевода: ..

– You’re envious of us! – he said. – We won’t sing.

– You’ll start singing, my dears. It’s inevitable. I know it all too well.

– Let’s not sing.

– You will. And if you are honest people, then write me a postcard about it immediately.

At that moment, a restrained scream was heard. A photojournalist named Menshov fell from the roof of the luggage car. He had climbed up there to capture the moments of departure. Severalминут.Men’shov was lying on…highon the platform, holding the device above his head. Then he got up, checked the shutter anxiously, and climbed back onto the roof.

“Are you falling?” asked Ukhudshansky, leaning out of the window with a newspaper.

– What kind of fall is this?!“That’s how I fell down the spiral slide in the park,” the photographer said contemptuously.Culturesи.Rest!

“Well, well,” noted the representative of the trade union and disappeared from the window.

Climbing onto the roof and kneeling down, Menshov continued his work. A Norwegian writer, who had already settled his things in the compartment and stepped out onto the platform for a stroll, looked at him with an expression of utmost satisfaction. The writer had light, childlike hair and a large Varangian nose. The Norwegian was so taken with Menshov’s youthful appearance that he felt the need to share his feelings with someone. He quickly approached an elderly worker from Trikhor, pointed his index finger at the man’s chest, and exclaimed piercingly:

– You!!

Then he pointed to his own chest and cried out just as piercingly:

– Me!!

Having exhausted all the Russian words at his disposal, the writer smiled warmly and ran to his carriage, as the second bell had rung. The drummer also ran to his. Menshov descended to the ground. Heads nodded, the last smiles appeared, and he ran past.poet.in a coat with a black velvet collar. When the tail of the train was already swaying on the switch, two correspondent brothers burst out of the buffet car.,.Lev Rubashkin and Yan Skameikin. In Skameikin’s teeth was a Viennese schnitzel. The brothers, jumping like young dogs, raced along the platform, jumped onto the oil-stained ground, and only here, among the sleepers, realized that they couldn’t catch up with the train.

And the train, rushing out of the under-construction Moscow, had already started its deafening song. It clattered on the wheels, laughed maniacally under the bridges, and only after finding itself among the dacha forests did it calm down a bit and pick up speed. It was set to trace a considerable curve on the globe, and it was about to cross several climatic regions.–.to move from the central coolness to the hot desert,–.to pass by many large and small cities and to move Moscow time forward by four hours.

By the evening of the first day, two messengers from the capitalist world arrived at the compartment of the Soviet correspondents: Mr. Heinrich, a representative of a free-thinking Austrian newspaper, and an American named Hiram Burman. They came to introduce themselves. Mr. Heinrich was of short stature. Mr. Burman wore a soft hat with turned-up brims. Both spoke Russian quite fluently and correctly. For a while, everyone stood silently in the corridor, curiously examining each other. To break the ice, they started talking about the Art Theatre. Heinrich praised the theatre, while Mr. Burman evasively remarked that, as a Zionist, he was most interested in the Jewish question in the USSR.

“We no longer have that question,” said Palamidov.

“How can there not be a Jewish question?” Hiram exclaimed in surprise.

– It doesn’t exist.

Mr. Burman was agitated. He had spent his entire life writing articles on the Jewish question for his newspaper, and parting with this issue was difficult for him.was.It hurts.

– But there are Jews in Russia, right? – he said cautiously.

“Yes,” replied Palamidov.

– So, there’s a question?

– No. There are Jews, but no question.нет.Текст для перевода: ..

The electricity that had built up in the train corridor was briefly discharged by the appearance of Ukhudshansky. He was walking to the washbasin with a towel around his neck.

“Are you talking?” he said, swaying from the train’s rapid motion. “Well, well.”Текст для перевода: ..

As he was returning, clean and invigorated, with droplets of water on his temples, a debate had already taken over the entire corridor. The journalists had exited their compartment, a few workers from the neighboring car had appeared, and two more foreigners had arrived.,.an Italian correspondent with a fascist badge depicting a bundle of rods and an axe,in the lapel of the jacket,and a German professor of Oriental studies, who was traveling to the celebration at Vox’s invitation. The scope of the debate was very broad – from the construction of socialism in the USSR to the fashionable men’s berets emerging in the West. And on all points, no matter what they were, disagreements arose.

“Arguing? Well, well,” said Ukhudshansky, walking away to his compartment.

In the general noise, only individual shouts could be distinguished.

– If that’s the case, – said Mr. Geinrich, grabbing the worker Suvorov by his shirt, – then why have you been just talking for thirteen years? Why aren’t you organizing the world revolution that you’ve been talking about so much? So, you can’t? Then stop talking!

– We won’t be staging a revolution for you! You’ll do it yourselves.!

– Me? No, I’m not going to make a revolution.

– Well, they’ll manage without you and won’t ask for your input.

Mr. Hiram Burman stood leaning against the embossed leather wall, watching the arguing parties with indifference. The Jewish question had fallen into some sort of discussion chasm right at the beginning of the conversation, and other topics stirred no emotions in his soul. From the group where a German professor spoke positively about the advantages of Soviet marriage over church marriage, a poetic columnist who went by the pseudonym Gargantua detached himself. He approached the pensive Hiram and began to explain something to him with enthusiasm. Hiram started to listen, but soon realized he couldn’t make out a single word. Meanwhile, Gargantua, adjusting something in Hiram’s attire every few moments—tying his tie, brushing off a speck of lint, fastening and then unfastening a button—spoke quite loudly and seemed even articulate. Yet there was some elusive flaw in his speech that turned words into dust. The situation was made worse by the fact that Gargantua loved to talk and demanded confirmation from his interlocutor after every phrase.

“Isn’t that right?” he said, turning his head as if he were about to peck at some food with his big, nice nose. “Isn’t that correct?”Understood?

Only these words were understandable in the speeches of Gargantua. Everything else blended into a wonderful, persuasive rumble. Mr. Burman, out of politeness, agreed and soon ran away. Everyone agreed with Gargantua, and he considered himself a man capable of convincing anyone of anything.

“See,” he said to Palamidov, “you don’t know how to talk to people. But I convinced him. I just proved it to him, and…”by me.He agreed that there is no longer any Jewish question for us. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that correct?

Palamidov didn’t understand anything and, nodding his head, began to listen intently to the conversation taking place between the German Orientalist and the train conductor. The conductor had long wanted to join the discussion and had only now found a willing listener. After learning the rank, as well as the name and surname of his interlocutor, the conductor set aside his broom and smoothly began:

“You probably haven’t heard, Professor, but in Central Asia, there’s an animal called a camel. It has two humps on its back. I had a friend who worked in the railways, you might have heard of him, Comrade Dolzhnostyuk, a baggage handler. He sat on this camel between the humps and struck it with a whip.”And the camelHe was angry and started to push him with his elbows, almost crushing him completely. However, the official managed to dodge. He was a tough guy, you’ve probably heard of him. Then a camel spat all over his uniform, which had just come back from the dry cleaners…

The evening conversation was winding down. The clash of two worlds ended well. There was somehow no argument.ExistenceIn a letter train of two systems – capitalist and socialist – one had to, whether they wanted to or not,to continueAbout a month ago, the enemy of the world revolution, Mr. Heinrich, told an old travel joke, after which everyone went to the restaurant for dinner, moving from car to car over the rattling metal plates and squinting against the draft. In the restaurant, however, the train’s passengers sat separately. There, over dinner, an inspection took place. Foreign representatives, consisting of correspondents from the largest newspapers and telegraph agencies around the world, were earnestly indulging in bread and wine while politely observing the workers in their boots and the Soviet journalists, who had casually arrived in evening shoes and with only cufflinks instead of ties.

Different people were sitting inin the dining car:and a provincial from New York–.Mr. Burman, and the Canadian girl who had just arrived from across the ocean only an hour before the departure of the sleeper train, still dazedly turning her head over the cutlet in a long metal plate, and a Japanese diplomat, and another younger Japanese man, and Mr. Heinrich, whose yellow eyes…to somethingsmiled, including a young English diplomat with a slim tennis waist, a German Orientalist who patiently listened to the guide’s story about a strange animal with two humps on its back, an American economist, a Czechoslovak, a Pole, and four American correspondents, including a pastor writing for the newspaper of the Young Men’s Christian Association, and a hundred percent American woman from an old pioneer family with a Dutch surname, who became famous last year for missing her train in Mineralnye Vody and, for the sake of publicity, spent some time…was hidingIn the station buffet (this event caused a great stir in the American press. For three days, articles were published under enticing headlines: “Girl from an Ancient Family in the Clutches of Wild Caucasian Mountaineers” and “Death or Ransom”), among many others. Some were hostile towards everything Soviet, while others hoped to quickly unravel the mysterious souls of the Asians.and the third ones, who triedto diligently understand what is ultimately happening incountryAdvice.

The Soviet side was bustling at their tables. The shock workers brought…food.with them in paper bags and settled down for teawith lemonwhite Krupov metal cup holders. The more affluent journalists ordered schnitzels, while Lavouzyan, who was suddenly overcome by an attack of Slavic pride, decided not to embarrass himself in front of the foreigners and demanded kidneys sautéed. He didn’t eat the kidneys, as he had never liked them since childhood, but nevertheless, he puffed up with pride and threw challenging glances at the foreigners. And on the Soviet side, there were various people. There was a worker from Sormovo, sent on the trip by the general assembly, and a builder from…Stalingradof the tractor factory, ten years ago lying in the trenches against Wrangel in the very field where the tractor giant now stands, and a weaver from Serpukhov, interested in the Eastern Railway because it was supposed to speed up the delivery of cotton to the textile regions. Here sat metalworkers from Leningrad, miners from Donbas, a locomotive engineer from Ukraine, and the head of the delegation in a white Russian shirt with a large Bukharan star, awarded for fighting against the emir. How surprised a diplomat with a tennis waist would be if he found out that the small polite poet Gargantua had been captured eight times by various Haidamak atamans and even shot once by the Makhnovists, a fact he preferred not to discuss, as he retained the unpleasant memories of escaping from a mass grave with a bullet wound in his shoulder. Perhaps a representative of the Christian youth would clutch his heart upon discovering that the cheerful Palamidov was the chairman of the army tribunal, while Lavouazyan disguised himself as a woman for the sake of newspaper information.The text for translation: ,.I infiltrated a meeting of Baptist women and wrote a lengthy anti-religious correspondence, noting that none of the Soviet citizens present had baptized their children and that among these creatures…The text for translation: hell.There are even four writers.

Different people were sitting inin the carriage–restaurant.

On the second day, the words of the plush prophet came true. As the train rumbled and puffed its way across the Volga on the Syzran Bridge, the first-class passengers began to sing a song about the Volga hero in unpleasant urban voices. They tried not to look each other in the eye. In the neighboring carriage, foreigners, who knew exactly where and what was appropriate to sing, enthusiastically performed “Hey,полным,
полнымa “box” with no less
strange a chorus as “Eh, let’s have a drink!”. No one sent postcards to the person with the plush nose; it felt too shameful. Only Ukhudshansky held on. He didn’t sing along with everyone. When the singing frenzy took over the train, he was the only one silent, tightly
clenchinglips.and pretending to read “A Complete Geographical Description of Our Homeland.” He was strictly punished. A musical paroxysm struck him at night, far beyond Samara. At the midnight hour, when the extraordinary train was already asleep, a wavering voice emerged from Ukhudshansky’s compartment: “There is a cliff on the Volga, overgrown with wild moss.” The journey took its course.

Later, when Ukhudshansky had also fallen asleep, the door from the landing opened, and for a moment, the sound of free-rolling wheels could be heard. Ostap Bender entered the empty, gleaming corridor, looking around. For a second, he hesitated,later.He sleepily waved his hand and opened the first door he came across. In the light of the blue night lamp, Gargantua, Ukhudshansky, and photographer Menshov were sleeping. The fourth, upper bunk was empty. The Great Combinator didn’t hesitate. Feeling weak in his legs after the long wanderings, irretrievable losses, and two hours of standing on the train’s step, he climbed up.From thereA wonderful vision appeared – by the window, on a small table, with its legs sticking up like shafts, lay a pale boiled chicken.

“I am following the wrong path of Panikovsky,” Ostap whispered.

With these words, he lifted the chicken to himself and ate it without bread and salt. He stuffed the bones under a hard canvas roll. He fell asleep happy undersqueakingbreathing in the unique railway smell of paint.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

At night, Ostap dreamed of the sad, blurred face of Zosia, and then Panikovsky appeared. The convention violator was wearing a cab driver’s hat with a feather and, wringing his hands, said, “Bender! Bender! You don’t know what a chicken is! It’s a wonderful, fat bird, a chicken!” Ostap didn’t understand and got angry: “What chicken? Your specialty is goose!” But Panikovsky insisted, “Chicken, chicken, chicken!”

Bender woke up. He saw the ceiling low above him, curved like a lid.grandmother’sthe trunk. Right at the nose of the great combinator, a luggage net was twitching. The compartment was very bright. Inpartially loweredHot air from the Orenburg steppe was rushing through the window.

– Chicken! – came a voice from below. – Where has my chicken gone? There’s no one else in the compartment.!.Isn’t that right? Excuse me, whose legs are those?

Ostap closed his eyes with his hand and immediately recalled with displeasure that Panikovsky used to do the same when trouble was looming. Lowering his hand, the great combinator saw…two.heads that appeared at the level of his shelf.

“Are you sleeping? Well, well,” said the first head.

“Tell me, dear,” the second one said kindly, “did you eat my chicken? That’s right, isn’t it? Correct?”

The photojournalist Menshov sat below, with both arms plunged up to the elbow in a black photographic bag. He was reloading the film cartridges.At the same time, his expression was thoughtful, as if he were peering under a skirt.

– Yes, –provocativelyOstap said, “I ate it.”

“Thank you!” Gargantua suddenly exclaimed. “I didn’t even know what to do with it. It’s so hot, the chicken could spoil. Right? It’s a shame to throw it away! Isn’t that so?”

“Of course,” Ostap said cautiously, “I’m very glad that I could do you this small favor.”

– Which newspaper are you from? – asked the photojournalist, continuing to rummage through his bag with a languid smile. – You didn’t get on in Moscow, did you?

– I see you’re a photographer, – said Ostap, avoiding a direct answer, – I knew a provincial photographer who would only open canned goods under red light, afraid they would spoil otherwise.

Men’shov laughed. The new passenger’s joke appealed to him. And that morning, no one else asked the great schemer any tricky questions. He jumped off the couch and, stroking his cheeks, which had grown a bandit stubble over the past three days, looked questioningly at the good-natured Gargantua. The poetic journalist unpacked his suitcase, took out a razor, and, handing it to Ostap, explained something for a long time, pecking at invisible feed and constantly seeking confirmation of his words.

While Ostap was shaving, washing, and getting ready, Menshov, who was strapped with photographic belts, spread the news throughout the carriage that a new provincial correspondent was traveling in their compartment. He had caught up with the train at night by airplane and had eaten a chicken the size of Gargantua. The story about the chicken sparked a lot of excitement. Almost all the correspondents had brought homemade snacks for the journey: pastries, minced cutlets, loaves of bread, and hard-boiled eggs. No one touched this food. The correspondents preferred to go to the restaurant. Just as Bender finished his grooming, a plump writer in a soft children’s jacket appeared in the compartment. He placed twelve eggs on the table in front of Ostap and said:

“Eat up. These are eggs. If eggs exist, then someone must be eating them, right?”

Then the writer looked out the window, gazed at the warty steppe, and said with bitterness:

– The desert is a waste! But it exists. And we have to deal with that.

He was a philosopher. After listening to Ostap’s gratitude, the writer shook his head and went back to finish his story. Being a punctual person, he firmly decided to write at least one story every day. He adhered to this decision with the diligence of a top student. Apparently, he was inspired by the thought that since paper exists, someone must be writing on it.

The philosopher’s example was followed by other passengers. Navrotsky brought stuffed peppers in a jar, Lavouzyan had cutlets with newspaper clippings stuck to them, Sapegin brought herring and pastries, and Dnestrov had a glass of apple jam. Others came as well, but Ostap stopped the reception.

“I can’t, I can’t, my friends,” he said, “do me a favor, since everyone is piling on.”

He really liked the correspondents. Ostap was ready to feel touched, but he had eaten so much that he was unable to indulge in any feelings at all. He struggled to climb onto his sofa and fell asleep.there.almost all day.

The third day of the journey was passing. The lettered train
was languishing in anticipation of events. The Main Line was still far away, and there was nothing noteworthy to see.Text for translation: more.It didn’t happen, and yet the Moscow correspondents, drained by necessity…trifleThey glanced at each other suspiciously.

“Has anyone found out anything and sent a lightning bolt about it to their editorial office?”

Finally, Lavoisier couldn’t hold back and sent a telegram message:

“We passed Orenburg. The locomotive’s chimney is belching smoke.
Please send instructions for the Aral Sea, Lavoisier.”

The mystery was soon revealed, and at the very next station, a line formed at the telegraph window. Everyone sentshortmessages about a cheerful mood and the whistle of a steam locomotive, from which smoke is billowing.

For foreigners, a wide field of activity opened up immediately beyond Orenburg when they saw their first camel, the first yurt, and the first Kazakh in a pointed fur hat with a whip in hand. At the station where the train happened to stop, at least twenty cameras were aimed at the camel’s face. The exotic began: ships of the desert, free-spirited sons of the steppes, and other romantic attractions.

An American woman from an old family stepped out of the carriage wearing round sunglasses with dark lenses. She was also shielded from the sunlight by a green umbrella. A gray-haired American was filming her for a long time with a hand-held Aymo camera. At first, she stood next to a camel, then in front of it, and finally on it, settling between the humps that the guide had described so warmly. The small and angry Heinrich was darting through the crowd, telling everyone:

“Keep an eye on her, or she might accidentally get stuck at the station, and there will be another sensation in the American press: ‘Brave correspondent in the clutches of a crazed camel.’”

The Japanese diplomat stood just a couple of steps away from the Kazakh. They both silently looked at each other. They had completely identical, slightly flattened faces, stiff mustaches, yellow, polished skin, and swollen, narrow eyes. They could have passed for twins if the Kazakh weren’t wearing a sheepskin coat cinched with a cotton sash, while the Japanese man was in a gray London suit, and if the Kazakh hadn’t only started reading last year, while the Japanese man…graduatedTwenty years ago, two universities – one in Tokyo and the other in Paris. The diplomat stepped back, leaned his head toward the mirror and clicked the shutter. The Kazakh laughed and sat on his rough little horse.and buriedto the steppe.

But already at the next station, new elements entered the romantic narrative. Behind the station building lay red cylindrical barrels – metal containers for fuel, a new wooden structure was yellowing, and in front of it, heavily embedded in the ground by its tracks, stretched a line of tractors. On a lattice stack of railway ties stood a female tractor driver in black work pants and felt boots. Here, Soviet correspondents took their chance. Holding their cameras at eye level, they began to approach the girl. Leading the way was Men’shov. He held an aluminum cassette in his teeth and moved like a runner making a dash in a relay. But while the camel posed for the photo with a full awareness of its right to fame, the tractor driver was more modest. She calmly endured about five shots before blushing and walking away. The photographers turned their attention to the tractors. By the way, on the horizon, behind the machines, a line of camels was visible. All of this – tractors and camels – fit perfectly into the frame titled “Old and New” or “Who…whom.It seems that there is no text provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

Ostap woke up before sunset. The train continued to run through the desert. In the corridorran.Lavoisier, encouraging his comrades to publish a special train newspaper. He even came up with a name for it.–.“At full speed.”

“Well, what kind of title is that!” said Ostap. “I once saw a wall newspaper from a fire brigade, and it was called ‘From Fire to Flames.’ Now that was on point.”

– You are a professional writer.?.“Admit it, you’re just too lazy to write for the train-going public!” shouted Lavoisier.!

The great combinator did not deny that he was a professional in the art of writing. If necessary, he could explain without hesitation what organ of the press he represented on this train – “The Black Sea Newspaper.” However, there was no particular need for that, as the train was special and was not visited by angry inspectors with their nickel-plated pincers. But Lavouzyan was already sitting with his typewriter.with a machineIn the car of shock workers, where his proposal caused a commotion. An old man from Trehgorka was already writing a note with a chemical pencil about the need to organize an evening of experience exchange and literary reading on the train. They were already looking for a caricaturist and had mobilized Navrotsky to collect a survey on which enterprise among those represented by the delegates had best fulfilled the production financial plan.

In the evening, in the compartment of Gargantua, Menshova, Ukhudshansky, and Bender, a multitude of newspaper articles gathered.peopleThey were sitting closely together, six people on a small couch. Heads and legs dangled over the sides. The refreshingly cool night provided relief to the journalists, who had suffered all day from the heat, and the rhythmic sound of the wheels, which had not ceased for three days, fostered a sense of camaraderie. They talked about the Eastern Highway, reminisced about their editors and secretaries, shared stories of funny newspaper blunders, and collectively chastised Ukhudshansky for lacking a journalistic flair. Ukhudshansky raised his head high and replied with a sense of superiority:

– Are you gossiping? Well, well.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

In the midst of the festivities, Mr. Heinrich arrived.

“Let the capital mercenary in,” he said briskly.

Heinrich settled on the knees of the fat writer, which made the writer grunt and stoically think, “Since I have knees, someone must sit on them, right? And here he is.”

“Well, how is socialism built?” the representative of the free-thinking newspaper asked boldly.

Somehow it happened that all the foreign travelers were treated politely, adding tosurnames“Mr.,” “Herr,” or “Signor,” but the correspondent of the free-thinking newspaper was simply called Heinrich, regarded as a chatterbox and not taken seriously. Therefore, in response to the straightforward question, Palamidov replied:

– Heinrich! You’re wasting your time! You’re just going to start criticizing the Soviet government again, which is boring and uninteresting. Besides, we can hear that from the grumpy old lady in line.

“Not at all,” Heinrich said, “I want to tell a biblical story about Adam and Eve. May I?”

“Listen, Heinrich, why do you speak Russian so well?” asked Sapegin.

– I learned in Odessa when I…1918.In the year, the army of General von Belts occupied this charming city. I was then serving with the rank of lieutenant. You,probablyHave you heard about von Belts?

– Not only did we hear, – said Palamidov, – but we also saw. Your von Belts was lying in his golden office in the palace of the commander of the Odessa Military District with a bullet wound to his head. He shot himself.when I found outthat a revolution has taken place in your homeland.

At the word “revolution,” Mr. Heinrich…not cheerfulsmiled and said:

– The general was true to his oath.

“Why didn’t you shoot yourself, Heinrich?” someone asked from the top shelf. “How did it go with the oath?”

“Well, are you going to listen to a biblical story?” the representative of the free-thinking newspaper said irritably.

However, he was still interrogated for some time about the oath, and only when he became completely offended and was about to leave did they agree to listen to his story.

Mr. Heinrich’s Tale of Adam and Eve

There was, gentlemen, a young man in Moscow, a Komsomol member. His name was Adam. And there was a young girl in the same city, a Komsomol member as well, named Eva. One day, these young people decided to take a stroll in the Moscow paradise – in the Park.Culturesи.RestI don’t know what they were talking about. Usually, young people discuss love. But your Adam and Eve were Marxists and might have been talking about world revolution. In any case, it turned out that while strolling through the former Neskuchny Garden, they sat down on the grass under a tree. I don’t know what kind of tree it was. Perhaps it was the tree of knowledge of good and evil. But Marxists, as you know, don’t care for mysticism. They probably thought it was just a simple rowan tree. As they continued their conversation, Eve plucked a branch from the tree and gave it to Adam. But then a man appeared, whom the unimaginative young Marxists took for a gardener. Meanwhile, this was likely an angel with a flaming sword. Grumbling and complaining, the angel took Adam and Eve to the office to file a report for the damage done to the garden. This trivial domestic incident distracted the young people from high politics, and Adam saw that the tender Eve was standing before him, while Eve noticed that the courageous Adam was before her. And the young people fell in love with each other. Three years later, they already had two sons.

Upon reaching this place, Mr. Heinrich unexpectedlyfell silent, stuffing soft striped cuffs into the sleeves.

“Well, and what then?” asked Lavouazyan.

– And that’s because, – Heinrich said proudly, – one son is named Cain and the other Abel, and that after a certain time, Cain will kill Abel, Abraham will give birth to Isaac, Isaac will give birth to Jacob, and in general, the entire biblical story will start all over again, and no amount of Marxism can change that. Everything repeats itself. There will be a flood, there will be Noah with his three sons, and Ham will insult Noah, there will be the Tower of Babel, which will never be completed, gentlemen. And so on. Nothing new will happen in the world. So you are wasting your time.boil yourselvesabout a new life.

And Heinrich leaned back contentedly, pressing the narrow herring-like back against the broad, good-natured writer.

“All of this would be wonderful,” said Palamidov, “if it were backed by evidence. But you can’t prove anything. You just want it to be that way. I can’t forbid you from believing in miracles.”“that you are only hoping for,”There is no need. Believe, pray.

– Do you have any evidence that it will be different? – exclaimed the representative of the free-thinking newspaper.

“Yes,” replied Palamidov, “you will see one of them the day after tomorrow at the junction of the Eastern Highway.”

– Well, here we go.,.– grumbled Heinrich. – Construction! Factories! Five-Year Plan! Why are you shoving your iron in my face? The spirit is what matters! Everything will repeat itself! There will be a Thirty Years’ War, and a Hundred Years’ War, and once again they will burn people who dare to say that the earth is round. And once again, the poor will be deceived.Якова., forcing him to work for seven years for free and substituting his beautiful, busty wife with an unattractive, nearsighted one named Lia.RebeccaEverything, everything will happen again! AndEternal Jewwill continue to wander the earth…

– Eternalliquid“I will never wander again!” said the great schemer suddenly, surveying the gathered crowd with a cheerful glance.

“Can you also provide evidence for this within two days?” Heinrich exclaimed.

– Right now, if you’d like, – Ostap replied politely. – If society permits, I will tell you about what happened to the so-called eternal Jew.

The society readily allowed it. Everyone got ready to listen to the story of the new passenger, and Ukhudshansky even remarked, “Are you going to tell us? Well, well.”

And the great schemer began.

The story of Ostap Bender about the Eternal Jew

I won’t remind you of the long and tedious story of the Eternal Jew. I’ll just say that for about two thousand years, this tiresome old man has been wandering the world, not checking into hotels and annoying citizens with his complaints about high train fares, which forced him to walk. He has been seen many times. He was present at the historic meeting where Columbus failed to account for the advance sums taken for the discovery of America. As a young man, he witnessed the burning of Rome. About one hundred and fifty years ago…livedin India,
extraordinarystrikingthe yogi with his resilience and grumpy nature. In a word, the old man could have shared many interesting stories if he had written memoirs at the end of each century. But the EternalliquidHe was illiterate and also had a leaky memory.

Not long ago, an old man lived in the beautiful city of Rio de Janeiro, sipping soft drinks, watching the ocean liners, and strolling under the palm trees in white pants.–.He bought these pants by chance eight hundred years ago.The text for translation: ,.in Palestine, at some knight’s place,recapturingthe coffin of the Lord, and they were still quite new. Suddenly, the old man became anxious. He felt a longing for Russia, for the Dnieper. He had been everywhere: on the Rhine, the Ganges, the Mississippi, the Yangtze, the Niger, and the Volga. But he had never been to the Dnieper. He wanted, you see, to take a look.и.to this wide river.

Right in1919.Eternal yearliquidIn his knightly pants, he illegally crossed the Romanian border. It goes without saying that on his stomach he has…storedeight pairs of silk stockings and a bottle of Parisian perfume that a lady from Chișinău asked to be sent to her relatives in KyivТекст для перевода: ..In those turbulent times, carrying contraband on the belly was called…:.“to carry in
the parking lot.” The old man was quickly trained in this matter in Chișinău. When the Eternal…liquidHaving completed his task, he stood on the banks of the Dnieper, his unkempt green beard hanging down. A man approached him, wearing yellow and blue epaulettes and a military uniform, and asked sternly:

– Liquid?

– Jew, – replied the old man.

“Well, let’s go,” invited the man in the epaulettes.

And he led him to the village chieftain.

– They caught the Jew, – he reported, nudging the old man with his knee.

“Jew?” the ataman asked with cheerful surprise.

– A Jew, – replied the wanderer.

– Well, put him against the wall, – said the hut tenderly.

“But I am Eternal!” the old man shouted.

For two thousand years, he had impatiently awaited death, but now, all of a sudden, he really wanted to live.

“Shut up, you Jewish face!” the cheerful Cossack chieftain shouted. “Chop him up, lads!”

И.eternalThe traveler is gone.

“That’s it,” concluded Ostap.

“I believe, Mr. Heinrich, that as a former lieutenant of the Austrian army, you are familiar with the behavior of your Petliura friends?” said Palamidov.

Heinrich didn’t say anything and left immediately. At first, everyone thought he was offended, but by the next day, it became clear that the correspondent from the Soviet train had headed off to a free-thinking newspaper.The text for translation: k.to Mr. Hiram Burman, to whom I sold the story of the EternalThe text for translation: “жиде.”

This word does not have a direct translation in English as it appears to be a misspelling or a non-standard term. If you meant “жид” (which can be a derogatory term for a Jewish person), it is important to note that such terms can be offensive and should be used with caution. If you have a specific context or meaning in mind, please provide more details for a more accurate translation.for forty dollars. And Hiram sent Ostap Bender’s story to his newspaper via telegraph at the very first station.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

On the morning of the fourth day of the journey, the train headed east. The desert was behind them. Thunderously rolling past the snowy ranges of the Himalayas, over artificial structures (bridges, pipes for spring runoff, etc.), and casting a delicate shadow on the mountain streams, the passenger train sped past a small town under the poplars and circled for a long time at the foot of a large snow-covered mountain. Unable to conquer the pass all at once, the train bounced towards the mountain from both the right and the left, turned back, puffed, returned again, rubbed its dusty green sides against the mountain, and cleverly maneuvered – and finally burst forth into the open. After working diligently with its wheels, the train proudly came to a stop at the last station before the start of the Eastern Highway.

In the clubs of amazing sunlight, against the backdrop of aluminum mountains, stood a locomotive the color of young grass. It was a gift from the station workers to the new railway.

For quite a long time, our gift-giving for celebrations and anniversaries was not going well. We usually ended up giving either a very small model of a steam locomotive, about the size of a cat, or, on the contrary, a chisel that was larger than a telegraph pole. This painful transformation of small items into large ones and vice versa took up a lot of time and money. The useless little locomotives gathered dust on the office cabinets, while the gigantic chisel, transported on two vans, rusted away senselessly and wildly in the yard of the anniversary institution.

But the OV locomotive, freshly released from major repairs, was of completely normal size, and it was clear that the chisel used during its repair was also of ordinary dimensions. The beautiful gift was immediately hitched to a train, and the “sheep,” as the OV series locomotives are commonly referred to in the exclusion zone, rolled towards the southern terminus of the Mainline – the Gornaya station, carrying a banner that read “Let’s have a coupling!”

Exactly two years ago, the first black and blue rail was laid down here.NadezhdinskySince then, fiery strips of rails have been continuously rolling out of the factory’s rolling mills. The main line demanded more and more of them. The laying teams, coming towards each other, even organized a competition and picked up such a pace that all the material suppliers had a tough time keeping up.

Evening at the Mountain Station,illuminatedwith pink and green rockets, was so
good that the old-timers, if they hadText for translation: here.there were, of course,claimedThey won’t remember such an evening.happinessIn the Mountain region, there were no old-timers. Back in 1928, there were not only no old-timers here, but also no houses, no station buildings, no railway tracks, and no wooden triumphal arch with fluttering slogans and flags, near which a passenger train had stopped.

While the meeting was taking place under the kerosene lamps and the crowd gathered around the podium, photojournalist Menshov, with two cameras, a tripod, and a magnesium flash, circled around the arch. The arch seemed perfect for the photographer; it would look great in the shot. However, the train, which was about twenty steps away, would appear too small. If he shot from the train’s side, the arch would look tiny. In such cases, Muhammad usually went to the mountain, fully aware that the mountain wouldn’t come to him. But Menshov did what seemed simplest to him. He asked for the train to be brought under the arch in the same casual tone one might use to ask someone to move a little in a tram. Additionally, he insisted that thick white steam billow from the locomotive’s chimney. He also demanded that the engineer bravely look out the window into the distance, shielding his eyes with his hand. The railway workers were taken aback and, thinking that this was indeed what was needed, complied with his request. The train clanked its way to the arch, the required steam poured from the chimney, and the engineer, leaning out the window, made a fierce face. Then Menshov produced such a flash of magnesium that the ground trembled and dogs barked for a hundred kilometers around. After taking the shot, the photographer dryly thanked the railway staff and hurried back to his compartment.

Late at night, the sleeper train was already traveling along the Eastern Highway. When the passengers settled down to sleep, the photographer Menshov stepped out into the corridor of the carriage and, addressing no one in particular, said mournfully:

– Strange case! It turns out I recorded that cursed arch on a blank tape! So nothing came of it.

“Not a problem,” replied Lavoisier with a hint of participation, “it’s a trivial matter. Just ask the engineer, and he’ll provide it right away.”backIn just three hours, you’ll be back in Gornaya and will take your photo again. As for the bow, it can be postponed for a day.

“Not a chance you’ll get that now!” the photographer said sadly. “I’ve run out of magnesium, otherwise I would have had to come back.”

Journey through the Easthighwaysbrought great joy to the master of manipulation. Every hour brought him closer tonorthernthe settlement where Koreiko was located. Ostap liked the literary passengers. They were young, cheerful people, free from the bureaucratic madness that so distinguished his Hercules acquaintances. For complete happiness, he lacked money. He ate the provisions that had been given to him, but forcarriageThe restaurant needed cash. At first, Ostap, when his new friends dragged him to lunch, made excuses about not having an appetite, but soon realized that he couldn’t go on like this. For a while, he observed Ukhudshansky, who spent the whole day by the window in the hallway, watching the telegraph poles and the birds that flew off the wire. Meanwhile, a light satirical smile played on Ukhudshansky’s lips.,
he.threw back his headback.and whispered to the birds, “You’re fluttering? Well, well.” Ostap stretched his curiosity to the point of even reading Ukhudshansky’s article “Improving the Work of Shop Commissions.” After that, Bender still…раз.He looked the peculiar journalist up and down, gave a sinister smile, and, feeling the familiar excitement of a hunter, locked himself in the compartment.

He came out of there only after three hours, holding a large…,.a ruled sheet of paper, like a ledger.

“Are you writing?” Ukhudshansky asked weakly.

– Just for you, – replied the great schemer. – I notice that you are constantly tormented by the pains of creativity. Writing, of course, is very difficult. I, as an old hand and your fellow writer, can attest to that. But I…my dear shepherd,I invented a thing that eliminates the need to wait for you.will coversweaty shaftinspirationHere. Please take a look.

And Ostap handed Ukhudshansky a sheet on which it was written:

Ceremonial set

An indispensable guide for writing anniversary articles, table feuilletons, as well as ceremonial poems, odes, and tropes.

Section I. Dictionary

Nouns

1. Clicks

2. The Workers

3. Dawn

4. Life

5. Lighthouse

6. Mistakes

7. Flag

8. Baal

9. Moloch

10. Servant

11. Hour

12. The Enemy

13. Step

14. Shaft

15. Sands

16. Jump

17. Horse

18. Heart

19. The Past

Adjectives

Imperialist

2. Capitalist

3. Historical

4. The Last

5. Industrial

6. Steel

7. Iron

Verbs

1. To blaze

2. To soar (up) / To flare up

3. Identify

4. To be born

5. To rise (up)

6. To be accomplished / To be fulfilled

7. Sing

8. To slander

9. To screech

10. To threaten

Artistic epithets

1. Malicious

2. Zubovny

Other parts of speech

Ninth

12th

Let it be!

Let it be!

5. Forward!

[Interjections, prepositions, conjunctions, commas, ellipses,
exclamation marks, quotation marks, etc.]

P r i m e c. Commasto putbefore “that,” “which,” and “if.”A point with
a comma – before “but”.Ellipses, exclamation marks, and quotation marks – wherever possible.

Section II. Creative Part

(Use the materials from the section)Iго.).

§ 1. Leading Article

The Ninth Wave

Easternmain road, thisthe iron horse, which, kicking up the steel sands of the past, shapes the march of history, revealing yet another grinding of the teeth of the slandering enemy, against whom the ninth wave is already rising, threatening the twelfth hour, the last hour for the servants of the imperialist Moloch, this capitalist Baal; but,.Despite the mistakes, let the flags at the lighthouse of industrialization flutter and rise, blazing under the calls of the workers, as the dawn of a new life emerges to the song of hearts.;Go ahead!

§ 2. Artistic essay-satire

Let it be!..

– ForwardThe text for translation: !…

He burns under the clicks of the workers…

He.causesthe dawn of a new life…

– Lighthouse!

Industrialization!.

Let there be individual mistakes. Let it be. But just look at how they flutter… how they soar… how these banners rise.The text for translation: !…These flags!..

Let it be.– Hail to the capital of capitalism! Let it be – Moloch of imperialism! Let it be!

But the servants are already being summoned:

– The last wave!

– It’s nine o’clock!

– The Twelfth Baal!

Let them slander. Let them gnash. Let the malicious dental enemy reveal itself.!

A historic march is taking place. The sands of the past are being stirred up by the clatter of steel.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

This is the “iron horse”!

This is:.

– Eastern

– Main road!

“Heartbeats sing”…

§ 3. Artistic. Poem

A) The Thirteenth Wave

Hearts sing beneath the roar of days,

The lighthouse trembles in the dawn.

Let there be industries of lights.

The wicked enemy trembles.

The iron horse carries forward.

The story of how to soar.

The family of workers is being carried.

Identify errors.

The last hour is soaring.The text for translation: ,.

The ninth wave blushed,

The twelfth hour is upon us.

to you.,.Moloch-Baal!.

B) Eastern variant

The apricot tree blooms amidst the thunder of days,

The village trembles at dawn,

And among the ditches and alleys

A donkey is going for a walk.

Asian ornament

1. Dried apricots

2. Ditch (canal)

3. Donkey

4. Plov (dish)

5. Bai (a bad person)

6. Basmach (a bad person)

7. Jackal (animal)

8. Kishlak (village)

9. Bowl (cup)

10. Madrasah (spiritual school)

11. Ichigi (footwear)

12. Shaitan (devil)

13. Cart

14..Shaitan-Arba(Central Asian Railway)

15..Yours and mine.don’t understand (expression)

16. Little by little

Addition

Using materialsSection Igoon methodsSection IINovels, stories, prose poems, short stories, everyday sketches, literary reports, chronicles, and epics are also composed.plays.,.political reviews, playing political fantasies, radio oratories, etc.

When Ukhudshansky familiarized himself with the contents of the document, his previously dull eyes lit up. He had been occupied until now with reports on meetings,suddenly opened sparklingstylistic heights.

– And for everything – twenty-five tugriks, twenty-five Mongolian rubles, – said the great schemer impatiently, tormented by hunger.

“I don’t have any Mongolian ones,” said the employee of the trade union organization, not letting go of the “Ceremonial Set.”

Ostap agreed to take ordinary rubles, invited Gargantua, whom he already referred to as “godfather and benefactor,” and together they headed to the dining car. He was serveda vodka decanter, gleaming with ice and mercurya salad and a large, heavy cutlet that resembled a horseshoe. After the vodka, which caused a slight dizziness in his head, the great schemer mysteriously informed his friend and benefactor that innorthernIn the settlement, he hopes to find a person who owes him a small amount. Then he will gather all the correspondents for a feast. To this, Gargantua responded with a long, persuasive speech, which, as usual, was completely incomprehensible. Ostap called over the waiter, asked if he was bringing champagne, how many bottles he had, what other delicacies were available, in what quantities, and that all this information was necessary.him.because in about two days he intends to host a banquet for his fellow writers. The caterer stated that everything possible will be done.

– According to the laws of hospitality, – he added for some reason.

As the train approached the meeting point with the nomads, the number of them increased. They descended from the hills, heading straight for the train, wearing hats that resembled Chinese pagodas. The freight train, rumbling, plunged into the rocky porphyry cuts, passed the new three-span bridge, the last truss of which had only been installed yesterday, and began to tackle the famous Crystal Pass. It became famous because of…builders, having completed all demolition and installation work in three months instead of the eight originally planned.

The train gradually became more homely. The foreigners, who had left Moscow in stiff collars that seemed to be made of pharmacy porcelain, heavy silk ties, and wool suits, began to loosen up. The heat was overwhelming. The first to change his attire was one of the Americans. Chuckling shyly, he stepped out of his carriage in a strange outfit. He wore thick yellow shoes, stockings and knickerbockers, horn-rimmed glasses, and a Russian kosovorotka of the grain procurement style, embroidered with cross-stitch. And the hotter it got, the fewer foreigners there were.remainedwith the idea of the European suit. Kosovorotkas, apashkas, geishas, fantasy shirts, hoodies, faux hoodies, and half-hoodies, Odessa sandals and slippers completely transformed the workers of the press in the capitalist world. They acquired a striking resemblance.с.with old Soviet officials, and they were painfully eager to clean up, to pry into what they had been doing before 1917, whether they were bureaucrats, whether they were scatterbrains, and how well-off their relatives were.

The diligent “sheep,” adorned with flags and garlands, pulled the lettered train into the station of Gremyashchiy Klyuch late at night, a place of junction. The cameramen were lighting Roman candles.При.In the harsh white light stood the construction chief, anxiously watching the train. The carriages were dark; everyone was asleep. Only the government salon glowed with its large square windows. Its door swung open quickly, and a government official jumped down to the low ground.

The head of the Railway stepped forward, saluted, and delivered the report that the entire country had been waiting for. The Eastern Railway, which connected Siberia and Central Asia directly, was completed a year ahead of schedule.

When the formalities were completed, the report submitted and accepted, two middle-aged and unsentimental people kissed.

All the correspondents, both Soviet and foreign, and Lavouziyan, who impatiently sent a telegram about the smoke coming from the locomotive’s chimney, and the Canadian girl who rushed over from across the ocean – they were all asleep. Only Palamidov was darting around the fresh embankment, searching for the telegraph. He calculated that if he sent the telegram immediately, it would appear in the morning edition. And in the black desert, he found a hastily built telegraph hut.

“In the brilliance of the stars,” he wrote, angry at the pencil, “the report on the completion of the railway was submitted at the historic kiss of the railway chief and a member of the government, Palamidov.”

The editorial team published the first part of the telegram, but they cut out the kiss. The editor said it was inappropriate for a government official to kiss.and
that Palamidov probably liedТекст для перевода: ..

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The sun rose over the hilly desert at 5:02:46. Ostap got up a minute later. Photojournalist Menshov was already strapping on his bags and belts. He wore his cap backward so the brim wouldn’t obstruct his view of the viewfinder. The photographer had a big day ahead of him. Ostap was also hoping for a big day and, without even washing his face, jumped out of the train car. He took the yellow folder with him.

The arriving trains with guests from Moscow, Siberia, and Central Asia formed streets and alleys. Trains approached the platform from all sides, and the locomotives were hissing.и.The white fog lingered over the long canvas banner: “The Highway – the first offspring of the five-year plan.”

While everyone was still asleep and the cool wind rustled the flags on the empty grandstand, Ostap saw that the clear horizon of the heavily undulating terrain was suddenly darkened by clouds of dust. Sharp-tipped hats emerged from behind the hills on all sides. Thousands of riders, sitting in wooden saddles and urging their shaggy horses, hurried towards the wooden arrow, located at the very spot that had been designated two years ago as the site for the future junction.

The nomads traveled in entire auls. The heads of families rode on horseback, while the wives and children rode in groups of three.рысилиon their own horses, and even the angry mothers-in-law sent their loyal steeds ahead, spurring them with their heels. The mounted groups whirled in the dust, raced across the field with red flags, stretched out on the stirrups, and, turning sideways, curiously surveyed the wonders. There were many wonders – trains, tracks, dapper figures of cameramen, a makeshift dining hall that had unexpectedly sprung up in the open, and loudspeakers from which a fresh voice called out, “one, two, three, four, five, six.”The text for translation: ,.the readiness of the radio installation was checked. Two construction camps, two mobile construction enterprises with material warehouses, dining facilities, offices, baths, and housing for workers stood facing each other in front of the podium, separated only by twenty meters of sleepers, not yet fastened with rails. Here, the last rail will be laid, and the final spike will be driven in. In my mindsouthernIn the town, there was a poster that read: “Let’s have the North!” in my mind.northern“Let’s go South!”

The workers from both towns mixed together in a jumble. They met for the first time, although they had known and remembered each other since the very beginning of the construction, when they were separated by fifteen hundred kilometers of desert, rocks, lakes, and rivers. The competition in their work accelerated their meeting by a year. In the last month, the rails were being laid down in a hurry. Both the North and the South were eager to outpace each other and be the first to enter the Thunderous Key. The North won. Now, the leaders of both towns, one in a graphite hoodie and the other in a white traditional shirt, were chatting amicably by the switch, and on the face of the Northern leader, against his will, a snake-like smile occasionally appeared. He hurried to suppress it and praised the South, but the smile would rise again, lifting his sun-bleached mustache.

Ostap ran towards the train cars of the northern town, but the town was empty. All its residents had gone to the podium, where musicians were already seated. Burning their lips on the hot metal mouthpieces, they played the overture. Soviet journalists occupied the left wing of the podium. Lavouzyan, leaning over, begged Menshov to capture him in the line of duty. But Menshov was not interested. He was filming the workers of the Highway in groups and alone, making the crutch users swing their hammers and the shovelers lean on their shovels. Foreigners sat in the right wing. In addition to the literary correspondents, there were also the Chinese, Afghan, and Persian consuls. At the entrances to the podium, Red Army soldiers checked invitation tickets. Ostap had no ticket. The train commandant issued them according to a list, and O. Bender, the representative of the “Black Sea Newspaper,” was not on it. Gargantua called the great combinator up, shouting, “Isn’t that right? Isn’t that correct?” Ostap shook his head negatively, his eyes scanning the podium, which was tightly packed with heroes and guests.

In the front row, the timekeeper of the Northern Laying Town, Alexander Koreyko, sat calmly. To protect himself from the sun, he had covered his head with a newspaper tricorn hat. He leaned forward slightly to hear the first speaker better, who was already making his way to the microphone.

– Alexander Ivanovich! – shouted Ostap, cupping his hands like a trumpet.

Koreiko looked down and got up. The musicians started playing the “Internationale,” but the wealthy clerk listened to the anthem inattentively. The absurd figure of the great schemer,runningThe area cleared for the last rails immediately stripped him of his peace of mind. He looked over the heads of the crowd, trying to figure out where to run. But all around him was a desert.

Fifteen thousand horsemen continuouslyрысилиback and forth, they crossed the cold river on foot dozens of times, and only by the start of the rally did they settle in on horseback.Building.behind the stands. And some, shy and proud, spent the whole day lingering on the hilltops, not daring to get closer to the buzzing and roaring rally.

The builders of the Highway celebrated their victory loudly and joyfully, with shouts, music, and tossing their favorites and heroes into the air. Rails flew through the air with a clatter. In a moment, they were laid down, and the laying workers, who had driven in millions of spikes, ceded the right to the final blows to their supervisors.

– According to the laws of hospitality, – said the buffet attendant, sitting with the cooks on the roof of the dining car.

The engineer in a red banner shifted a large felt hat onto the back of his head, grabbed a long-handled hammer, and, making a crying face, struck it straight down onto the ground. The friendly laughter of the crutch-makers, among whom were strongmen,“scoring” or “scored” (depending on the context)A crutch with one blow accompanied this operation. However, soft hits against the ground…soonwere interspersed with the ringing,
testifying that the hammer sometimes came into contact with the crutch.
The secretaries of the regional committee, government members, heads of the North
and South, and guests were swinging their hammers.–drummersThe very last prop was nailed into the sleeper by the construction manager in about half an hour.

The speeches began. They were delivered twice – in Kazakh and in Russian.

“Comrades,” the foreman said slowly, trying not to look at the Order of the Red Banner that had just been pinned to his shirt, “what’s done is done, and there’s no need to say much about it. On behalf of our laying crew, we request the government to send us to a new construction site immediately. We’ve worked well together, and in the last few months, we’ve been laying five kilometers of track a day. We promise to maintain and even increase this rate.”Текст для перевода: ..Long live our world revolution! I also wanted to say, comrades, that the sleepers were arriving with a lot of defects, and we had to discard them. This matter needs to be addressed at a higher level.!.

The correspondents could no longer complain about the lack of events. Speeches were being recorded. Engineers were grabbed by the waist and pressed for precise numerical data. It became hot, dusty, and businesslike. The rally in the desert smoked like a huge bonfire. Lavouzyan, having scribbled down ten lines, rushed to the telegraph, sent a message, and then got back to writing. Ukhudshansky didn’t write anything andtelegramHe hadn’t sent it. In his pocket lay the “Ceremonial Set,” which allowed him to create beautiful correspondence with Asian ornamentation in just five minutes. The future of Ukhudshansky was secured. And so, with a more pronounced satirical tone than usual, he spoke to his comrades:

– Trying hard, are we? Well, well.Текст для перевода: ..

Suddenly, in the box for Soviet journalists, Lev Rubashkin and Yan Skameikin, who had fallen behind, appeared. They were brought by a plane that arrived early in the morning. ItdescendedTen kilometers from Gremyashchy Klyuch, beyond a distant hill, at a natural airfield, the correspondent brothers have just now arrived there on foot. Barely exchanging greetings, Lev Rubashkin and Yan Skameikin pulled notebooks from their pockets and began to catch up on lost time.

The cameras of the foreigners clicked incessantly. Throats were dry from speeches and the sun. The gathered crowd increasingly glanced downwards,за.the cold river, at the dining area, where striped shadows of the awning lay on the longest banquet tables, set withwith bowls andwith green Narzan bottles. Nearby, there were kiosks where the participants of the rally occasionally ran to drink. Koreiko was suffering from thirst, but he held firm under his childish tricorn hat. The great schemer teased him from a distance,liftingAbove her head, a bottle of lemonade and a yellow folder with shoelaces.

On the table, next to the decanter and the microphone, they placed a little pioneer girl.

“Well, girl,” the cheerful construction manager said, “tell us what you think about the Eastern Highway?”

It wouldn’t be surprising ifб.The girl suddenly stomped her foot and began: “Comrades! Allow me to summarize the achievements that…” – and so on, because we have exemplary children who, with a sad diligence, deliver two-hour speeches. However, the pioneer girl…из.With her tiny hands, she would immediately grab the bull by the horns and, in a thin, funny voice, shout:

– Long live the five-year plan!

Palamidov approached the foreign economics professor, hoping to get an interview with him.

“I am amazed,” said the professor, “all the construction I saw in the USSR…”–.Grandiose. I have no doubt that the five-year plan will be fulfilled. I will write about it.

Six months later, he actually published a book in which he argued over two hundred pages that the five-year plan would be completed on schedule and that the USSR would become one of the most powerful industrial countries.

And on page two hundred and one, the professor stated that it was precisely for this reason.countryThe Soviets need to be destroyed as soon as possible, otherwise they will bring about the natural demise of capitalist society. The professor turned out to bea more businesslike person, than the talkative Heinrich.

A white airplane rose above the hill. The Kazakhs scattered in all directions. A large shadow of the plane swept over the podium and, bending, raced into the desert. The Kazakhs, shouting and raising their whips, chased after the shadow. The cameramen anxiously spun their cameras. It became even more chaotic and dusty. The rally was over.

“Here’s the thing, comrades,” Palamidov said, hurrying to the dining room with his fellow writers, “let’s agree not to write anything trivial.”

“Vulgarity is disgusting!” Lavozhyan supported. “It’s terrible.”!

And on the way to the cafeteria, the correspondents unanimously decided not to write about Uzun-Kulak, which means Long.ear, which in turn
means –SteppeTelegraph. Everyone who has been to the East has written about this, and it’s no longer possible to read about it. No more essays titled “The Legend of Lake Issyk-Kul.” Enough with the kitschy Eastern tastes!

On the empty bleachers, among cigarette butts, torn notes, and sand brought in from the desert, only Koreiko sat. He couldn’t bring himself to go down.

“Get down, Alexander Ivanovich!” Ostap shouted. “Have some mercy on yourself! A sip of cold narzan! Huh? You don’t want to? Well, at least have some pity on me! I’m hungry! After all, I’m not going anywhere! Maybe you want to…”to.I sang you a serenade
by Schubert “Leichte”.by foot“Will you come, my friend?” I can!

But Koreyko didn’t wait. It was clear to him, even without the serenade, that he would have to pay the money. He bent down and paused on each step as he began to descend.

– Are you wearing a triangular hat? – Ostap joked. – And where’s the gray travel jacket? You won’t believe how much I’ve missed you. Well, hello, hello! Shall we exchange a kiss? Or shall we head straight to the storeroom, to Leichtweiss’s cave, where you keep your tugriks?!

“First, let’s have lunch,” said Koreiko, his tongue dry from thirst and scratching like a rasp.

– We can have lunch. But this time, no fooling around. However, you have no chance at all. My guys are lying in wait over the hills, – Ostap lied just in case.

And, remembering the brave men, he felt a pang of sadness.

Lunch for the builders and guests was served in an Eurasian style. The Kazakhs settled on the carpets, tucking their legs under them, as is customary.eastall, and onwestonly tailors. The Kazakhs ate pilaf from white bowls,chasing it downHis lemonade. Europeans have settled at the tables.

The builders of the Highway have endured a lot of hard work, worries, and concerns over the two years of their efforts.But.They were quite concerned about organizing a formal lunch in the center of the desert. The menu was debated for a long time, with options from both Asian and European cuisines.Calleda prolonged discussion about alcoholic beverages. For several days, the construction management began to resemble the United States before a presidential election. Supporters of the dry and wet issues engaged indispute.Finally, the committee spoke out against alcohol. Then a new circumstance arose – foreigners, diplomats, Muscovites! How to serve them a more refined meal? After all, they are used to various culinary delights in their homes, in places like London and New York. So, they called in an old specialist from Tashkent, Ivan Osipovich. He used to be a maître d’ in Moscow.The text for translation: ,.at the famous Martyanich’sThe text for translation: ,.and now he was spending his days as the head of the Narpitov cafeteria at the Chicken Market.

– So you see, Ivan Osipovich, – they told him at the office, – don’t let us down. There will be foreigners. We need to make everything look a bit more presentable, a bit more stylish.

“Believe my word,” the old man mumbled with tears in his eyes, “I fed some remarkable people! I fed the Prince of Württemberg!”Shalyapin, Fedor Ivanovich! The very one who fed Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich! I won’t let you down!I don’t even need to pay any money. How can I not feed people at the end of their lives? I’ll feed them – and then I’ll die!

Ivan Osipovich was terribly upset. Upon learning of the final decision to give up alcohol, he nearly fell ill.. But.leave Europe without lunchhe.He didn’t dare. The estimate he presented was significantly cut down, and the old man, whispering to himself, said, “I’ll feed you.”–.“and I will die,” he added sixty rubles from his savings. On the day of the lunch, Ivan Osipovich arrived in a mothball-scented tailcoat. While the meeting was going on, he was nervous, glancing at the sun and shouting at the nomads, who were trying to ride into the dining hall out of curiosity. The old man waved a napkin at them and rattled:

“Step aside, Mamai, can’t you see what’s happening?”!Oh, my God! The pican sauce is going to spoil.A.The consomme with poached egg is not ready!

There was already an appetizer on the table.. All.It was served extremely beautifully and with great skill. Stiff napkins stood upright on glass plates.,.in the ice,.There was butter rolled into buds, herring held in the mouth with a bite of onion or olive, there were flowers, and even ordinary gray bread looked quite presentable.

Finally, the guests arrived at the table. They were all dusty, flushed from the heat, and very hungry. None of them resembled Prince Württemberg. Ivan Osipovich suddenly felt the approach of trouble.

“I would like to ask the guests for forgiveness,” he said, looking around, “just five more minutes.”–.Let’s start having lunch.Текст для перевода: ..I have a personal request for you – please don’t touch anything on the table until lunch, so that everything is as it should be.

For a moment, he dashed into the kitchen, dancing lightly, and when he returned with a platter of some grand fish, he was met with a shocking scene of the table being ransacked. It was so far removed from the dining ceremony that Ivan Osipovich had devised that he stopped in his tracks. An Englishman with a tennis waist was carelessly eating bread with butter, while Heinrich, leaning over the table, was pulling an olive from the herring’s mouth with his fingers. Everything on the table was in disarray. The guests, having satisfied their initial hunger, were cheerfully exchanging impressions.

– What is this?The text for translation: same.“?” the old man asked in a fallen voice.

– Where’s the soup, Dad? – shouted Heinrich with his mouth full.

Ivan Osipovich didn’t say anything. He just waved his napkin and walked away. He left the further concerns to his subordinates.

When the combinators made their way to the table, a stout man with a nose that hung like a banana was giving the first toast.extreme
ownTo his surprise, Ostap recognized him as Engineer Talmudovsky.

– Yes! We are heroes! – exclaimed Talmudovsky, holding out a glass of mineral water. – Cheers to us, builders of the Highway! But what are the conditions of our work, citizens! Let me tell you, for instance, about the salary.salariesI won’t argue, the salary on the Highway is better than in other places, but the cultural amenities! There’s no theater! It’s a desert! No sewage system at all!.. No, I can’t work like this!

“Who is this person?” they asked.each otherBuilders. – Don’t you know?

Meanwhile, Talmudov has already pulled out from under the table.own.suitcases.

“I don’t care about the contract!” he shouted, heading for the exit. “What? Back the relocation fees? Only in court, only in court!”

And even while pushing diners with suitcases, he fiercely shouted instead of “pardon”: “Only by court!”

Late at night, he was already riding in a motorized railcar, having joined the road workers heading to the southern terminus on business.highwaysTalmudovsky was sitting on top of the suitcases, explaining to the craftsmen the reasons why an honest specialist cannot work in this hole. With them…I was driving.Maitre d’ Ivan Osipovich. In his grief, he didn’t even have time to take off his…Frack.He was very drunk.

“Barbarians!” he shouted, leaning out into the low wind and shaking his fist towards the Roaring Spring. “All the setting for the damn pigs!”Anton.I fed Pavlovich, the Prince of Württemberg!.. I’ll get home and die!
They will remember then.Ivan.Osipovichi. Serve, they will say, a banquet table for eighty-four people, to the dogs. But there will be no one to do it.Текст для перевода: ..No.Ivan.Osipovicha
TrikartovaТекст для перевода: ..Passed awayТекст для перевода: ..He has departed to a better world, where there is neither illness, nor sorrow, nor sighing, but endless life…E-e-e-ternal memory!…

And while the old man was chanting his own requiem, the tails of his tailcoat crackled in the wind like pennants.

Ostap, not giving…Pork loinAfter finishing the compote, he got up from the table and went to pay. Climbing up the makeshift ladder, the con artists made their way into the freight car, where the office of the Northern Division was located, along with a folding canvas bed for the clerk. Here, they locked themselves in.

After lunch, when the first-class passengers were resting, recharging their strength for the evening…walkingThe columnist Gargantua caught the correspondent brothers in the act of an unauthorized activity. Lev Rubashkin and Yan Skameikin were carrying two notes to the telegraph. One of them contained a brief message:

“Urgent Moscow steppe telegraph – Uzun-Kulak KVCh long
ear, spread the news to the auls about the completed connection of the Rubashkin highway.”

SecondpaperIt was written from top to bottom. Here’s what it contained:

The text for translation: «.The Legend of Lake Issyk-KulThe text for translation: ».  

The old Karakalpak Uhum Bukheev told me this legend, steeped in the breath of centuries. Two hundred thousand four hundred eighty-five moons ago, a young, swift-footed girl…gazelle(mountain ram), the khan’s wife–.beautySunburunshe passionately fell in love with the young nuke Ay-Bulak. The old khan’s grief was immense when he learned of the betrayal by his dearly beloved wife. The old man prayed for twelve moons, and then…,.with tears in my eyes,.He sealed the beauty in a barrel and, tying to her a bar of pure gold weighing seven.джасасым(18 kilos), he threw the precious burden into the mountain lake. Since then, the lake has been named after it.–.Issyk-Kul, which means “The Heart of a Beauty is Prone to Betrayal.”Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

Jan Skameikin-Sarmatsky (Piston)Текст для перевода: ..

“Isn’t that right?” Gargantua asked, holding up the papers he had snatched from the brothers. “Isn’t that correct?”

– Of course, it’s outrageous! – replied Palamidov. – How dare you write a legend after everything that has been said?!.Do you really think that Issyk-Kul translates to “The Heart of a Beautiful Woman Prone to Infidelity and Change”? Oh really! Hasn’t that phony Karakalpak Uhum Bukheev misled you? Doesn’t that name sound more like: “Don’t abandon young beauties in…lakes., but throw it intolakes.“gullible correspondents who succumb to the detrimental influence of exoticism?”

The writer in the children’s jacket blushed. Uzun-Kulak was already noted in his notebook.,.and two fragrant legends adorned with Eastern ornamentation.

– I think, – he said, – there’s nothing wrong with that. If Uzun-Kulak exists, someone should be writing about it, right?

– But it’s been written a thousand times already! – said Lavoisier.

“Uzun-Kulak exists,” the writer sighed, “and we have to take that into account.”

Chapter Thirty

In the heated and dark freight car, the air was dense and stagnant, like in an old boot. It smelled of leather and feet. Koreiko lit the conductor’s lantern and crawled under the bed. Ostap sat on an empty pasta box, watching him thoughtfully. Both con men were exhausted from their struggles and approached the event that Koreiko feared greatly, while Bender had been waiting for all his life, with a certain bureaucratic calmness. It might have even seemed that the situation was unfolding in a cooperative store.The text for translation: ,.The customer asks for a headwear, and the seller lazily tosses a scruffy, cobblestone-colored cap onto the counter. He doesn’t care whether the customer takes the cap or not. The customer himself isn’t very eager either, asking just to ease his conscience: “A.“Maybe there are others?” – to which the usual response is: “Take them, take them, or there won’t be any left.” And both look at each other with complete indifference. Koreyko spent a long time fiddling under the bed, apparently unbuckling the suitcase lid and rummaging through it at random.

“Hey, you there on the schooner!” Ostap shouted wearily. “What a relief that you don’t smoke. Asking a miser like you for a cigarette would be pure torture. You would never offer a cigarette, fearing that instead of one, someone would take several. You’d spend ages rummaging through your pocket, struggling to open the box and pulling out a pathetic, bent cigarette. You’re not a nice person.”Текст для перевода: ..Well, what’s stopping you from pulling out the whole suitcase!

“Yeah, right!” Koriyko muttered, gasping under the bed.

The comparison to a stingy smoker was unpleasant for him. Just at that moment, he was pulling out thick packs from his suitcase. The nickel-plated tongue of the lock scratched his bare arms up to the elbows. For convenience, he lay on his back and continued to work like a miner in a pit. Chaff and other straw debris were falling into the millionaire’s eyes from the mattress.some bread whiskers and powderТекст для перевода: ..

“Oh, how bad it is,” thought Alexander Ivanovich, “bad and frightening. What if he strangles me right now and takes all my money?”Текст для перевода: ..“Very simple. He’ll cut it into pieces and send them at low speed to different cities. And he’ll pickle the head in a barrel of cabbage.”

Koreiko was overwhelmed by the dampness of the cellar. In fear, he peeked out from under the bed. Bender was dozing on his box, tilting his head toward the railway lantern.

“Or maybe his… slow speed,” thought Alexander Ivanovich, continuing to pull out the packs and feeling horrified, “to different cities.”And not a single dog.Strictly
confidential. And?

He looked out again. The great schemer stretched and, like a dog, yawned desperately. Then he took the conductor’s lantern and began to wave it, calling out:

– Hatzepetovka Station! Get out, citizen! We have arrived! By the way, I completely forgot to tell you.The text for translation: ,.Maybe you’re planning to stab me? Just know – I’m against it. And besides, I’ve already been killed once. There was this eccentric old man from a good family, a former noble leader, who was also the registrar of the civil registry office, Kisa Vorobyaninov. We were searching for happiness together with a sum of one hundred and fifty thousand rubles. And just before we were about to split the money, that foolish leader slashed my throat with a razor. Oh, how vulgar that was, Koreiko! Vulgar and painful.Текст для перевода: ..The surgeons barely saved my young life, for which I am deeply grateful to them.

Finally, Koreiko crawled out from under the bed, pushing packs of money towards Ostap’s feet. Each pack was neatly wrapped in white paper and tied with twine.

” Ninety-nine packs,” Koreiko said sadly, “with ten thousand in each. In cash…”25.Chervontsev. You don’t need to check, it’s like in the bank for me.

“Where is the hundredth pack?” Ostap asked with enthusiasm.

“I deducted ten thousand.”The text for translation: v.report of a robbery on the beach.

– Well, this is…already.It’s outrageous. The money was spent on you. Don’t get caught up in formalities.

Koreiko, sighing, handed over the missing money, in exchange for which he received his life story in a yellow folder tied with shoelaces. He immediately burned the life story in the iron stove, the chimney of which protruded through the roof of the car. Meanwhile, Ostap took one of the packs on hold, tore off the wrapper, and, confirming that Koreiko hadn’t deceived him, stuffed it into his pocket.

– Where is the currency? – the great schemer asked critically. – Where are the Mexican dollars, Turkish lira, where are the pounds, rupees, pesetas, centavos, Romanian lei, where are the border lats and zlotys? Just give me at least some of the currency.Текст для перевода: ..

“Take whatever you want,” replied Koreiko, sitting down.squattingIn front of the stove, watching the documents writhing in the fire, I said, “Take it, or soon there won’t be any left.” I don’t hold onto currency.

“Here I am, a millionaire!” Ostap exclaimed with cheerful surprise. “The dreams of an idiot have come true!”

Ostap suddenly felt sad. He was struck by the ordinariness of his surroundings; it seemed strange to him that the world hadn’t changed in that very moment and that nothing, absolutely nothing, had happened around him. And although he knew that there were no mysterious caves, barrels of gold, or Aladdin’s lamps in our harsh times, he still felt a sense of loss. He became a bit bored, like Roald Amundsen when, flying over the North Pole in the airship “Norge,” a destination he had pursued his whole life, he said to his companions without any enthusiasm: “Here.“We have arrived.” Below was broken ice, cracks, cold, emptiness. The mystery is revealed, the goal is achieved, there is nothing more to do, and it’s time to change professions. But the sadness is fleeting, because ahead lies glory, honor, and respect – choirs are singing, and high school girls in white capes are standing as a backdrop, while old ladies weep.–.The mothers of polar explorers, devoured by their expedition comrades, hear national anthems being played, rockets being fired, and the old king embraces the explorer against his prickly orders and stars.

The momentary weakness passed. Ostap tossed the packs into the bag, generously offered by Alexander Ivanovich, tucked it under his arm, and pushed open the heavy door of the freight car.

The celebration was coming to an end. Rockets were cast into the sky like golden fishing rods, catching red and green fish from above, cold fire splashed into the eyes, and pyrotechnic suns spun around.beetsBurak is one of the firework figures.(Ed.
)].they tossed a salad of glowing tomatoes and exclamation marks into the air.Behind the telegraph hut, a performance for the nomads was taking place on a wooden stage. Some of them were sitting on benches, while others…watcheda view from the height of their saddles. The horses often neighed. The freight train was lit up from tail to head.

– Yes! – exclaimed Ostap. – The banquet at…in the carriage– A restaurant! I completely forgot! What a joy! Let’s go, Koreiko, I’m treating you, I’m treating everyone! According to the laws of hospitality! Cognac with a slice of lemon, dumplings made from game, fricandeau with mushrooms, old Hungarian wine, new Hungarian wine, champagne…!

“Fricando, fricando,” said Koreiko maliciously, “and then they’ll put me away. I don’t want to draw attention to myself!”

– I promise you a heavenly dinner on a white tablecloth, – insisted Ostap. – Come on, come on! And really, give up the hermit life!Hurry upDrink your share of alcoholic beverages, eat your twenty thousand cutlets. Otherwise, outsiders will swoop in and devour your portion.in lifeI will arrange for you to travel on a luxury train.–.There I belong, and tomorrow we will be in a relatively cultured center. And there, with our millions… Alexander Ivanovich!…

The great combinator wanted to bless everyone right now, he wanted everyone to have fun. A dark face.Pork chopsIt weighed on him. And he began to persuade Alexander Ivanovich. He agreed that one shouldn’t draw attention to oneself, but why starve oneself? Ostap himself didn’t quite understand why he needed it.uncheerfulthe clerk,
but once he started, he couldn’t stop. By the end, he even began to threaten.

“You’ll be sitting on your suitcase, and one fine day, a skeleton will come to you – and give you a whack on the neck.”!.Huh? Can you imagine an attraction? Hurry up, Alexander Ivanovich, the cutlets are still on the table. Don’t be so stubborn.

After losing a million, Koreyko became softer and more receptive.

“Maybe we should really get some fresh air.”,.“he said uncertainly”, – to take a rideto the center. But, of course, without any flair, without that dashing style.

– What kind of hussar spirit is this! Just two public-minded doctors are heading to Moscow to visit the Art Theatre and see the mummy at the Museum of Fine Arts with their own eyes. Grab your suitcase.

The millionaires headed to the train. Ostap casually waved his bag like a censer. Alexander Ivanovich smiled in the silliest way. The first-class passengers strolled, trying to stay close to the cars, as the locomotive was already being attached. In the darkness, the white pants of the correspondents shimmered.

In the upper compartment.shelf.Under the sheet lay a stranger to Ostap, reading a newspaper.

“Well, get down,” Ostap said friendly, “the owner has arrived.”

– This is my spot, comrade, – the stranger remarked. – I’m Lev Rubashkin.

– You know, Lev Rubashkin, don’t awaken the beast in me,
just leave here.

The great schemer was pushed into action by the bewildered gaze of Alexander Ivanovich.

“Here’s some more news,” the correspondent said arrogantly.The text for translation: ,.–.who.What are you like?

– It’s none of your business! You’re told to get off, so get off!Текст для перевода: ..

“Every drunk,” Rubashkin began shrill, “will be here…”to act like a hooliganПожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

Ostap silently grabbed the correspondent by the bare leg.screams.The whole carriage gathered around Rubashkin. Koreiko, just in case, moved to the platform.

“Do you fight?” asked Ukhudshansky. “Well, well.”

Ostap, who had already managed to hit Rubashkin on the head with a bag, was being held by the hands by Gargantua and the chubby writer in a children’s jacket.

“Let him show the ticket!” the great schemer shouted. “Let him show the reservation!”

Rubashkin, completely naked, was jumping from shelf to shelf and demanding the commandant. Detached from reality, Ostap also insisted on calling for the authorities. The scandal ended with a major inconvenience. Rubashkin presented a ticket.,.and the sleeper car, after which he demanded the same from Bender in a tragic voice.

– I won’t show it out of principle! – declared the great schemer, hastily leaving the scene. – I have such principles!

– Rabbit! – squealed Lev Rubashkin, who had dashed into the corridor naked. – I draw your attention, Comrade Commandant, there was a rabbit here!

– Where’s the hare? – proclaimed the commandant, a hunting gleam appearing in his eyes.

Alexander Ivanovich, timidly hiding behind the edge of the podium, peered into the darkness but could make out nothing. Near the train, figures were bustling about, cigarette lights flickered, and voices could be heard: “Please present your documents!”,.“And I’m telling you, it’s out of principle!”,.“Vandalism!”,.“After all, right? It’s correct, isn’t it?”,.“Does anyone have to travel without a ticket?” The buffer plates clanged, the braking air hissed as it rushed just above the ground, and the bright windows of the carriages began to move. Ostap was still putting on a brave face, but striped sofas, luggage nets, conductors with flashlights, bouquets, and ceiling fans were already passing him by.carriage–restaurant.
A banquet was leaving with champagne, both old and new Hungarian wines. Dumplings made from game escaped from the hands
and vanished into the night. Fricandeau, tender fricandeau, which
Ostap had described so passionately, left the Thunderous Key. Alexander
Ivanovich approached.

“I won’t let this go,” Ostap grumbled, “they left a correspondent of the Soviet press in the desert.”Текст для перевода: ..I will rally the entire public.
Koreiko! We are leaving on the very first courier train! We will buy out all the seats in the
international carriage.!…

– What are you talking about, – said Koreiko, – there’s no way it’s a courier service.!No trains run from here. According to the schedule, operations will begin only in two months.

Ostap raised his head. He saw the black Abyssinian sky, wild stars, and understood everything. But the timid reminder from Koreiko about the banquet gave him new strength.

“There’s a plane over the hill,” Bender said, “the one that came for the celebration. It won’t leave until dawn. We’ll make it.”

In order to keep up, the millionaires moved with a wide, dromedary stride. Their legs sank into the sand, and the campfires of the nomads burned brightly.DragThe suitcase and the bag were not heavy, but extremely unpleasant. As they climbed the hill from the side of the Rattling Spring, dawn was approaching from the opposite side, accompanied by the roar of propellers. Down the hill, Bender and Koreiko were already running, fearing that the plane would take off without them.

Under the high, roof-like, ribbed wings of the airplane, little mechanics in leather coats were bustling about. Three propellers spun weakly, ventilating the desert. The square windows of the passenger cabin had curtains with plush balls hanging from them. The pilot leaned against the aluminum step and ate a pastry, washing it down with some mineral water from a bottle.

– We are passengers.!“– shouted Ostap, out of breath.”Текст для перевода: ..–.Two.first-class ticket!

No one answered him. The pilot threw the bottle and started putting on the gloves with the flared cuffs.

“Are there any seats?” Ostap repeated, grabbing the pilot by the arm.

– No passengers.Taking it.“– This is a special flight,” said the pilot, grabbing the handrail of the stairs.

– I’m buying an airplane! – the great schemer said hastily. – Wrap it up.

“Get out of the way!” shouted the mechanic, following the pilot.

The propellers disappeared in a rapid spin. Shaking and swaying, the plane began to turn against the wind. Air vortices pushed the millionaires back toward the hill. Ostap’s captain’s cap flew off and rolled away toward India with such speed that its arrival in Calcutta could be expected no later than three hours from then. It would have rolled right onto the main street of Calcutta,calledWith its mysterious appearance, it drew the attention of circles close to the Intelligence Service, if only the plane hadn’t taken off and the storm hadn’t calmed down. In the air, the plane glinted with its wings and vanished in the sunlight. Ostap ran to fetch the cap that had gotten caught on a bush of saxaul and said:

– Transportation has gotten out of hand. We’ve had a falling out with the railway. Air travel is closed to us. On foot?Seven hundredkilometers. This is not inspiring. The only option left is to convert to Islam and travel by camels.

As for Islam, Koreiko remained silent, but he found the idea of camels appealing. It was an enticing sight.carriageThe restaurant and airplane confirmed his desire to take a recreational trip as a public health doctor, of course.,.without any bravado, but not without a touch of daring.

The villages that arrived at the junction had not yet departed, and camels were purchased nearby from Gremyashchiy Klyuch. The desert ships cost one hundred eighty rubles each.

– How cheap, – whispered Ostap, – let’s buy fifty camels. Or a hundred!

– It’s a cavalry unit, – Alexander Ivanovich said gloomily, – what are we supposed to do with them? Two will be enough.

The Kazakhs shouted as they settled the travelers between the humps, helped tie down the suitcase, bag, and supplies for the journey – a skin of kumis and two rams. The camels first rose up on their hind legs,from whatThe millionaires bowed low and then, on their front legs, began to stride along the Eastern Highway. The sheep, tied with little ropes, trotted behind, occasionally rolling balls and bleating in a heart-wrenching manner.

“Hey, Sheikh Koreiko!” Ostap shouted. “Alexander-ibn-Ivanovich! Is life beautiful?”

The sheikh didn’t respond. He had come across a lazy camel, and he was furiously beating it on its bald rear.saxaulwith a stick.

Chapter Thirty-One

For seven days, the camels dragged the newly minted sheikhs across the desert. At the beginning of the journey, Ostap was having a great time. Everything amused him: both Alexander-Ibn-Ivanovich, who was struggling between the camel humps, and the lazy ship of the desert, trying to evade its duties, and the bag with a million, which the great schemer sometimes used to encourage the unruly rams. Ostap referred to himself as Colonel Lawrence.

– Me.Emir.–dynamiteThe text for translation: ,.– he shouted, swaying on the high ridge. – If we don’t get decent food in two days, I’ll rebel!anytribes. I swear! I will appoint myself the authorized representative of the prophet and declare a
holy war, jihad. For example, against Denmark. Why did the Danes torture their prince
Hamlet? Given the current political situation, even the LeagueNations.I will be satisfied with such a reason for war. I swear, I will buy a million rifles from the English.,.They love selling firearms to tribes.,.and march-march,.to Denmark. Germany will let it pass – as part of reparations. Can you imagine tribes invading Copenhagen? Leading the way, I’m on a white camel. Ah! Panikovsky is not here!What a wonderful marauder he would make.He could use a Danish goose!..

But a few days later, when there were only
strings left from the sheep, and all the kumys had been drunk, evenEmir.– The dynamite grew sad and only melancholically muttered:

In the sandy steppes of Arabian land, three proud palms grew for some reason.

Both sheikhs have lost a lot of weight, become disheveled, and grown unkempt.with little beardsand began to resemble dervishes from a modest parish.

– Just a little more patience, Ibn-Koreiko.The text for translation: ,.And we will arrive in a town that rivals Baghdad. Flat roofs, native orchestras, restaurants with an Eastern flair, sweet wines, legendary maidens, and forty thousand skewers of kebabs—Karelia, Turkish, Tatar, Mesopotamian, and Odessa-style. And, finally, the railway.

On the eighth day, the travelers arrived at an ancient cemetery. Rows of semi-circular tombs stretched out like petrified waves all the way to the horizon. The dead were not buried here; they were laid on the ground, surrounded by stone caps. A terrifying sun shone over the ashen city of the dead. Ancienteastlay in their hot coffins.

The combinators have tightened up.своих.They soon entered the oasis. In the distance, green torches of poplars illuminated the city, reflecting in the water-filled square rice fields. Lone black locust trees stood, perfectly mimicking the shape of a giant globe on a wooden pedestal. Donkeys began to appear, carrying hefty riders in robes and bundles of clover.

Koreiko and Bender were passing by stalls selling green powdered tobacco and stinky conical soap that looked like shrapnel heads. Craftsmen with white gauzy beards were working over copper sheets, rolling them into basins and narrow-necked jugs. Shoemakers were drying small pieces of leather, dyed with ink, in the sun. Dark blue, yellow, and blue tiles from mosques gleamed with a liquid glassy light.

The rest of the day and night, the millionaires slept heavily and insensitively in the hotel, and in the morning, they bathed in white tubs, shaved, and went out into the city. The cloudless mood of the sheikhs was spoiled byonlythe necessity of dragging along a suitcase and a bag.

– I consider it my foremost duty, – Bender said boastfully, – to introduce you to a magical little cellar. It’s called “Under the Moon.” I was here about five years ago, giving lectures on the fight against abortions. What a place! Half-darkness, coolness, a host from Tiflis, a local orchestra, cold vodka, dancers with tambourines and cymbals. Let’s head there for the whole day. Even public health doctors can have their little weaknesses.Текст для перевода: ..I’m treating you. The Golden Calf is responsible for everything.

And the great schemer shook his bag.

However, the “Under the Moon” cellar was no longer there. To Ostap’s surprise, even the street where his drums and cymbals had once echoed was gone. In its place was a straight European street, lined with buildings all along its length. Fences stood tall, alabaster dust hung in the air, and trucks heated the already hot atmosphere. After looking for a moment at the gray brick facades with their long horizontal windows, Ostap nudged Koreiko and said, “There’s still a place, run by one of the guys from Baku,” and led him to the other end of the city. But at the“small town”There was no longer a poetic sign composed personally by the shopkeeper from Baku:

Respect yourself,

Respect us,

Respect the Caucasus,

Visit us.

Instead ofthis.In front of the sheikhs stood a cardboard poster with Arabic and Russian letters:“City Museum of Fine Arts”Текст для перевода: ..

“Let’s go in,” Ostap said sadly, “at least it’s cool in there. And besides, visiting the museum is part of the program for traveling public health doctors.”Текст для перевода: ..

They entered a large, chalk-white room, dropped their millions on the floor, and wiped their hot foreheads with their sleeves for a long time. The museum had only eight exhibits: a mammoth tooth, gifted to the young museum by the city of Tashkent, an oil painting titled “Clash with the Basmachis,” two Emirati robes, a golden fish in an aquarium, a display case with dried locusts, a porcelain figurine from the Kuznetsov factory, and finally, a model of an obelisk that the city planned to erect in the main square. Right there, atfoothillsOn the project site, there lay a large tin wreath with ribbons. It had recently been brought by a special delegation from a neighboring republic, but since the obelisk was not yet built (the funds allocated for it had been spent on constructing a bathhouse, which turned out to be much more necessary), the delegation, after delivering the appropriate speeches, laid the wreath on the project.

A young man in a carpet-patterned Bukhara cap approached the visitors immediately, his shaved head glistening, and, nervously like an author, asked:

– What are your impressions, comrades?

“Wow,” said Ostap.

The young man managed the museum and immediately began to talk about the difficulties his creation was facing. The funding was insufficient. Tashkent had lost one of its treasures, and there was no one to collect its artistic and historical values. They haven’t sent a specialist.

“I need three hundred rubles!” the manager shouted. “I could turn this place into the Louvre!”

“Do you know the city well?” Ostap asked, winking at Alexander Ivanovich. “Could you point out some attractions for us? I used to know your city, but it seems to have changed.”

The manager was very pleased. Shouting that he would show them everything personally, he locked the museum and led the millionaires to the same street where they had been searching for the cellar “Under the Moon” half an hour earlier.

– The Boulevard of Socialism! – he said, taking in the alabaster dust with pleasure. – Ah! What a wonderful air! What will be here in a year! Asphalt! Buses! An irrigation institute! A tropical institute! Well, if Tashkent…и.this time it won’t give inscientific forces!.. You know, they have so many mammoth bones, and they only sent me one tooth, while in our republic there is such a strong interest in natural sciences.

– I see.!“Koriyko noticed, looking at Ostap with reproach.”

– And you know, – whispered the enthusiast, – I suspect that this is not a mammoth tooth. They slipped in an elephant one!

– How are you with those… with zucchinis in the Asian style, you know, with timpanis and flutes? – the great schemer asked impatiently.

– It’s been eradicated, – the young man replied indifferently. – It was high time to eliminate this plague, a breeding ground for epidemics. In the spring, we finally crushed the last den. It was called “Under the Moon.”

“Did they strangle him?” gasped Koreyko.

– I swear.Текст для перевода: ..But the kitchen factory is open. European cuisine.Mechanical bread baking.Dishes are washed and dried using electricity. The curve of stomach diseases has sharply declined.

– What is happening! – exclaimed the great schemer, covering his face with his hands.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said the museum director, laughing shyly. “We’re going to the kitchen factory for lunch.”

They settled into a row under a canvas awning with scalloped edges, trimmed in blue, and set off. Along the way, the friendly guide made the millionaires peek out from under the canopy every few minutes, pointing out buildings that were already constructed, those under construction, and sites where new buildings would soon rise. Koreiko looked at Ostap with angry eyes. Ostap turned away and said:

– What a wonderful native market! Baghdad!

“We’ll start the demolition on the seventeenth,” said the young man, “there will be a hospital and a cooperative center here.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for this exotic place? After all, it’s Baghdad!”

“Very beautiful!” sighed Koreyko.

The young man got angry.Текст для перевода: ..

– It’s beautiful for you, for the visitors, but we have to live here.

In the large hall of the factory-kitchen, among the tiled walls, under the ribbon-like fly agarics hanging from the ceiling, the travelers were eating pearl barley soup and small brown cutlets. Ostap inquired about wine but received an enthusiastic response that a mineral water spring had recently been discovered not far from the city, surpassing the famous Narzan in taste. To prove this, a bottle of the new water was demanded and consumed in grave silence.

– And what about the curve of prostitution? – Alexander-Ibn-Ivanovich asked hopefully.

“She dropped sharply,” replied the relentless young man.

– Oh, what’s happening! – said Ostap with a fake laugh.

But he really didn’t know what was going on. When they got up from the table, it turned out that the young man had managed to pay for everyone. He absolutely refused to take money from the millionaires, insisting that he would get it all back the day after tomorrow anyway.salary, and by that time, it will somehow turn out.

– So, what about the festivities? How is the city celebrating? – Ostap asked, now without any ecstasy. – Timpani, cymbals?

“Don’t you know?” the head of the museum exclaimed in surprise. “Last week, our city philharmonic opened. The Great Symphony Quartet named after Bebel and Paganini. Let’s go right now!”!How did I miss that!

After he paid for lunch, it was impossible to decline the visit to the philharmonic for ethical reasons. As he left, Alexander-Ibn-Ivanovich said in a janitor’s voice:

– The city philharmonic!

The great combinator blushed.

On the way to the hotel, the young man unexpectedly stopped the carriage, helped the millionaires out, took them by the hands, and, rising on his tiptoes from the overwhelming delight that was surging within him, led them to a small stone enclosed by a little fence.

“An obelisk will stand here!” he said significantly. “The column of Marxism!”

As they said goodbye, the young man asked him to come more often. The good-natured Ostap promised to definitely visit, because he had never spent such a joyful day as today.

“I’m heading to the station,” said Koreiko, finding himself alone with Bender.

“Shall we go to another city to have some fun?” Ostap asked. “You can have a great time in Tashkent for about three days.”

“I’ve had enough,” replied Alexander Ivanovich. “I’m going to the station to check my suitcase, and I’ll find a job as a clerk somewhere. I’ll wait for capitalism. Then I’ll have some fun.”

“Well, just wait,” Ostap said rather rudely, “but I’m going. Today is just an unfortunate misunderstanding, a bit of overreach in certain places. The golden calf still holds some power in our country!”

In the station square, they saw a crowd of literary correspondents who were on a sightseeing trip through Central Asia after a collaboration. They surrounded Ukhudshansky. The owner of the “Ceremonial Set” smugly turned around.на.He was showing off his acquisitions from all sides. He wore a velvet hat trimmed with a jackal’s tail and a robe made from a cotton blanket.

The predictions of the plush prophet continued to come true.

Chapter Thirty-Two

On that sad yet bright autumn day, when gardeners in Moscow’s squares were cutting flowers and handing them out to children, the main son of Lieutenant Schmidt, Shura Balaganov, was sleeping on a bench in the passenger hall.Kazan’sstation. He lay there with his head resting on the wooden edge. A crumpled cap was pulled down over his nose. It was clear that the flight engineer…AntelopesThe hoof commissioner is unhappy and impoverished. A piece of crushed eggshell is stuck to his unshaven cheek. His canvas shoes have lost their shape and color, resembling more the traditional Moldovan footwear. Swallows flew under the high ceiling of the two-light hall.

Behind the large unwashed windowswas visibleBlocking devices, semaphores, and other items necessary for railway operations. Porters rushed in, and soon the hall was filled with passengers from the arriving train. The last to enter from the platform was a passenger in clean clothes. Beneath his unbuttoned light mac, a suit with the tiniest kaleidoscopic check pattern was visible. His trousers cascaded down to glossy shoes. The foreign look of the passenger was completed by a soft hat, slightly tilted forward. He did not use the services of a porter and carried his suitcase himself. The passenger strolled lazily through the empty hall and would undoubtedly have made it to the vestibule if he hadn’t suddenly noticed the pitiful figure of Balaganov. He squinted, approached closer, and studied the sleeping man for a while. Then, carefully lifting the cap off the face of the flight engineer with two gloved fingers, he smiled.

“Get up, Count.”Great things await you!“he said, pushing Balaganov aside.”

Shura sat down, rubbed his face with his hand, and only then recognized the passenger.

“Commander!” he shouted.

– No, no, – Bender remarked, raising his hand in defense, – don’t hug me. I’m proud now.

Balaganov spun around the commander. He didn’t recognize him. Not only had the suit changed. Ostap had lost weight, there was a look of distraction in his eyes, and his face was covered with a colonial tan.

– He’s gone crazy, he’s gone crazy! – Balaganov exclaimed joyfully. – He’s really lost it!

– Yes, I got stuck, – Bender announced with dignity. – Look at the pants. Europe is “A.”Текст для перевода: ..Have you seen this? The ring finger of my left hand is adorned.diamonda ring. Four carats. So, what are your achievements? Still in the sons?

– Oh, just, – Shura hesitated, – more about the little things.

In the buffet, Ostap ordered white wine and biscuits for himself, and beer with sandwiches for the flight engineer.

“Tell me, Shura, honestly, how much money do you need for happiness?” asked Ostap. “Just calculate everything.”

“One hundred rubles,” Balaganov replied, reluctantly tearing himself away from the bread and sausage.

– No, you don’t understand me. Not for today, but
in general. For happiness. Clear? So that it’s clear to you.goodin the world.

Balaganov thought for a long time, smiling shyly, and finally announced that for complete happiness he needed6400.rubles, and with this amount, he will feel very good in the world.

“Alright,” said Ostap, “you’ll get fifty thousand.”

He unzipped the square suitcase on his lap and handed Balaganov five white bundles tied with twine. The flight engineer immediately lost his appetite. He stopped eating, stuffed the money into his pockets, and didn’t take his hands out of there anymore.

“Is it really a little plate?” he asked in amazement.

– Yes, yes, the little plate, –answeredOstap said indifferently, “With a blue
border.” The defendant brought it in his teeth. He wagged his tail for a long time before I
agreed to take it. Now I’m in charge! I feel great.

He spoke his last words unsteadily.

The parade, I must say, was not going well, and the great schemer was lying when he claimed to feel great. It would be more accurate to say that he felt a certain awkwardness, which he, however, did not want to admit even to himself.

A month has passed since he parted ways with Alexander Ivanovich at the luggage storage area, where the underground millionaire had checked in his little suitcase.

In the very first city that Ostap entered with the feelings of a conqueror, he did not…managed.get the room numbers at the hotel.

– I’ll pay whatever it takes! – the great schemer said arrogantly.

“Nothing will come of it, citizen,” the porter replied, “the congress of soil scientists has arrived in full force to inspect the experimental station. It’s reserved for the representatives of science.”

The polite face of the porter expressed respect for the congress. Ostap felt like shouting that he was the main one, that he deserved respect and admiration, that he had a million in his bag, but he deemed it wise to refrain and stepped out onto the street in a fit of irritation. All day he rode around the city in a cab. In the best restaurant, he languished for an hour and a half waiting for the soil scientists, who were dining with the entire congress, to get up from the table. That day, the theater was hosting a performance for the soil scientists, and tickets were not sold to ordinary citizens. Moreover, they wouldn’t have let Ostap into the auditorium with a bag in his hands, and there was nowhere to put it. To avoid spending the night on the street in the name of science, the millionaire left that very evening, having caught up on sleep in an international carriage.

In the morning, Bender arrived in a large city on the Volga. Yellow, translucent leaves were spiraling down from the trees. The Volga was breathing with the wind. There were no rooms available in any hotel.

“Maybe in a month,” said the hotel managers, some with beards, some without, some with mustaches, and others simply clean-shaven, with doubt in their voices. “Not until the third unit is installed at the power plant, so don’t get your hopes up. Everything is in the hands of the specialists. And then there’s the district Komsomol congress. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

While the great schemer was hanging around the high offices.porterEngineers, technicians, foreign specialists, and Komsomol members—delegates to the congress—hurried up the hotel stairs. Once again, Ostap spent the day in a cab, eagerly waiting for the courier train, where he could wash up, rest, and read the newspaper.

The Great Combinator spent fifteen nights in different trains, moving from city to city because there were no rooms available anywhere. In one place, they were erecting a blast furnace, in another – a refrigerator, and in a third – a zinc factory. Everything was crowded with business people. In a fourth place, a pioneer camp blocked Ostap’s way, and in the room where the millionaire could have spent an entertaining evening with a companion, children were making a racket. On the road, he got settled, acquired a suitcase for a million, packed his travel essentials, and geared up. Ostap was already planning a long and peaceful journey to Vladivostok, calculating that the round trip would take three weeks, when he suddenly felt that if he didn’t settle down on solid ground soon, he would die from some mysterious railway illness. And he did what he always did when he was the happy owner of empty pockets. He started to pass himself off as someone else, telegraphing ahead that he was an engineer, or a public health doctor, or a tenor, or a writer. To his surprise, rooms were available for all the people who arrived on business, and Ostap felt a little better after the train’s rocking. Once, to secure a room…had toeven to pass himself off as the son of Lieutenant Schmidt. After this episode, the great schemer fell into gloomy thoughts.

“And this is the path of a millionaire! – he thought with disappointment. – Where is the respect? Where is the honor? Where is the glory? Where is the power?”

Even Europe – the “A” that Ostap boasted about to Balaganov – the suit, shoes, and hat were bought at a thrift store, and despite their excellent quality, they had a flaw: they were not his, not original, but borrowed from someone else. Someone else had already worn them, maybe for an hour, maybe for a minute, but they were still someone else’s. It was also frustrating that the government paid no attention to the plight of millionaires and distributed life’s necessities in a planned manner. Overall, things were bad. The stationmaster didn’t salute, which he used to do in the old days before any merchant.capitalistIn fifty thousand, the city fathers did not come to the hotel to introduce themselves, the press was in no hurry to conduct interviews, and instead…photos of a millionaireI was printing portraits of some workers who earned one hundred and twenty rubles a month.

Ostap counted his million every day, and it was always a million without some minor detail. He put in all his efforts, had lunch several times a day, drank collectible wines, gave extravagant tips, and bought a ring, a Japanese vase, and a fur coat made of sable. He had to give the coat and vase to his room number because Ostap didn’t like dealing with bulky items while traveling. Besides, if necessary, he could buy many more coats and vases. However, in a month, he had only spent six thousand.

No! The parade was definitely not going well, even though everything was in place. The troops were deployed on time, the units arrived by the specified deadline, and the orchestra was playing. But the regiments were not looking at it, they were not shouting at him.Hooray.The brew master wasn’t waving his hands for him.But.Ostap didn’t give up. He firmly hoped for Moscow.

– What about Rio de Janeiro? – Balaganov asked excitedly. – Shall we go?

“To hell with it!” Ostap said with unexpected anger. “It’s all made up.”No.There’s no Rio de Janeiro, no America, no Europe, nothing at all. And the last city is Shepetivka, where the waves of the Atlantic Ocean crash.

“Well, what do you know!” sighed Balaganov.

“One doctor explained everything to me,” Ostap continued.Текст для перевода: ..–.Abroad– this is a myth about the afterlife, who.there.hits, he does not return.

“– It’s like a circus!” exclaimed Shura, completely confused. “Wow, I’m really going to live it up now! Poor Panikovsky! He must have violated the convention,”well.To hell with it! The old man would be happy.

“Let’s honor the memory of the deceased by standing up,” said Bender.

The milk brothers stood up and for a moment remained silent, looking down atbrokenbiscuits and an unfinished sandwich.

The oppressive silence was broken by Balaganov.

– Do you know?,.What’s up with Kozlevich? – he said. – It’s like a circus! He still managed to gather everyone.Antelopeand works in
Chornomorsk.I sent a letter.Here…

The flight engineer took a letter out of his cap.

“Hello, Shura,” the driver wrote.Antelopes– How are you doing? Are you still the son of L. Sh.?The text for translation: ?…I’m doing well, but I don’t have any money, and my car is acting up after the repair; it only works for an hour a day. I’m constantly fixing it, and I’m just exhausted. The passengers are getting upset. Maybe you…Shura.Please send me an oil line hose, even if it’s not new. It’s absolutely impossible to find one here at the market. Check at the Smolensky market, where they sell old locks and keys. And if you’re not feeling well, come over; we’ll manage somehow.!I am standing on the corner of Meringa Street, at the exchange. Where is O. B. now? Yours respectfully, Adam Kozlevich. I forgot to mention. The priests, Kushakovsky and Moroshek, came to the exchange. There was a scandal. A. K.

“I’ll go look for the hose now,” Balaganov said anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” Ostap replied, “I’ll buy him a new car. We’re heading to the ‘Grand Hotel’; I’ve reserved a room by telegraph for the conductor of the symphony orchestra. And you need to be dressed up, cleaned up, and given a complete makeover. Great opportunities are opening up for you, Shura.”!.

They arrived at Kalanchovskaya Square. There were no taxis. Ostap refused to take a cab.

– This is a carriage from the past, – he said disdainfully, – you won’t get far in it. Besides, there are little mice living in the lining.

I had to take the tram. The car was overcrowded. It was one of those infected with bickering trams that often circulate in the capital. A quarrel usually starts with some vengeful old lady during the morning rush hour. Gradually, all the passengers in the car get drawn into the argument, even those who board half an hour after the incident begins. The angry old lady has long since gotten off, and the conflict has faded away.и.the reason for the dispute, and the shouting and mutual insults continue,в.New passengers keep joining the argument. And in such a carriage, the bickering doesn’t quiet down until late at night.

The anxious passengers quickly pushed Balaganov away from Ostap, and soon the milk brothers were hanging out at opposite ends of the carriage, squeezed together by their chests andbasketsOstap was hanging onto the strap, struggling to pull the suitcase that was constantly being swept away by the current. Suddenly, amidst the usual tram curses, a woman’s wail was heard from the side where Balaganov was swaying.

– They stole it!! Look! There it is!

All.turnedheads. To the scene of the incident, gasping with curiosity, beganto break throughlovers. Ostap saw the stunned face of Balaganov. The flight engineer himself didn’t even understand what had happened, and he was already being held by the hand, in which he tightly clutched a cheap handbag with a small bronze chain.

– Bandit! – the woman shouted. – I just turned away, and he…

The owner of fifty thousand stole a handbag that contained a tortoiseshell powder compact, a union book, and1 ruble 70 kopecks.money. The train stopped. The fans dragged Balaganov to the exit. As they passed by Ostap, Shura whispered sadly:

– What is this? I did it automatically.

– I’ll show you mechanically! – said the enthusiast in a monocle and with a briefcase, happily striking the mechanic on the neck.

Through the window, Ostap saw a policeman approach the group at a brisk pace and lead the criminal down the pavement.

The great combinator turned away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

In the quadrangular enclosed courtyard of the “Grand Hotel,” the sounds of kitchen clatter, hissing steam, and shouts of “Two tea sets to room sixteen” could be heard, while in the white corridors it was clear and quiet, like in the distribution hall of a power station. In one hundred and fifty rooms, a congress of soil scientists was sleeping, having returned from a trip; thirty rooms were allocated for a delegation of foreign merchants who were discussing the pressing question of whether it was finally possible to profitably trade with the Soviet Union. The best suite, consisting of four rooms, was occupied by a famous Indian poet and philosopher, while in a small room reserved for the conductor of the symphony orchestra, Ostap Bender was sleeping.

He lay on a plush blanket, fully dressed, clutching a suitcase with a million to his chest. Overnight, the great schemer inhaled all the oxygen.containingIn the room, the remaining chemical elements could only be called nitrogen out of politeness. It smelled of sour wine, hellish cutlets, and something else indescribably disgusting. Ostap groaned and turned. The suitcase fell to the floor. Ostap quickly opened his eyes.

“Well then”“What was that?” he muttered, grimacing. “Hussar antics in the restaurant hall! And it even seems like some kind of cavalry guard nonsense! Ugh! He was acting like a merchant of the second guild! My God, did I offend anyone present? There was some fool shouting, ‘Soil scientists, stand up!’ – and then he cried and swore that deep down he was a soil scientist himself. Of course, that was me! But what was that all about?”The text for translation: ».

And he remembered that yesterday, deciding to start a suitable…to the millionairelife, he decided to build himself a mansion in the Moorish style. He spent the morning lost in grand dreams. He envisioned a house with minarets, a doorman with a statue-like face, a small living room,billiardand some kind of conference room. In the land department of the council, they explained to the great combinator that it was possible to obtain the plot. But already in the construction company, everything fell apart. The Swiss guard collapsed, crashing down with his stone face, and the golden conference room began to sway.,.and the minarets collapsed.

“Are you a private individual?” asked the millionaire in the office.

“Yes,” replied Ostap, “a sharply defined individuality.”

– Unfortunately, we only build for teams and organizations.

“Cooperative, public, and economic?” he asked.Benderwith bitterness.

– Yes, for them.

– And me?

– You build it yourself.

– Yes, but where am I supposed to get stones, bolts? Finally, what about the baseboards?

– Get it somehow. Although it’s difficult. The contingents have already been allocated according to the requests from industry and cooperation.

ThroughoutvisibilityThis was the reason for the disgraceful nighttime antics of the hussars.

Ostap lay back and took out his notebook.the bookand began to calculate the expenses since the time of receiving the million. On the first page, there was a note:

Camel – 180 rubles.

Lamb – 30 rubles.

Kumis – 1 ruble 75 kopecks.

__________________

A total of 211 rubles and 75 kopecks.

The rest wasn’t any better. A fur coat, sauce, a train ticket, again sauce, another ticket, three turbans bought for a rainy day, cab drivers, a vase, and…all kinds ofNonsense. If we don’t count the fifty thousand from Balaganov, which didn’t bring him any happiness, the million was right on target.

–.“They won’t let me make capital investments!” Ostap exclaimed indignantly. “They won’t let me! Maybe I could live an intellectual life like my friend Lokhankin? After all, I’ve already accumulated material wealth; now I need to gradually accumulate spiritual values. I must find out immediately, in…”what is the meaninglife.Текст для перевода: ..

He remembered that all day long in the hotel lobby, girls were milling about, eager to talk to the visiting Indian philosopher about the soul.

–.“I’ll go to the Indian,” he decided, “and finally find out what’s going on. It’s a bit pretentious, but there’s no other way.”Текст для перевода: ..

Without parting from his suitcase, Bender, still in his wrinkled suit, went down to the mezzanine and knocked onthe door of the greata person. The translator opened up to him.

“Does the philosopher accept?” Ostap asked.

“That depends on who you ask,” the translator replied politely. “Are you a private individual?”

“No, no,” said the great schemer, frightened.. –
I.from one cooperative organization.

– Are you with a group? How many people are there? You see, it’s difficult for the teacher to accommodate everyone individually. He prefers to have a conversation…

– With the team? – Ostap chimed in. – The team has actually authorized me to address one important fundamental question regarding the meaning of life.

The translator left and returned five minutes later. Hemoved awayhe addressed the doorman grandly:

“Let a cooperative organization that wants to know the meaning of life come in.”

A great philosopher and poet sat in a chair with a high, uncomfortable carved back, dressed in a brown velvet robe and a matching cap. His face was dark and delicate, and his eyes were black, like those of a junior officer. His beard was wide and white,как.The frilled collar covered his chest. The stenographer sat at his feet. Two translators, an Indian and an Englishman, were positioned on either side.

At the sight of Ostap with a suitcase, the philosopher shifted uneasily in his chair and whispered something anxiously to the translator. The stenographer hurriedly…became.to record, and the translator turned to the great
combinator:

– The teacher wants to know if there are any songs and sagas of the alien in the suitcase.The text for translation: ,.And is the alien not planning to read them aloud, since the teacher has already heard many songs and sagas and can no longer listen to them?

“Tell the teacher that there are no sagas,” Ostap replied respectfully.

The dark-eyed old man became even more worried and, speaking animatedly, began to point at the suitcase with fear.

– The teacher is asking, – the translator began, – if the visitor plans to stay in his room, because no one has ever come to him for a reception.suitcasesПожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

Only after Ostap calmed the translator down did the tension ease, and the conversation began.

“Before answering your question about the meaning of life,” the translator said, “the teacher would like to say a few words about public education in India.”

“Please tell the teacher,” Ostap said, “that the issue of public education has concerned me since childhood.”

The philosopher closed his eyes and began to speak slowly. For the first hour, he spoke in English, and for the second…hour past– in Bengali. Sometimes he would start singing in a soft, pleasant voice, and once he even stood up and, lifting his robe, made a few dance moves that seemed to imitate the games of schoolchildren in Punjab. Then he sat down and closed his eyes again, while Ostap listened to the translation for a long time. At first, Ostap nodded politely, then he stared sleepily out the window, and finally, he began to entertain himself.,.He was rummaging through his pocket for change, admiring his ring, and even gave a noticeable wink to the pretty stenographer, after which she scribbled even faster with her pencil.

“– So what about the meaning of life?” asked the millionaire, seizing the moment.

– The teacher wishes first, – explained the translator, – to introduce the newcomer toextensive materials thatHe gathered information while familiarizing himself with the organization of public education in the USSR.

“Please convey my regards to his nobility,” replied Ostap.The text does not contain any translatable parts. Returning it as is.the alien does not object.

And the car started moving again. The teacher was talking, singing pioneer songs, and showing the wall newspaper that the children had brought him.146th.of the labor school, and once he even shed a tear. The translators murmured in two voices, the stenographer was writing, while Ostap absentmindedly cleaned his nails.

Finally, Ostap coughed loudly.

“Well, you know,” he said, “there’s no need to translate anymore. I’ve started to understand Bengali somehow. When it comes to the meaning of life…”Then translate it.Текст для перевода: ..

When the philosopher confirmed Ostap’s persistent desire, the dark-eyed old man became agitated.

“The teacher says,” the translator declared, “that he came to your great country to understand the meaning of life. Only where public education is held in such high regard as it is here does life become meaningful. The collective…”

– Before.dates“Quickly,” said the great combinator, “tell the teacher that the visitor requests permission to leave immediately.”

But the philosopher was already singing in a gentle voice.March of Budyonny,
which he learned from Soviet children. And Ostapran awaywithout permission.

– Krishna! – shouted the great schemer, running around his room. – Vishnu! What is happening in the world??.Where is the plain truth? Ah.The text for translation: ,.Maybe I’m a fool and don’t understand anything, and my life has been foolish and chaotic? A true Indian, you see, knows everything about our vast country, while I, like an operatic Indian guest, keep repeating the same thing: “Countless fiery diamonds in the stone storages.” How disgusting!

On that day, Ostap had lunch without vodka.The text for translation: ,.And for the first time, he left his suitcase in the room. Then he quietly sat on the windowsill, watching with interest the ordinary passersby who jumped onto the bus like squirrels.

At night, the great schemer suddenly woke up and sat on the bed. It was quiet, and only through the keyhole from the restaurant could be heard the melancholic sound of a Boston.

“How could I forget!” he said angrily.

Then he laughed, turned on the light, and quickly wrote a telegram:

“Zosya! I made a mistake, I want to come. Reply Moscow
Grand Hotel.”

He called and demanded that the telegram be sent immediately.The text for translation: ,.lightning.

The corridor officer reviewed the contents of the dispatch in the cafeteria and went to bed, concluding that the matter could wait until morning.

Zosya didn’t reply. There was no response to the other telegrams either,
composed inthis.in a desperate and lyrical genre.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The train was heading to Chernomorsk. The first passenger took off his jacket and hung it on the copper hook of the luggage rack, then he took off his shoes, bringing his thick legs almost to his face one at a time, and put on shoes with tongues.

“Have you heard the story about a land surveyor from Voronezh who turned out to be a relative of the Japanese mikado?” he asked, smiling in advance.

The second and third passengers moved closer. The fourth passenger was already lying on the upper couch under a prickly raspberry blanket, looking displeased as he glanced at an illustrated magazine.

“Didn’t you hear? There was a lot of talk about it for a while. He was just an ordinary land surveyor – a wife, one room, and one hundred twenty rubles.”salariesLast name–.Bigusov. Ordinary, well, completely.not remarkableA person, even if you want to know, is, between us, a jerk. One day he comes home from work, and in his room sits a Japanese man in, between us, an excellent suit, wearing glasses and, if you want to know, in snake skin shoes, the latest trend. “Is your last name Bigusov?” the Japanese man asks.The text for translation: . «.“Yes,” says Bigusov. “And what about the first name and patronymic?”The text for translation: » «.“That’s right,” the Japanese man says, “in that case…”,.Would you be so kind as to take off your hoodie?, to me.“I need to examine your bare torso.”Текст для перевода: ..“Please,” he says. Well, between you and me, if you want to know, the Japanese guy didn’t even consider the torso; he immediately went for the birthmark. Bigusov had such a birthmark.The text for translation: ,.on his side. A Japanese man looked at him through a magnifying glass, turned pale, and said, “Congratulations, citizen Bigusov, and allow me to hand you this package and envelope.” Of course, his wife opened the package., a.there, if you want to know,– a Japanese double-edged sword lies in the shavings“Why do I need a sword?” asked the land surveyor. “And you,–.says,–.“Read the letter. Everything is written there. You are a samurai.” At this, Bigusov also turned pale. Voronezh, if you want to know, is not a particularly large center. Between you and me, what kind of connection could there possibly be to samurais? The most negative one.!.Well, there’s nothing to be done.,.Bigusov takes up the letter, breaking open fourteen wax seals andreadsWhat do you think? It turns out that exactly thirty-six years ago, a half-prince from Japan was passing through the Voronezh province incognito. Well, between you and me, his highness got involved with a local girl from Voronezh and had a child incognito. He even wanted to get married, but the mikado forbade it with a coded telegram. The half-prince had to leave, and the child remained illegitimate. That was Bigusov.

And now, after all these years, the half-prince was dying, and, as luck would have it, he had no legitimate children to inherit his fortune, and on top of that, the famous lineage was fading away, which is the worst thing for a Japanese. So, he had to remember Bigusov. What a stroke of luck for that man! They say he’s already in Japan now. The old man has died. And now Bigusov is a prince, a relative of the mikado, and, between us, he also received a million yen in cash. A million! For such a fool!

“Give me a million rubles!” said the second passenger, fidgeting in his seat. “I would show them what to do with a million!”

In the gap between the upper bunks, the head of the fourth passenger appeared. He looked intently at the man who clearly knew what could be done with a million, and without saying a word, he closed the magazine again.

– Yes, – said the third passenger, unwrapping the train ticket.parchmentA small packet with two individual crackers – there are various facts in the field of monetary circulation. A girl from Moscow had an uncle in Warsaw who passed away and left her a million-dollar inheritance, but she didn’t even know about it. However, over there, they caught wind of it, and within a month, a rather respectable foreigner appeared in Moscow. This fellow decided to marry the girl before she found out.about inheritanceShe had a fiancé in Moscow, and he was also quite a handsome young man from the Chamber.Measures and WeightsShe loved him very much and, of course, didn’t want to marry anyone else. And that foreigner was completely going crazy, sending her bouquets, candies, and silk stockings. It turns out that the foreign gentleman didn’t come on his own, but was sent by a joint-stock company that was formed specifically for exploitation.auntinheritance. They even had a main capital.–.eighteen thousand zlotys. Their representative had to marry the girl at all costs and take her abroad. What a romantic story! Can you imagine the representative’s position? Such responsibility!And thenHe took an advance and can’t justify it because of this Soviet fiancé. And over there in Warsaw, it’s a nightmare! The shareholders are waiting, they’re worried, the stocks are falling. In short, it all ended in disaster. The girl married her Soviet guy. So she…и.I didn’t find out anything.

“Such a fool!” said the second passenger. “If only they had given me that million.”!

In a fit of agitation, he even snatched a cracker from his neighbor’s hand and nervously ate it.

The occupant of the upper couch cleared his throat with annoyance. Apparently, the conversations were keeping him from falling asleep.

Below, people began to speak more quietly. Now the passengers sat closely together, head to head, and, gasping for breath, whispered:

– Recently, the international Red Cross society…crossan announcement was made in the newspapers that
heirs of the American soldier Harry Kovalchuk, who died in1918.In the year of the war. The inheritance is a million! That is, it was less than a million, but the interest has accumulated.Текст для перевода: ..And so, in a remote village in Volhynia…

On the upper couch, a raspberry blanket was tossed about. Bender felt miserable. He was tired of the carriages, the upper and lower bunks, the whole shaking world of travel. He would easily give half a million to fall asleep, but the whispering below wouldn’t stop.Текст для перевода: ..

– …You see, one day an old woman came and said: “I found a pot in my basement, I don’t know what’s in the pot, so please…”to look atThe board of the jacket looked into this pot, and there was…–.golden Indian rupees, a million rupees…

– What a fool! She found someone to tell!.. If they had given me that million, I would have…

“Between you and me, if you want to know,”– money
this isEverything..

– And in a cave near Mozhaysk…

From above came a moan, a deep, resonant moan of a dying individual.

The storytellers were momentarily taken aback, butcharmunexpected riches,crumblingfrom the pockets of Japanese princes, Warsaw relatives, or American soldiers was so great that they started grabbing each other by the knees again, mumbling:

– …And so, when they opened the relics, between you and me, they found a million…

In the morning, still half-asleep, Ostap heard the sound of a curtain being unhooked and a voice:

– A million! Do you understand, a whole million…

It was too much. The great schemer angrily looked down. But the passengers from yesterday were already gone. They had disembarked at dawn.,.in Kharkiv, leaving behind crumpled beds, a greasy sheet of arithmetic paper, crumbs from cutlets and bread, as well as a little string.StoodThe new passenger at the window glanced indifferently at Ostap and continued speaking to his two companions:

– A million tons of pig iron. By the end of the year. The commission found thatfactory.maybe it can give.
And the funniest thing isThe text for translation: ,.Kharkiv has approved it!

Ostap found nothing funny in this statement. However, the new passengers suddenly burst into laughter. At the same time, everyone…three.creakedthe samerubber coats that they haven’t had time to take off yet.

“How about Bubesko, Ivan Nikolaevich?” asked the youngest of the passengers with enthusiasm.ProbablyIs it digging in the ground with its nose?

–.Already.He found himself in a ridiculous situation. But what can you do! At first, he got into a fight… you know Ivan.The character of NikolaevichПожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.825.thousand tons andnot a single pudmore. This is where serious business began.
Underestimation of possibilitiesIs it a fact?Narrowing down to bottlenecks is a fact.?.The person should have done it right away.и.to fully admit one’s mistake. But no! Ambition! So what if it’s noble nobility.Confess.– And that’s it. But he started in parts. He decided to maintain his authority. And then the music began, the Dostoevskian style: “On one hand, I acknowledge, but on the other hand, I emphasize.” But what is there to emphasize? What a spineless wavering! We had to write a second letter to our Bubeska.

The passengers laughed again.

– But he didn’t say a word about his opportunism there. And he went on to write. A letter every day. They want to set up a special department for him.–.“Amendments and
demarcations.” And he knows it himself that…signed upHe wants to get out of it, but he’s made such a mess of things that he can’t. And he even went so far as to write: “Well, this is how it is… I admit my mistake.”и.“I consider this letter insufficient.”

Ostap.a long time agoHe went to wash up, while the new passengers were still laughing. When he returned, the compartment had been swept, the sofas were lowered, and the conductor was leaving, pressing a bundle of sheets and blankets against his chin. The young people, unafraid of drafts, had opened the window, and the autumn wind was jumping and rolling around the compartment like a sea wave trapped in a box.

Ostap tossed a suitcase with a million onto the net and settled down below, friendly.glancingabout the new neighbors who somehow eagerly immersed themselves in the life of the international carriage – often looking in the door mirror, bouncing on the sofa, testing its springiness.springs,They approved the quality of the red polished finish and pressed on.all.buttons. From time to time, one of them would disappear for a few minutes and upon returning, would whisper with his companions. Finally, a girl appeared in the doorway wearing a beaver fur men’s coat and gym shoes with ribbons wrapped around her ankles in an ancient Greek style.

– Comrades! – she said decisively. – This is outrageous. We also want to travel in luxury. At the very first station, we must exchange.

Bender’s companions started to shout threateningly.

– It’s nothing, nothing. Everyone has the same rights as you, – the girl continued., – weThe lot has already been cast. It fell to Tarasov, Parovitsky, and me. Get out to the third class.

From the noise that arose, Ostap realized that a large group of students from the polytechnic was returning to Chernomorsk from their summer factory internship. There weren’t enough seats in the hard carriage for everyone, so they had to buy three tickets in the international carriage, splitting the cost among the whole group.

As a result, the girl stayed in the compartment while the three eldest left with a delayed sense of dignity. Immediately, Tarasov and Parovitsky appeared in their places. Without wasting any time, they started jumping on the sofas and pressing buttons. The girl busily jumped along with them.. No.Half an hour had passed when the first trio stumbled into the compartment. They were driven back by a longing for lost grandeur. Behind them, with awkward smiles, appeared two more, and then another one, a mustached man. It was only the second day of his turn to travel in luxury, and he couldn’t wait any longer. His appearance elicited particularly excited cries, which quickly brought the conductor to the scene.

– What is this, citizens, – he said in an official tone, – a whole gang has gathered here. Those of you in the hard seats, leave. Otherwise, I’ll go to the authorities.

The gang was taken aback.

– These are guests, – the girl said, her expression turning sad, – they only came to sit.

– In the rulesprohibited“Leave,” the conductor said.

The mustached man backed away towards the exit, but at that moment, the great schemer intervened in the conflict.

– What.The text for translation: female.It’s you, dad.?.“he said to the conductor”PassengersDon’t lynch without.specialnecessity. Why stick so closely to the letter of the law? We need to be hospitable. You know how it is in the East! Come on, I’ll explain everything to you right now.Regarding hospitality.

After talking to Ostap in the hallway, the conductor became so immersed in the spirit of the East that, no longer thinking about expelling the gang, he brought…even.nine glassestea.in heavy cup holders and the entire supply of individual crackers. He didn’t even take any money.

– According to Eastern custom, – Ostap said to the society, – according tolawshospitality, as a certain culinary sector worker once said.

The service was provided with such ease and simplicity that it was impossible to refuse. The crinkling of the torn cracker packets filled the air, and Ostap, in a hospitable manner, served tea and soon became friends with all eight students and one female student.

“I have long been interested in the problem of universal, equal, and secret education,” he chattered happily. “Recently, I even had a conversation about this with an Indian amateur philosopher. A man of great learning. So whatever he says is immediately recorded on a gramophone record. And since the old man loves to talk—he has that little flaw—eight hundred wagonloads of records have piled up, and now they are already being turned into buttons.”

Starting with this free improvisation, the great schemer took a cracker in his hands.

– To thisdrying“One step to the sharpening stone. And that step has already been taken,” he said.

Friendship, fueled by jokes of this kind, developed very quickly, and soon the whole gang under Ostap’s leadership was already singing a humorous song:

Peter the Great

There’s no one close to me.

Only a horse and a snake.–.

Here is his whole family.

By evening, Ostap…knew everyone by nameand with some I was already atyou.But he didn’t understand much of what the young people were saying. Suddenly, he felt terribly old. In front of him sat youth, a bit rough, straightforward, and somewhat disappointingly simple. He was different at twenty. He admitted to himself that at twenty he was much more versatile and worse. Back then, he didn’t laugh; he only smirked. But these young people laughed wholeheartedly.

“What is this chubby-faced youth so happy about? – he thought with sudden irritation. – Honestly, I’m starting to feel envious.”

Although Ostap,undoubtedly, there wasthe center of attention in the entire compartment, and his speech flowed withoutdelaysAlthough those around him treated him very well, there was neither the chaotic adoration typical of Balaganov, nor the cowardly submission of Panikovsky, nor the devoted love of Kozlevich. Among the students, one could sense the superiority of the audience over the emcee. The audience listens…personin a tailcoat, sometimes laughs, lazily applauds him, but in the end goes home, and he no longer cares about the emcee. And the emcee, after the show, comes to the artists’ club, sits sadly over a cutlet, and complains to a fellow performer from the variety theater—a comic from operetta—that the audience doesn’t understand him, and the government doesn’t appreciate him. The comic drinks vodka and also complains that he is not understood. Andчто.Isn’t it clear there? The sharpness is old, and the techniques are outdated, and it’s too late to relearn. Everything seems to be clear.

The story about Bubeshko, who downplayed the plans, was told again, this time specifically for Ostap. He was in a hard carriage with his new friends, trying to convince a female student.Luda.Pisariev came to visit them and was so eloquent that he seemed shy.Lyuda.She came and took part in the general game. The sudden trust grew to the point that by evening, while strolling along the platform of a large junction station with a girl in a man’s coat, the great schemer led her almost to the exit signal and here, unexpectedly for himself, poured out his soul to her in rather vulgar expressions.

“Do you understand,” he explained, “the moon was shining, the queen of the landscape. We were sitting on the steps of the museum of antiquities.”. I.I realized that I love her. But I had to…тот.I was supposed to leave this evening, but things fell through. She seems to be upset. Even…probablyI got offended.

“Have you been sent on a business trip?” the girl asked.attentivelyТекст для перевода: ..

– Well. It’s like a business trip. I mean, not exactly a business trip, but an urgent matter. Now I’m suffering. Majestically and foolishly suffering.

“It’s not scary,” the girl said, “just channel your excess energy into some kind of productive process. Chop wood, for example. There’s a trend for that now.”

Ostap promised to switch gears, and although he couldn’t quite imagine how he would replace Zosya with a wood saw, he still felt a great sense of relief. They returned to the carriage with a mysterious look and then went out into the corridor several times to whisper aboutunitedlove
and about new trends in this field.

In the compartment, Ostap was still struggling to impress the company. And heachievedthat students have becomelook at him as if he were your ownAnd the rude Parovitsky hit Ostap on the shoulder with all his might and exclaimed:

“Come study at our polytechnic. I swear! You’ll get a scholarship.”75.You’ll live like a king. We have a cafeteria, meat every day. Then we’ll go to the Urals.,.for an internship.

“I’ve already graduated from a humanities university,” the great schemer said hurriedly.

“What’s your plan now?” asked Parovitsky.

– Oh, just some financial matters.

– Do you work at a bank?

Ostap.suddenlylooked at the student satirically andclearlysaid:

– No, I don’t serve. I’m a millionaire.

Of course, this statement did not obligate Ostap to anything, and everything was possible.was.turn it into a joke, but
Parovitsky laughed so hard that the great schemer felt offended.
He was overcome with a desire to impress his companions, to evoke even greater admiration from them.

– How muchThe text for translation: female.“Do you have millions?” asked the girl in gym shoes, nudging him for a cheerful response.

“One,” said Ostap.paleingfrom pride.

“That’s not enough,” declared the mustached man.

“Not enough, not enough!” everyone shouted.

“I have enough,” Bender said solemnly.

With these words, he grabbed his suitcase, clicked the nickel-plated clasps, and dumped all its contents onto the sofa. The paper tiles spread out in a sprawling heap. Ostap bent one of them, and the wrapper burst with a card-like crack.

– Each pack contains ten thousand. Is that not enough for you? A million without any
small change. Everything is in order. Signatures, parquet grid, and watermarks.

In complete silence, Ostap gathered the money back into the suitcase and tossed it onto the trunk with a gesture thatOstapHe appeared regal. He sat back down on the couch, leaned against the backrest, and spread his arms wide.kneesand looked at the gang.

“See, the humanities also bear fruit,” said the millionaire, inviting the students to have some fun with him.

The students were silent, examining the various buttons and hooks on the ornate walls of the compartment.

“I live like a god,” Ostap continued, “or like a demigod, which is ultimately the same thing.”

After waiting a little, the great schemer began to move restlessly and exclaimed in the friendliest tone.:.

“What’s the matter with you, you devils? Why so glum?”

“Well, I’m off,” said the mustached man, thinking, “I’ll go home and see how things are.”

And he jumped out of the compartment.

“An amazing thing, a wonderful thing,” Ostap remarked, “just this morning we didn’t even know each other, and now we feel as if we’ve known each other for ten years. What is this, some kind of vibes at work?”

“How much do we owe for the tea?” asked Parovitsky. “How many did we drink, comrades? Nine glasses.”? Or.Ten? I need to ask the conductor. I’ll be right back.

Four more people joined him, driven by the desire to help Parovitsky with his calculations involving the guide.

“Maybe we should sing something?” Ostap suggested. “Something heavy.”?.For example, “Sergio, come on, Sergio, come on!” Do you want to? I have a wonderful Volga bass.

And, without waiting for a response, the great schemer hurriedly began to sing: “Along the river, along the Kazanka, a gray drake swims.” When it was time to join in the chorus, Ostap waved his arms like a choir conductor and stomped his foot, but there was no thunderous choral shout that followed. Only one…Lyuda.Pisarievskaya, shyly, squeaked: “Sergiy the priest, Sergiy the priest.”The text for translation: »., but then she suddenly stopped and ran out.in the corridorТекст для перевода: ..

Friendship was fading before my eyes. Soon, only a kind and responsive girl in gym shoes remained in the compartment.

“Where did everyone run off to?” asked Bender.

– Indeed, – the girl whispered, – we need to find out.

She quickly rushed to the door, but the unfortunate millionaire grabbed her by the hand.

“I was just joking,” he mumbled, “I’m a worker.”!.I am the conductor of a symphony orchestra!..
I am the son of Lieutenant Schmidt!.. My father is a Turkish subject. Believe me!..

“Let me through!”hissedgirl.

The great combinator is left alone.

The compartment shook and creaked. The little spoons turned in the empty cups, and all the tea set slowly slid to the edge of the table. In the doorway, the conductor appeared, pressing a stack of blankets and sheets against his chin.

Chapter Thirty-Five

In Chornomorsk, roofs rattled and drafts swept through the streets. The gentle Indian summer, unexpectedly attacked by a northeast wind, was driven to the trash bins, gutters, and ledges of buildings. There, it was dying among charred maple leaves and torn tram tickets. Cold chrysanthemums sank in the flowerpots. The green shutters of closed kvass stalls slammed shut. Pigeons cooed, “I will die, I will die.” Sparrows warmed themselves by pecking at hot manure. The residents of Chornomorsk trudged against the wind, heads down like bulls. The worst off were the gentlemen in vests. The wind tore their canotiers and panama hats from their heads and rolled them down the parquet pavement toward the boulevard. Old men ran after them, gasping and grumbling. Sidewalk whirlwinds swept the pursuers along so fiercely that at times they overtook their hats and only regained their composure when they leaned against the wet feet of a bronze figure of a Catherine-era nobleman standing in the middle of the square.

AntelopeAt its parking spot, it emitted ship-like creaks. If earlier Kozlevich’s car had evoked cheerful bewilderment, now it inspired pity: the left rear fender was tied up with a rope, a significant portion of the windshield had been replaced with plywood, and instead of the one lost in the accident…pears with matchaA nickel-plated chairman’s bell hung from a little rope. Even the steering wheel, which was resting under the honest hands of Adam Kazimirovich, had slightly warped.на.the sidewalk, next toAntelope, the great combinator stood. Leaning against the side of the car, he said:

– I deceived you, Adam. I can’t give you anything.“Isotto-Fraschini”, ni.“Lincoln”, ni.“Buika”, nor even“Ford”I can’t buy a new car. The government doesn’t consider me a buyer. I’m a private individual. The only thing I could possibly purchase is something advertised in the newspaper., this.the same junk as
oursAntelopeТекст для перевода: ..

“Why not?” Kozlevich replied. “My…”“Lauren-Dietrich”good machine. If only I had a used oil line hose, I wouldn’t need anything else.“Biyuikov”Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

“I brought you the hose,” Ostap said, “here it is. And this is the only thing, dear Adam, that I can help you with regarding the mechanization of transport.”

Kozlevich was very pleased with the hose, twisting it in his hands for a long time and immediately started fitting it. Ostap rang the bell, which produced a formal chime, and passionately began:

– You know, Adam, the news is that each citizen is pressed down by a column of air with a force of214.kilo.Текст для перевода: ..

– No, – he said.Adam., – so what?

– What do you mean?!This is a scientific and medical fact. And it has become difficult for me recently. Just think about it!214.kilo!It’s pressing.around the clock, especially at night. I sleep poorly. What?

“Nothing, I’m listening,” Kozlevich replied gently.

– I feel really bad, Adam. I have too big of a heart.

DriverAntelopesWith a grunt, Ostap continued to chatter.:.

“Yesterday, an old woman approached me on the street and offered to sell me an everlasting needle for my primus stove. You know, Adam, I didn’t buy it. I don’t need an everlasting needle; I don’t want to live forever. I want to die. I have all the obvious signs of infatuation: loss of appetite, insomnia, and a manic urge to write poetry. Listen to what I scribbled down last night under the flickering light of the electric lamp: ‘I remember a wonderful moment, you appeared before me, like a fleeting vision, like a genius of pure beauty.’ Pretty good, right? Talented? And only at dawn, when I had finished the last lines, did I remember that this poem was already written by A. Pushkin. What a blow from the classic! Huh?”

“– No, no, please continue,” Kozlevich said sympathetically.

“That’s how I live,” Ostap continued, his voice trembling. “My body is registered at the ‘Cairo’ hotel, but my soul is absent; it doesn’t even want to go to Rio de Janeiro. And on top of that, the oppressive atmosphere is suffocating.”

“Have you been to see her?” asked the straightforward Kozlevich. “At Zosia Viktorovna’s?”

“I won’t go,” said Ostap, “because of my proud shyness. The Janissaries have awakened within me. I sent that scoundrel a telegram from Moscow for three hundred and fifty rubles and didn’t even get a response for fifty kopecks. Me, who was loved by housewives, domestic workers, widows, and even one woman—a dentist.”Doctor!No, Adam, I’m not going there. Untildates,
Adam!

Kozlevich watched Ostap disappear into the distance for a long time, then thoughtfully started the engine and drove away.

The great combinator went to the hotel, pulled out from under the bed a suitcase with a million that was lying next to some worn-out shoes. For a while, he stared at it rather blankly, then he grabbed the handle and made his way outside. The wind caught Ostap by the shoulders and dragged him towardsPrimorskythe boulevard. It was deserted here; no one was sitting on the white benches, carved with love inscriptions from the summer. A low truck with thick, straight masts was making its way out to the outer raid, circling around the lighthouse.

– Enough, – said Ostap, – the golden calf is not for me. Let whoever wants it take it. Let them become millionaires in the open!

He looked around and, seeing that there was no one else around, dropped the suitcase on the gravel.

“Please,” he said, addressing the black maples, and bowed slightly.

He walked down the alley without looking back. At first, he walked slowly, at a leisurely pace, then he put his hands in his pockets because they suddenly started to bother him, and he quickened his pace to overcome his hesitation. He forced himself to turn the corner and even started to hum a little tune, but just a minute later, he ran back. The suitcase was still in its original spot. However, from the opposite side, a middle-aged man of quite ordinary appearance was approaching him, bending down and stretching out his hands.

“Where are you going?!” Ostap shouted from a distance. “I’ll show you what happens when you grab someone else’s suitcase! You can’t leave it for a second!”!Outrageous!

The citizen shrugged in dissatisfaction and stepped back. And Bender once again trudged along with the golden calf in his hands.

“What should I do now? – he pondered. – How to deal with this cursed fortune that enriches me only with moral torment? Should I burn it?”

The great schemer paused with pleasure at this thought.

“My room has a fireplace.”Burn inthe fireplace! It’s magnificent! Cleopatra’s deed! Into the fire! Pack after pack! Why should I bother with them? Although no, it’s silly. Burning money is just showiness! A display of bravado! But what can I do with them, besides…nepman’sFood? What a ridiculous situation! The museum director is planning to create a Louvre for three hundred rubles, while any group of watermen or a cooperative corporation of playwrights could build a half-skyscraper with a flat roof for outdoor lectures for a million.!.“And Ostap Bender, a descendant of the Janissaries, can’t do a damn thing! Look
how the hegemonic class has descended upon the millionaire loner!”

Reflecting on what to do with a million, the great combinator paced the paths, sat on the cement parapet, and glared angrily at the steamboat rocking behind the breakwater.

“No, we’ll have to give up on the fire. Burning money is—”это.cowardly and ungraceful. We need to come up with some kind of impressive gesture. Should we perhaps establish a scholarship in the name of Balaganov for students of the correspondence radio engineering school? Buy fifty thousand silver spoons, cast a horse statue of Panikovsky from them, and place it on his grave? InlayAntelope“Mother of pearl? Maybe…”

The great schemer jumped off the parapet, illuminated by a new thought. Without wasting a moment, he left the boulevard and, steadfastly enduring the onslaught of the frontal and side winds, headed to the post office. There, at his request, a suitcase was wrapped in burlap and tied crosswise with twine. It turned into a simple-looking package, the kind that the post office receives by the thousands every day, in which citizens send their relatives pork fat, jam, or apples.

Ostap took a chemical pencil and, excitedly waving it in the air,wrote down:.

Valuable

To the People’s Commissar of Finance

Moscow

And the package,droppedwith the hand of a sturdy postman, it fell onto a pile of oval shapesbales.…bags and boxes. As Ostap stuffed the receipt into his pocket, he saw that his million, along with the rest of the load, was already being wheeled away to the next room by a lazy…old manwith white lightning bolts on the epaulettes.

“The meeting continues,” said the great combinator, “this time without the participation of the deputy of the crazy agrarians O. Bender.”

He lingered for a long time.sat.under the arch of the post office, sometimes approving of his actions, sometimes regretting them. The wind crept under Ostap’s macintosh. He felt cold and, with disappointment, remembered that he still hadn’t…bought.second fur coat.

Right in front of him, a girl stopped for a second. Tilting her head back, she looked at the shiny face of the post office clock and then continued on her way. She was wearing a rough little coat that was shorter than her dress and a blue beret with a childish pom-pom. With her right hand, she held down the flapping hem of her coat, which was being blown by the wind. The commander’s heart skipped a beat even before he recognized Zosya, and he started to follow her along the wet pavement, instinctively keeping a bit of distance. Sometimes, passersby blocked his view of the girl, and then Ostap would step onto the street, peering at Zosya from the side while contemplating the points of his upcoming explanation.

At the corner, Zosia stopped in front of a haberdashery kiosk and began to examine the brown men’s socks hanging on a string. Ostap started to patrol nearby.

At the edge of the sidewalk, two people with briefcases were talking animatedly. Both were wearing mid-season coats, from which white summer trousers were visible.

– You left just in time fromHERCULES“Ivan Pavlovich,” he said, clutching his briefcase to his chest, “there’s a mess over there, they’re cleaning it up like animals.”

“Everyone in the city is talking,” he sighed.secondТекст для перевода: ..

– Yesterday we were cleaning Skuмbrievich, – said the first one with a hint of pleasure, – it was impossible to get through. At first, everything was very cultured. Skuмbrievich told his biography in such a way that everyone applauded him. “I,” he said, “was born between the hammer and the anvil.” With this, he wanted to emphasize that his parents were blacksmiths. Then someone from the audience asked, “Excuse me, do you remember there was a trading house called ‘Skuмbrievich and Son’?”, hardwaregoodsThe text for translation: ”».Aren’t you the one named Skumbrievich? And then this fool goes and says, “I’m not Skumbrievich, I’m his son.” Can you imagine what’s going to happen to him now? He’s definitely in for it.

– Yes, Comrade Vaintorg, such strictness. And who are they cleaning today?

– Today is a big day! Today is Berlag, the one who escaped from the insane asylum. Then there’s Polykhaev himself and that viper Serna Mikhailovna, his morganatic wife. She is in…HERCULESI didn’t let anyone breathe. I’ll come today about two hours before it starts, otherwise you won’t be able to get through. Besides, the Bum…

Zosya moved ahead, and Ostap never found out what happened to Adolf Nikolaevich Boms. However, this did not bother him at all.worriedThe opening line of the conversation was already prepared. The commander quickly caught up with the girl.

– Zosia, – he said, – I’ve arrived, and there’s no ignoring that fact.

The phrase was uttered with a horrifying nonchalance. The girl recoiled, and the great schemer realized he had struck a false note. He changed his tone, speaking quickly and at length, complaining about circumstances, mentioning that youth had not turned out as imagined in childhood, that life had proven to be rough and low, like a bass clef.

– You know, Zosia, – he finally said, – every person, even a party member, is weighed down by an atmospheric column of…214.A kilo. Didn’t you notice that?

Zosia didn’t reply.

At that moment, they were passing by the “Capital” cinema. Ostap quickly glanced sideways at the spot where his office had been established during the summer and let out a quiet exclamation. A wide sign stretched across the entire building:

State Union of Horns and Hooves

In all the windows, typewriters and portraits of state officials were visible. At the entrance stood a courier with a triumphant smile, a far cry from Panikovsky. Through the open gates marked “Base Warehouse,” three-ton trucks loaded to the brim with air conditioning units and hooves were driving in. It was clear that Ostap’s brainchild had taken the right path.

“Here comes the hegemonic class,” Ostap said sadly, “even my frivolous idea was used for their own purposes. They’ve pushed me aside, Zosia. Do you hear me? They’ve pushed me aside. I’m unhappy.”

– The sad lover, – Zosya said, turning to Ostap for the first time.

“Yes,” he replied.he.I am a typical Eugene Onegin, a knight deprived of his inheritance by the Soviet regime.

– Well, what kind of knight is that!

“Don’t be angry, Zosia.”Текст для перевода: ..Please take into account the atmospheric pressure. It seems to me that it weighs down on me much more than on other citizens. This is out of love for you. Also, I am not a union member. That contributes to it as well.

– Moreover, also because you lie more than other citizens.

– It’s not a lie. It’s a law of physics. Or maybe, really, there is no pole at all.The text for translation: ,.and this is one of my fantasies?.

Zosya stopped and began to pull off her grayish stocking glove.and such kindnessТекст для перевода: ..

“I’m thirty-three,” Ostap said hastily, “the age of Jesus Christ. And what have I accomplished so far? I haven’t created any teachings, squandered my disciples, haven’t resurrected the dead Panikovsky, and only you…”

– Well, see you later.dates“To the cafeteria,” Zosya said.

“I’ll have lunch too,” declared the great schemer, glancing at the sign: “Training and Demonstration Food Combine of the Vocational School at the Black Sea.”state“Academy of Spatial Arts” – let’s shoot some routine demonstration footage at this academy. Maybe it will lighten the mood.

“Only for union members here,” Zosia warned.

– Then I’ll just sit like this.

They descended down three steps. In the depths of the training and demonstration facility…a palm tree, green like the roof of a house,A dark-eyed young man sat there, looking at the menu with a sense of dignity.

“Pericles!” Zosia shouted from a distance. “I bought you socks with a double heel. Meet them!”Текст для перевода: ..This is Themis.

– Femida, – said the young man, warmly shaking Ostap’s hand.

– Bender-Zadunaisky, – replied the great conman gruffly, immediately realizing that he was late for the festival of love and that socks with a double heel were not just products of some cooperative workshop of fake invalids, but a symbol of a happy marriage, legitimized.ZAGS (Civil Registry Office)Текст для перевода: ..

“How! Are you also from Zaduan?” Zosia asked cheerfully.

– Yes, Zaduanaysky. After all, you’re not just Sinitskaya anymore, are you?
Judging by the socks…

–.I am Sinitskaya.–Themis.

– It’s been twenty-seven days already, – remarked the young man, rubbing his hands together.

“I like your husband,” said the knight who had been disinherited.

“I like it myself,” Zosia replied hotly.

While the young couple was eating naval borscht, lifting their spoons high and exchanging glances, Ostap cast a discontented look at the propaganda posters hanging on the walls. One read: “Don’t distract yourself with conversation while eating. It interferes with the proper secretion of gastric juice.” Another was written in verse: “Fruit waters bring us carbohydrates.” There was nothing more to do. They needed to leave, but an inexplicable shyness held them back.

“In this naval borscht,” Ostap said with difficulty, “there are pieces of a shipwreck floating.”

The spouses of Themis chuckled good-naturedly.

– So, what line of work are you in? – he asked.Ostap, a young man.Текст для перевода: ..

– Well, I’m actually the secretary of the railway artists’ collective, – replied Femidi.

The great combinator became slow.to riseТекст для перевода: ..

– Ah, a representative of the team! This was to be expected! However, I won’t distract you with conversation. It might interfere with your ability to properly produce gastric juice, which is so essential for your health.

He left without saying goodbye, cutting corners of the tables as he made his way straight to the exit.

“– They took the girl!” he muttered on the street. “– Right out of the stall. Themis!”Немизиди! A representative of the collective
Femidi took away from a sole millionaire…

And at that moment, with astonishing clarity and precision, Bender remembered that he didn’t have a million at all.not anymoreHe was mulling over this thought.на.I’m running, pushing through the crowd with my hands, like a swimmer in a competition to break a world record.

– Well, the Apostle Paul has been found too.!.– he whispered, jumping over the flowerbeds of the city garden. –The Pennyless Man,
son of a bitch! Cursed Mennonite, Seventh-day Adventist!Fool!If they’ve already sent the package – I’ll hang myself! We need to get rid of these fat cats!

Slipping twice on the tiled floor of the post office, the great con artist rushed to the window. There stood a small, stern, and silent line. In a moment of haste, Ostap thrust his head into the window, but the citizen at the front of the line nervously raised his sharp elbows and pushed the newcomer back a bit. The second citizen, like a wind-up toy, also raised his elbows, and the great con artist found himself even further from the coveted window. In complete silence, the elbows continued to rise and spread until the audacious one ended up in his rightful place – at the very back of the line.

– I just… – Ostap began.

But he didn’t continue. It was pointless. The queue, gray and stony, was unbreakable, like a Greek phalanx. Everyone knew their place and was ready to die for their small rights.

Only after forty-five minutes did Ostap lean his head into the mail slot and eagerly demand his package back. The clerk indifferently returned the receipt to Ostap.

“Comrade, we do not return packages.”

“How! Already sent it?” asked the great schemer with a trembling voice. “I just submitted it an hour ago!”

“Comrade, we do not return packages,” the postal worker repeated.

– But it’s my package, – Ostap said gently, – you see, it’s mine. I sent it, and I want to take it back. You understand, I forgot to include a jar of jam. From paradise apples. I’m begging you. My uncle will be terribly upset. You understand…

“Comrade, we do not return packages.”

Ostap looked around, seeking help. Behind him stood a line, silent and stern, well aware of all the rules, including the fact that packages are not returned.

– Put in the jar, – Ostap mumbled, – heavenly.applesТекст для перевода: ..

– Comrade, a little jar.send“By a separate package,” said the clerk.softening– Nothing will happen to your uncle.

– You don’t know my uncle! – Ostap said passionately. – And besides, I’m a poor student, I have no money. I’m asking you as a member of the community.

“See, comrade,” said the clerk in a tearful voice, “where are we supposed to look for it now! There are three tons of packages lying there.”

But then the great schemer started rambling such a pitiful nonsense that the postal worker went off to another room to look for the poor student’s package. The previously silent queue immediately erupted in protest. The great schemer was roundly criticized for his ignorance of postal laws, and one woman, in her anger, even pinched him.

“Never do that again,” the postman said sternly, throwing Bender’s briefcase back at him.

“I will never do it!” the commander declared. “I swear on my student honor!”

The roofs rattled in the wind, the streetlights swayed, shadows moved across the ground, and the rain crossed the beams of the car headlights.

“Enough of the psychological excesses,” Bender said cheerfully.– experiencesand self-reflection. It’s time to start a bourgeois working life.
In Rio de Janeiro! I’ll buy a plantation and hire Balaganov as my monkey.
Let him pick bananas for me!

Chapter Thirty-Six

A strange man was walking at night through the wetlands of Transnistria. He was enormous and shapelessly fat. He wore a tightly fitting canvas cloak with the hood pulled up. Moving on tiptoe past the reed patches and under the sprawling fruit trees, the strange man moved as if he were in a bedroom. Occasionally, he would stop and sigh. At those moments, a clinking sound could be heard from within the cloak, like metal objects colliding with each other. Each time, a thin, extremely delicate chime lingered in the air. Once, the strange man tripped over a wet root and fell on his stomach. The sound was so loud it was as if a suit of armor had fallen onto a wooden floor. For a long time, the strange man remained on the ground, staring into the darkness.

The March night was noisy. From the trees, full-bodied drops of apothecary essence fell and splashed onto the ground.

“Curse this dish!” the man whispered.

He got up and made his way to the Dniester without any incidents. A man lifted his coat, slid down the bank, and, losing his balance on the thawed ice, ran towards Romania.

The Great Combinator had been preparing all winter. He was buying North American dollars with portraits of presidents in white wigs, golden watches.,.cigarette cases, wedding rings,diamondsand other precious things.

Right now, he was carrying seventeen massive cigarette cases adorned with monograms, eagles, and engraved inscriptions.

“To the Director of the Russo-Carpathian Bank and benefactor Evsey
Rudolfovich Polufabrikan in honor of his silver wedding anniversary from grateful
colleagues”The text for translation: ,.

“To the Secret Counselor M. I. Svyatotatsky upon the completion of the senatorial review from the officials of the Black Sea Governorate.”

But the heaviest of all was the cigarette case with the inscription: “To Mr. Officer of the Alekseevsky District from grateful Jewish merchants.” Below the inscription was a blazing enamel heart pierced by an arrow, which, of course, was meant to symbolize the love of the Jewish merchants for the officer.

In the pockets were stuffed bagel-shaped bundles of wedding rings, rings, and bracelets. On his back, in three rows, hung twenty pairs of gold watches on sturdy strings. Some of them ticked irritatingly, and Bender felt as if insects were crawling up his spine. Among them were also gift specimens, as indicated by the inscription on the lid: “To my beloved son Seryozhenka Kastraki on the day of surrender.”examon the diploma of maturity.” Above the word “maturity,” the word “sexual” had been scratched out with a pin. This was apparently done by the friends of young Kastraki, who were just as much underachievers as he was. Ostap hesitated for a long time before buying this indecent watch, but in the end, he purchased it becausefirmlyI decided to invest the entire million in jewelry.

Overall, the winter was spent in great toil.DiamondsThe great combinator managed to gather only four hundred thousand; in currency, including some dubious Polish and Balkan money, he was able to scrape together only fifty thousand. The rest of the amount had to be…to buyweights. It was especially difficult to move with a golden plate on my stomach. The plate was large and oval, like the shield of an African chief, and weighed twenty pounds. The powerful neck of the commander bent under the weight of the archbishop’s pectoral cross withinscription“In the name of the Father and the Son and”The text for translation: sv..the spirit,” which was acquired from the former subdeacon of the cathedral, citizen Samoblozhensky. Above the cross, on a remarkable ribbon, hung the Order of the Golden Fleece – a cast ram.

Ostap bargained for this order from a peculiar old man who might have been a grand duke or perhaps even the grand duke’s chamberlain. The old man placed an exorbitant value on it, pointing out that such an order is held by only a few people in the world, and mostly by crowned heads.

– Goldenfleece.“– muttered the old man, – is awarded for the highest valor!”

–.A.“I have just the highest one,” Ostap replied, “besides, I only buy the lamb because it’s gold scrap.”

But the commander was being disingenuous. He immediately liked the order and decided to keep it for himself forever as the Order of the Golden Calf.

Driven by fear and the anticipation of a thunderous rifle shot, Bender ran to the middle of the river and stopped. The weight of gold pressed down on him – a plate, a cross,braceletsHis back itched under the hanging clocks. The hem of his robe was soaked and weighed several poods. Ostap groaned as he tore it off.его.,.threw onice and rushed
on. Now a coat was revealed, a magnificent, almost extraordinary coat, hardly
the most valuable item in Ostap’s wardrobe. He had been working on it for four months, building it like a house,
making blueprints, gathering materials. The coat was double-layered – lined with
unique silver fox fur, and covered with genuine mink. The collar wasThe text for translation: sewn.made of sable. It was an amazing fur coat! A super coat with chinchilla pockets stuffed with medals for saving drowning people, personal crosses, and golden bridges, the latest achievement in dental technology. On the head of the great schemer roseшапка –
нIt’s not a hat, it’s a beaver tiara.

All this wonderful cargo was meant to provide the commander with an easy, carefree life on the shores of the warm ocean, in the imaginary city of his childhood, among the balcony palms and ficuses of Rio de Janeiro.

At three o’clock in the morning, the rebellious descendant of the Janissaries stepped onto a foreign shore. It was quiet and dark here too, it was spring here as well, and drops were falling from the branches. The great schemer laughed.

– Now a few formalities with the accommodating Romanian boyars.The text for translation: ,.And the way is clear. I think that two or three medals for saving drowning people will brighten up their gray border life.

He turned to the Soviet side and, extending his thick, furry hand into the fading twilight, said:

– Everything must be done according to the rules. Form number five – farewell to the homeland. Well…,.Well, goodbye, great country.!.I don’t like being the top student and receiving grades for attention, diligence, and behavior. I am a private individual and not obligated to be interested in silos, trenches, and towers. I’m not particularly concerned about the issue of the socialist transformation of a person into an angel and a savings bank depositor. On the contrary, I am interested in the pressing issues of caring for the individuality of lonely millionaires…

This is a farewell to the homeland in form.Text for translation: No. 5.was interrupted by the appearance of several armed figures, which Bender recognized as Romanian border guards. The great combinator bowed with dignity and clearly pronounced a specially memorized phrase:

– Traiască România Mare!

He gently peered into the faces of the border guards, barely visible in the half-light. He thought he saw them smiling.

“Long live great Romania!” Ostap repeated in Russian. “I am an old professor who has fled from…”semi-basementsMoscow’sчека.I swear, I barely made it out!
Greetings in your presence…

One of the border guards approached Ostap closely and silently removed his fur tiara. Ostap reached for his headgear, but the guard silently pushed his hand back.

– But! – said the commander cheerfully. – But, but! Without hands! I will complain about you to Sfatul-Tseriy, to the Great Khuruldai!

At this time, another…representative of civilizationSwiftly, with the skill of an experienced lover, he began to unfasten Ostap’s magnificent, almost unbelievable fur coat. The Commander jerked. In that movement, a large women’s bracelet flew out from somewhere in his pocket and rolled across the ground.

–.Branzuretkа“Yelp!” shouted the border officer in a short coat with a dog fur collar and large metal buttons on his protruding backside.

–.Branzuretkа“Stop!” the others shouted, lunging at Ostap.

Confused in his fur coat, the great combinator fell and immediately felt someone pulling a precious dish out of his pants. When he got up, he saw an officer with a inhuman smile weighing the dish in his hands. Ostap clutched his property and yanked it from the officer’s grasp, after which he received a blinding blow to the face. Eventsunfoldedwith military speed. The great strategist was hindered by his coat, and for a while, he fought his enemies on his knees, striking them with medals for saving drowning people. Then he suddenly felt an inexplicable relief that allowed him to deliver a series of crushing blows to his opponent. It turned out thatthe relief was caused by the fact thatThey managed to strip him of his hundred-thousand-ruble fur coat.

– Ah, such an attitude! – Ostap sang out piercingly, looking around wildly.

There was a moment when he stood leaning against a tree, hurling a shining dish at the heads of the attackers. There was a moment when they tore the Order of the Golden Fleece from his neck.The text for translation: ,.and the commander shook his head like a horse. There was also a moment when he raised high the archbishop’s cross with the inscription “In the name of the Father and the Son andholy“spirit,” he shouted hysterically:

– Exploiters of the working people! Spiders! Henchmen of capital! Scoundrels!

At the same time, pink drool was running from his mouth. Ostap fought for his million like a gladiator. He shook off his enemies androsefrom the ground, looking ahead with a shadowed gaze.

He came to his senses on the ice, with a bruised face, wearing only one boot on his foot, without a fur coat, without cigarette cases adorned with inscriptions, without a collection of watches, without a dish, without currency, without a cross and diamonds, without a million. On the high bank stood an officer with a dog collar and looked down at Ostap.

“Curse the Siguarance!” Ostap shouted, raising his bare foot. “Parasites!”

The officer slowly pulled out his gun and cocked the barrel back. The great schemer realized that the interview was over. Bending over, he limped back toward the Soviet shore.

A white cigarette-like mist rose from the river. As he opened his hand, Bender saw a flat copper button, a curl of someone’s stiff black hair, and a battle-scarred Order of the Golden Fleece. The great combinator stared blankly at the trophies and remnants of his wealth and continued to move on, gliding through the icy…in the pits.and
grimacing in pain.

A long and powerful cannon-like strike occurred.oscillationon the icy surface. A warm wind blew unexpectedly. Bender looked down and saw a large green crack in the ice. The icy plateau he was on shifted andIt became.dive underwater.

– The ice has broken! – the great schemer shouted in horror. – The ice has broken, gentlemen of the jury!

He hopped across the shifting ice floes, hurrying with all his might to the land he had so arrogantly bid farewell to an hour ago. The fog rose slowly and majestically, revealing the bare marshland.

In ten minutes, a strange man appeared on the Soviet shore, without a hat and wearing only one boot. Without addressing anyone, he said loudly:

– No need for applause! I didn’t turn out to be the Count of Monte Cristo. I’ll have to retrain as a…janitors!

• Gallery of illustrations by Kukryniksy for the book “The Golden Calf”
• From the authors
• Part One. The Crew of the Antelope
• Part Two. Two Combinators
• Part Three. Private Individual