Part One. The Crew of the Antelope

Chapter One

About how Panikovsky violated the convention.

Pedestrians should be cherished. They make up a large part of humanity. Moreover, they are its best part. Pedestrians created the world. They built cities, erected high-rise buildings, established sewage systems and water supply, paved the streets, and illuminated them with electric lamps. They spread culture across the globe, invented printing, discovered gunpowder, constructed bridges over rivers, deciphered Egyptian hieroglyphs, introduced the safety razor, abolished the slave trade, and established that soybeans can be used to make114.delicious and nutritious dishes.

And when everything was ready, when the native planet took on a relatively well-off appearance, motorists appeared.

It should be noted that the automobile was also invented.pedestrianBut drivers quickly forgot about this. The meek and sensible pedestrians began to be crushed. Streets that were created for pedestrians fell under the control of drivers. The roadways became twice as wide, while the sidewalks shrank to the size of a cigarette pack. And pedestrians started to huddle fearfully against the walls of buildings.

In a big city, pedestrians lead a martyr’s life. They have been placed in a sort of transportation ghetto. They are allowed to cross the street…streets.only at intersections, that is, precisely in those places where traffic is the heaviest and where the thread on which a pedestrian’s life usually hangs is the easiest to break.

In our vast country, an ordinary car, which pedestrians believe is meant for the peaceful transportation of people and goods, has taken on the ominous shape of a deadly projectile. It incapacitates entire rows of union members and their families.

Sometimes a pedestrian manages to dart out from under the silver nose of a car.alive., – he is fined by the police for violating the rules of street catechism.

In general, the authority of pedestrians has been greatly undermined. They, who have given the world such remarkable people as Horace,Boyle-Mariotte, Lobachevskyи.Gutenberg,they, having singled out from their midst such avid pedestrians as Pushkin, Voltaire, Meyerholdand Anatole France – are now forced to contort themselves in the most vulgar way just to remind us of their existence. Oh God, God, whom, in essence,no! UntilWhat have you done to the pedestrian, you who doesn’t even really exist!

Here he comes from Vladivostok to Moscow along the Siberian route, holding in one hand a banner that reads: “Let’s restructure the lives of textile workers,” and slung over his shoulder is a stick, at the end of which dangle a spare pair of “Uncle Vanya” sandals and a tin kettle without a lid. This is a Soviet pedestrian athlete who set out from Vladivostok as a young man and, in his later years, will be crushed at the gates of Moscow by a heavy truck, the number of which will go unnoticed.

Or another European version of a pedestrian nomad. He is walking around the world, rolling a barrel in front of him. HeI would just go.So, without the barrel, no one will notice that he is actually a long-distance pedestrian and about him.nothingThey won’t write about it in the newspapers. I have to spend my whole life pushing this cursed container in front of me, which, to make matters worse (shame, shame!), has a big yellow label praising the unmatched qualities of the motor oil “Driver’s Dreams.”

This is how the pedestrian has degraded.

In small Russian towns, pedestrians are still respected and loved. There, they are the masters of the streets, wandering carefree along the pavement and crossing it in the most intricate ways in any direction.

A man in a cap with a white top, typically worn by summer garden administrators and masters of ceremonies, undoubtedly belonged to the larger and better part of humanity. He walked through the streets of the city of Arbatov, glancing around with a condescending curiosity. In his hand, he held a small obstetric bag. The city, apparently, did not impress the pedestrian in the artistic cap in any way.

He saw about a dozen blue, green, and white-pink bell towers; what caught his eye was the peeling paint.Caucasiangolden church domes. Flagstrawberry colorThe wind howled over the official building. At the white tower gates of the provincial kremlin, two stern old women were conversing in French, complaining about the Soviet government and reminiscing about their beloved daughters. A chill emanated from the church basement, where a sour smell of wine wafted out. It seemed that potatoes were being stored there.

– TempleThe text for translation: Savior.“On the potato,” the pedestrian said quietly.

Passing under a plywood arch with a fresh lime slogan: “Welcome to the 5th District Conference of Women and Girls,” he found himself at the beginning of a long alley known as the Boulevard of Young Talents.

“No,” he said with disappointment, “it’s not Rio de Janeiro, it’s much worse.”

Almost all the benches on the Boulevard of Young Talents were occupied by lonely young women with open books in their hands. Tattered shadows fell on the pages of the books, on bare elbows, and on their delicate bangs. When the newcomer stepped into the cool alley, there was a noticeable stir on the benches. The girls, hiding behind the books of Gladkov, Eliza Ozheshko, and Seifullina, cast timid glances at the newcomer. He walked past the excited readers with a confident stride and approached the building of the executive committee – the destination of his stroll.

At that moment, a cab came around the corner. Next to it, holding onto the dusty…charredA man in a long coat was walking quickly, waving a swollen folder embossed with the word “Musique.” He was passionately arguing with an elderly man. The old man, with a nose that hung like a banana, was gripping a suitcase with his legs and occasionally showing his interlocutor a rude gesture. In the heat of the argument, his engineer’s cap, with a brim that shimmered in green velvet, tilted to the side. Both parties involved in the dispute frequently and particularly loudly uttered the word “salary.”

Soon, other words could be heard as well.

– You will answer for this, Comrade Talmudovsky! – shouted the long-coated man, waving an engineer’s gesture away from his face.

“I’m telling you, no decent specialist will come to you under such conditions.”! – repliedTalmudov is trying to return the cookie to its previous position.

– You’re talking about the salary again.salary!We need to address the issue of wrestling.

“I don’t care about the salary! I’ll work for free!” the engineer shouted, excitedly gesturing with his hand to illustrate various curves. “If I want, I can just retire. Forget about this serfdom! You all keep writing ‘Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity’ everywhere, but you want to force me to work in this rat hole.”

Here is Talmudic.He quickly uncrossed his fingers and started counting on his fingers:

– The apartment is a pigsty, there’s no theater, the salary…
Cab driver! Go to the station!

–.Тпрру-у! – ZThe long-tailed one rushed ahead anxiously, grabbing the horse by the…reins.– I, as the secretary of the engineers and technicians section… Kondrat Ivanovich! After all, the factory…remainswithout specialistsThe text for translation: !…Fear God.The text for translation: !…The public will not allow this, engineer Talmudovsky.!…I have in my portfolioprotocols…

And the section secretary, standing with his legs apart, began to quickly untie the ribbon of his “Musique.”

This carelessness settled the dispute. Seeing that the way was clear, Talmudov rose to his feet and shouted with all his might:

– Go to the train station!

“Where? Where?” the secretary stammered, rushing after the carriage.You.deserter of the labor frontThe text for translation: !…

From the “Musique” folder, sheets of tissue paper flew out with some lilac “listened-decided” notes.

A newcomer, watching the incident with interest, stood for a minute in the empty square and said in a confident tone:

– No, this is not Rio de Janeiro.!.

In a minute, he was already knocking on the door of the executive committee’s office.

“Who do you need?” asked his secretary, sitting at the desk.The text for translation: ,.Next to the door. – Why do you need to see the chairman? What is it about?

As can be seen, the visitor had a keen understanding of the system for dealing with secretaries of government, business, and public organizations. He did not…to declarethat he arrived on urgent business,.to the treasury case.

– On a personal matter, – he said curtly, not looking back at the secretary and pushing his head through the door crack. – Can I come in?

And without waiting for a response, he approached the writing desk.Текст для перевода: ..

– Hello, do you remember me?you will recognize?.

The chairman, a dark-eyed man with a large head in a blue jacket.and suchin pants tucked into high bootsSkorokhodov’sin high heels, looked at the visitor rather distractedly and stated that he didn’t recognize them.

“Don’t you recognize me? Meanwhile, many people find that I look remarkably like my father.”

“I also look like my father,” the chairman said impatiently., – to youWhat is it, comrade?

“– It all depends on what kind of father you have,” the visitor said sadly. “I am the son of Lieutenant Schmidt.”

The chairman was taken aback androse upHe vividly recalled the famous image of the revolutionary lieutenant with a pale face.mustachedwith a face and in a black cloak adorned with bronze lion clasps. While he was gathering his thoughts to ask his son a question befitting the occasion, the visitor was examining the furnishings of the study with the discerning eye of a potential buyer.

Once, in the tsarist times, the furnishing of official offices was done according to a stencil. A special breed of government furniture was developed: flat cabinets reaching up to the ceiling, wooden sofas with three-inch polished seats, tables on…billiardthe legs and oak parapets that separated the presence from the restless outside world. During the revolution, this type of furniture almost disappeared, and the secret of its production was lost. People forgot how to furnish the offices of officials, and in the service roomsappeareditems that were still considered an essential part of a private apartment. In institutions, spring-loaded lawyer’s sofas appeared, complete with a mirrored shelf for seven porcelain elephants, which supposedly bring good luck, dish racks, and étagères.specialLeather chairs for rheumatics and blue Japanese vases. In the office of the chairman of the Arbat executive committee, in addition to the usual writing desk, there are two poufs upholstered in cracked pink silk, a striped settee, a satin screen featuring Mount Fuji and cherry blossoms, and a mirror cabinet of rough market craftsmanship.

“The locker is kind of like ‘Hey, Slavs!’ – thought the visitor.”, – here“You won’t take much. No, this isn’t Rio de Janeiro.”

“Very good that you stopped by,” the chairman finally said. “You must be from Moscow?”

“Yes, just passing through,” the visitor replied, examining the decor and increasingly convinced that the financial situation of the executive committee was poor. He preferred executive committees furnished with new Swedish furniture.L.Leningrad Timber Trust.

The chairman was about to ask about the purpose of the lieutenant’s son’s visit to Arbatov, but unexpectedly for himself, he smiled sadly and said:

– We have wonderful churches here. Representatives from Glavkniga have already come to visit, and they are planning to restore them. By the way, do you remember the uprising on the battleship “Ochakov”?

“Vaguely, vaguely,” replied the visitor. “In that heroic time, I was still very young. I was a child.”

– Excuse me, what is your name?

– Nikolai… Nikolai Schmidt.

– A.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.What about the priest?

“Oh, how unfortunate,” thought the visitor, who himself didn’t even know his father’s name.

“Yeah,” he drawled, dodging a direct answer, “nowadays many people don’t know the names of the heroes. It’s a shame.”NEP.There’s no enthusiasm. I actually ended up in your city completely by chance. A road mishap. I’m left with no money.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

The chairman was very pleased with the change of subject. He found it disgraceful.то.that he forgot the name of the hero from Ochakiv.

“Indeed,” he thought, gazing lovingly at the inspired face.guest.“– You get so caught up in work here that you forget the great milestones.”

– How do you say? Without a penny? That’s interesting.

“Of course, I could turn to a private individual,” the visitor said, “anyone would help me, but you see, it’s not exactly convenient from a political standpoint.”Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.The son of a revolutionary suddenly asks a private businessman, a NEPman, for money…

The lieutenant’s son spoke his last words with a tremor in his voice. The chairman listened anxiously to the new intonations in the visitor’s speech. “What if he’s having a fit?” he thought. “Dealing with him will be a hassle.”

– And it was very good that you didn’t turn to the participant, – said the thoroughly confused chairman.

Then the son of the Black Sea hero gently, without pressure, moved on to the matter at hand. He asked for fifty rubles. The chairman, constrained by the narrow limits of the local budget, could only offer eight rubles and three meal vouchers for the cooperative cafeteria “Former Friend of the Stomach.”

The hero’s son tucked the money and vouchers into the deep pocket of his worn, gray apple-patterned jacket and was just about to get up from the pink pouf when he heard the sound of footsteps and the secretary’s urgent shout from outside the office. The door swung open, and a new visitor appeared in the doorway.

– Who’s in charge here? – he asked, breathing heavily and looking around.through the eyesТекст для перевода: ..

– Well, I, – said the chairman.

“Hey, chairman!” shouted the newcomer, extending a shovel-like hand. “Let’s get acquainted.”!The Son of Lieutenant Schmidt.

“Who?” asked the mayor, wide-eyed.

– The son of the great, unforgettable hero Lieutenant Schmidt.!.“– repeated the alien.”

– Look, there’s a comrade sitting there – comrade Schmidt’s son.Текст для перевода: ..Nikolai Schmidt.

And the chairman, in complete disarray, pointed to the first visitor, whose face suddenly took on a sleepy expression.

In the lives of two crooks, a delicate moment had arrived. In the hands of the modest and trusting chairman of the executive committee, the long, unpleasant sword of Nemesis could shine at any moment. Fate allowed only one second to devise a saving combination. The horror was reflected in the eyes of the second son of Lieutenant Schmidt.

His figure in the summer shirt “Paraguay,”pants with a sailor’s flapIn his bluish canvas shoes, which just a moment ago had seemed sharp and angular, began to blur, losing their menacing outlines and no longer inspiring any respect. A nasty smile appeared on the chairman’s face. And just when the lieutenant’s second son thought all was lost and that the terrible wrath of the chairman was about to descend upon his red head, salvation came from the pink pouf.

“Vasya!” shouted the first son of Lieutenant Schmidt, jumping up. “Dear brother! Do you recognize your brother Kolya?”

And the first son embraced the second son.

“I recognize him!” exclaimed Vasya, who had just regained his sight. “I recognize my brother Kolya!”!

The happy reunion was marked by such chaotic caresses and such extraordinarily powerful embraces that the second son of the Black Sea revolutionary emerged from them with a face pale from pain. His brother Kolya, in his excitement, squeezed him quite hard.

As they embraced, both brothers glanced sideways at the chairman, whose face remained unchanged.vinegarexpression. In light of this, the saving combination had to be immediately developed on the spot, supplemented with everyday details and new, previously overlooked specifics of the sailors’ uprising in 1905. Holding hands, the brothers sat down on the couch and, keeping their flattering eyes on the chairman, immersed themselves in memories.

“What an amazing meeting!” the first son exclaimed insincerely, gesturing for the chairman to join the family celebration.

– Yes, – said the chairman in a frozen voice. –It happens.Текст для перевода: ..

Seeing that the chairman was still in the grip of doubt, the eldest son gently stroked his brother’s curly, setter-like red hair and asked affectionately:

– When did you arrive from Mariupol, where you lived with our grandma?

– Yes, I am.there.“She lived,” muttered the lieutenant’s second son.

– What.The text for translation: female.You wrote to me so rarely? I was really worried.

“I was busy,” the red-haired man replied gruffly.

And, fearing that his restless brother would immediately become curious about what he had been up to (which mainly involved sitting in correctional facilities in various autonomous republics and regions),–.The second son of Lieutenant Schmidt took the initiative and asked the question himself.Текст для перевода: ..

– Why didn’t you write?

“I wrote,” the little brother suddenly replied, feeling an extraordinary surge of cheerfulness.– CustomI sent the letters. I even have the postal receipts.–.And he reached into the side pocket, from which he really pulled out a bunch of crumpled bills.. But.For some reason, he showed them not to his brother, but to the chairman of the executive committee, and even then from a distance.

Strangely enough, the sight of the papers somewhat calmed the chairman, and the brothers’ memories became more vivid. The red-haired one had settled into the environment quite well and explained the content of the mass brochure “Rebellion on the ‘Ochakov’” in a fairly articulate, albeit monotonous, manner. The brother embellished his dry account with details that were so vivid that the chairman, who had begun to relax, perked up his ears again.

However, he let the brothers go in peace, and they ran out into the street, feeling a great sense of relief.

They stopped around the corner from the executive committee building.

“By the way, speaking of childhood,” said the first son, “back in the day, I would have killed kids like you on the spot. With a slingshot.”

“Why?” the second son of the famous father asked joyfully.

– Such are the harsh laws of life. Or, to put it more succinctly,–.Life imposes its harsh laws on us. Why did you go into the office? Didn’t you see that the chairman wasn’t alone?

– I thought…

– Oh, you thought? So you sometimes think? You…–.thinker?.What is your last name, thinker? Spinoza? Jean-Jacques Rousseau? Marcus Aurelius?

The red-haired man remained silent, weighed down by the just accusation.

“Well, I forgive you. Live on. Now, let’s get acquainted. After all, we are brothers, and family ties come with responsibilities. My name is Ostap Bender. May I also ask for your first surname?”

– Balaganov, – introduced himself the red-haired man, – Shura Balaganov.

– I’m not asking about your profession, – Bender said politely, – but I can guess. Probably something intellectual? Have you had many convictions this year?

“Two,” Balaganov replied casually.

– This is not good. Why are you selling your immortal soul? A person shouldn’t be involved in lawsuits. It’s a vulgar pursuit. I mean theft. Not to mention that stealing is a sin – your mom probably introduced you to that doctrine in childhood – it’s also a pointless waste of effort and energy.

Ostap would have continued to elaborate on his views on life for a long time if he hadn’t been interrupted by Balaganov.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the green depths of the Boulevard of Young Talents. “See, there’s a man walking in a straw hat.”hatТекст для перевода: ..

“I see,” Ostap said arrogantly. “So what? Is this the governor of Borneo?”

“That’s Panikovsky,” Shura said., – sonLieutenant Schmidt.

Along the avenue, in the shade of majestic linden trees,bendingA somewhat unsteady, not-so-young gentleman was moving to the side. A stiff straw hat with ribbed edges sat askew on his head. His trousers were so short that they revealed the white ties of his long johns. Beneath the gentleman’s mustache, like the glow of a cigarette, a golden tooth was shining.

– What, another son? – said Ostap. – This is getting amusing.

Panikovsky approached the executive committee building, thoughtfully traced an infinity symbol at the entrance, and adjusted the brim of his hat.bothHe adjusted it on his head with his hands, shrugged off his jacket, and, taking a deep breath, moved inside.

– The lieutenant had three sons, – noted Bender, – two were smart, and the third…–.He’s a fool. He needs to be warned.

“Don’t,” said Balaganov, “let him know next time how to break the convention.”

– What is this?still.What kind of convention is that?

– Wait a moment.. ThenI’ll say it. He came in, he came in.!…

“I’m a jealous person,” Bender admitted, “but there’s nothing to be envious of here. Have you ever seen a bullfight? Let’s go.”,.Let’s see.

The children who have become friendslieutenantThey emerged from around the corner and approached the window of the chairman’s office.

Behind the foggy, unwashed glass sat the chairman. He was writing quickly. Like all writers, his face bore a sorrowful expression. Suddenly, he lifted his head. The door swung open, and Panikovsky entered the room. Pressing his hat against his greasy jacket, he stopped.in front of the tableand moved his thick lips for a long time. After that, the chairman jumped up from his chair and opened his mouth wide. The friends heard a prolonged scream.

It seems like your message is incomplete. Could you please provide the full text you would like me to translate?All.back.!Ostap led Balaganov along with him. They ran to the boulevard and hid behind a tree.

“Take off your hats,” Ostap said, “uncover your heads. The body will be carried out now.”

He was not mistaken. Before the echoes and reverberations of the chairman’s voice had faded, two burly employees appeared at the portal of the executive committee. They were carrying Panikovsky. One was holding him by the arms, while the other was holding him by the legs.

– The ashes of the deceased, – Ostap commented, – were carried out by family and friends.

The employees dragged the third foolish child of Lieutenant Schmidt onto the porch and began to rock it slowly. Panikovsky remained silent, obediently gazing up at the blue sky.

– After a brief civil memorial service… – Ostap began.

At that very moment, the staff, having given Panikovsky’s body enough momentum and force, threw him out onto the street.

– ….Body.“Was laid to rest,” Bender concluded.

Panikovsky fell to the ground like a frog. He quickly got up and, leaning to the side more than before, ran down the Boulevard of Young Talents with incredible speed.

“Well, now tell me,” Ostap said, “how this scoundrel violated the convention and what kind of convention it was.”

Chapter Two

The busy morning had come to an end. Bender and Balaganov, without saying a word to each other, quickly walked away from the executive committee. Along the main street, a long blue rail was being transported on the widened paths of the peasants. The sound and music that filled the main street made it seem as if the cart driver, dressed in a fisherman’s canvas outfit, was not carrying a rail, but a deafening musical note. The sun streamed into the glass display of the educational materials store, where above globes, skulls, and a cardboard figure of a drunken man, two skeletons were cheerfully embracing. In the poor window of the stamp and seal workshop, the most prominent items were the enameled plaques with inscriptions: “Closed for lunch,” “Lunch break from 2 to 3 PM.”The text for translation: d..“Closed for lunch,” simply “Closed,” “Store is closed,” and finally, a black fundamental board with golden letters: “Closed for inventory.” Apparently, these decisive signs were in the highest demand in the city of Arbatov. For all other aspects of life, the stamp and seal workshop only responded with one.dry.a sign reading: “On-Duty Nanny.” Then, one after another, three shops lined up in a row, selling wind instruments, mandolins, and bass balalaikas. The brass trumpets, gleaming seductively, lay on the display steps covered in red oilcloth. The bass helicon was particularly impressive. It was so powerful, so lazily basking in the sun, coiled up like a ring, that it should have been kept not in a display case, but in the city zoo, somewhere between an elephant and a python. And so that on days off, parents would take their children there.бы.to him
children andthey said“Here, sweetheart, is the Helicon pavilion. The Helicon is sleeping right now. But when it wakes up, it will definitely start to sound its horn.” And so that the children could look at the amazing horn with wide eyes.teaeyes.

At another time, Ostap Bender would have turned…attentionand on freshly cut, of a sizeс.the hut, balalaikas, and on the gramophone records curled up from the scorching sun, and on the pioneer drums, which with their youthful colors suggested that a bullet is a fool, but a bayonet is a brave one.;But right now, he wasn’t thinking about that. He was hungry.

“Are you, of course, standing on the edge of a financial abyss?” he asked Balaganov.

“Are you here about the money?” Shura said.BalaganovI haven’t had any money for a whole week.

“Well, in that case, you’ll end up badly, young man,” Ostap said in a teaching tone. “The financial abyss is the deepest of all abysses; you can fall into it your whole life. Well, don’t be too downhearted.”, I.Still, he took three lunch vouchers in his beak. The chairman of the executive committee fell in love with me at first sight.

But the milk brothers were unable to take advantage of the kindness of the city’s mayor. A large lock, covered in either rust or buckwheat porridge, hung on the doors of the cafeteria “Former Friend of the Stomach.”

“Of course,” Ostap said bitterly, “due to the accounting of schnitzels, the cafeteria is closed forever.”!I will have to give my body to be torn apart by the participants.

“Private individuals prefer cash,” Balaganov replied dully.

“Well, well, I won’t keep you in suspense. The chairman showered me with a golden rain amounting to eight rubles. But keep in mind, dear Shura, I don’t intend to feed you for free. For every vitamin I give you, I will demand something in return.”row.minor services.

However, there was no private sector in the city, and the brothers had lunch in the summer cooperative garden.“Ispark”where special posters informed citizens about the latest Arbat innovation in the field of public nutrition:

Beer is only available to union members.

“Let’s settle for kvass,” said Balaganov.

– All the more so, – added Ostap, – since the local kvass…are manufactureda collective of participants sympathetic to Soviet power. Now tell me,в.What did the thug Panikovsky do wrong? I love stories about petty scams.

Sated, Balaganov looked gratefully at his savior and beganown.The story lasted about two hours and contained extremely interesting information.

In all areas of human activity, the supply of labor and the demand for it are regulated by special authorities.

The actor will only go to Omsk when he is certain that he has nothing to fear from competition and that there are no other contenders for his role as a cold lover or for the “dinner is served” part. The railway workers are supported by their local trade unions, which thoughtfully publish in newspapers announcements that unemployed baggage handlers cannot expect to find work within the Syzran-Vyazma railway, or that the Central Asian railway is in need of four barrier guards. An expert in goods placement puts an ad in the newspaper, and the whole country learns that there is an expert in goods placement with…sixty-year-oldsDue to family circumstances, I am changing my service in Moscow for a job in the provinces.

Everything is regulated, flows through cleared channels, and carries out its circulation in full accordance with the law and under its protection.

And there is only one market for a special category of crooks who call themselves the “children of Lieutenant Schmidt.”is locatedin a chaotic state. Anarchy was tearing apart the corporation of the lieutenant’s children.,
and theycould not extract the benefits from their profession, which she could undoubtedly bringТекст для перевода: ..

It’s hard to find a more convenient platform for all sorts of impostors than our vast country, overflowing with either overly suspicious or extremely gullible people.administrators, managers, and public activistsТекст для перевода: ..

Across the country, fake grandsons of Karl Marx, non-existent nephews of Friedrich Engels, brothers of Lunacharsky, cousins of Clara Zetkin, or, at the very least, descendants of the famous anarchist Prince Kropotkin are moving around, extorting and begging.The squads of mythical relatives are diligently exploiting the country’s natural resources: kindness, servility, and sycophancy.

From Minsk to the Bering Strait and from Nakhichevan on the Araks to Franz Josef Land, relatives of great people are entering the executive committees, disembarking onto station platforms, and anxiously hailing cabs. They are in a hurry. They have a lot to do.

One time offer.The text for translation: false-.The relatives still
exceeded the demand, and a depression set in on this peculiar market.
There was a felt need for reforms. Gradually, the grandsons of Karl Marx, the followers of Kropotkin, Engels, and others like them, organized their
activities, with the exception of the unruly corporation of Lieutenant Schmidt’s children, which was constantly torn apart by anarchy, much like the Polish Sejm. The children were rough,
greedy, rebellious, and hindered each other from gathering in the granaries.

Shura Balaganov, who considered himself the firstborn of the lieutenant, was not jokingly concerned about the current situation. More and more often, he found himself encountering his comrades from the corporation, who had completely ruined the fertile fields of Ukraine and the resort heights of the Caucasus, where he was used to working profitably.

– And you were afraid.all.“Growing difficulties?” Ostap asked mockingly.

But Balaganov didn’t notice the irony. Sipping his lilac kvass, he continued his story.

The only way out of this tense situation was a conference. Balaganov worked on organizing it all winter.. I passed it on to a stranger.through the grandchildren of Marx who crossed their path. And finally, in early spring of 1928, almost all the known children of Lieutenant Schmidt gathered at a tavern in Moscow, near the Sukharev Tower. The quorum was significant – Lieutenant Schmidt had thirty sons ranging in age from18
to 52years and four daughters, foolish, not young and not beautiful.

In his brief opening speech, Balaganov expressed hope that the brothers would find common ground and finally develop a convention, the necessity of which is dictated by life itself.

According to Balaganov’s project, the entire Union of Republics was to be divided into thirty-four operational units.section byto the number of those gathered. Each plot is granted for long-term use to one child. No member of the corporation has the right to cross boundaries and invade someone else’s territory for the purpose of profit.

No one objected to the new principles of work, except for Panikovsky, who at that time…already.he stated that he could live without the convention. However, during the division of the country, disgraceful scenes unfolded. The high negotiating parties quarreled in the very first minute and no longer addressed each other without adding insulting epithets.

The entire dispute arose from the division of the plots.

No one wanted to take the university centers. Nobody needed the well-worn cities of Moscow, Leningrad, and Kharkov.Everyone unanimously rejected the Republic of the Volga Germans.

– Is this really such a bad republic? – Balaganov asked innocently. – It seems like a nice place. The Germans, being cultured people, can’t help but lend a hand!

“We know, we know!” shouted the excited children. “You’ll get it from the Germans!”

Apparently, none of those gathered had sat in prison captivity with the distrustful German colonists.

The distant eastern regions, which were also burdened with a very bad reputation, were accused of ignorance and unfamiliarity with the personality of Lieutenant Schmidt.

– We found some fools! – shrieked Panikovsky. – Just give me the Central Russian Upland, and then I’ll sign the convention.

– How.!The entire elevation?The text for translation: I was sarcastic.Balaganov. – How about I throw in Melitopol as a bonus? Or maybe Bobruisk?

At the mention of “Bobruisk,” the meeting let out a painful groan. Everyone agreed they would go to Bobruisk right away. Bobruisk was considered a wonderful, highly cultured place.

– Well, not the whole elevation, – insisted the greedy Panikovsky, – at least half of it.!.I am finally a family man; I have two families.!

But he didn’t even get half.

After long shouting, it was decided to divide the plots by drawing lots. Thirty-four pieces of paper were prepared, each marked with a geographical name. Fertile Kursk and questionable Kherson, the little-developed Minusinsk and the almost hopeless Ashgabat, Kyiv, Petrozavodsk, and Chita.,.– all the republics, all the regions lay in someone’s rabbit hat with headphones and waited for their masters.

Cheerful exclamations, muffled moans, anddirtyThe draw was accompanied by curses.

The evil star of Panikovsky influenced the outcome of the matter.the barren and vengeful republic of the Volga Germans was left behindHe joined the convention beside himself with anger.

– I will go.!.“he shouted”. – N.I warn you, if…Germans.They will treat me badly, I will violate the convention, I will cross the border.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

Balaganov, who received the goldArbatovskyplot, adjacent to the Republic of GermansHe became alarmed and immediately stated that he would not tolerate any violations of operational standards.

In any case, the matter was organized, after which the thirty sons and four daughters of Lieutenant Schmidt left for their districts.,.to work.

– And there you are, Bender, you saw for yourself how that scoundrel violated the convention.!“That’s how Shura Balaganov finished his story. ‘He has been crawling around my property for a long time, but I still haven’t been able to catch him.’”

Contrary to the narrator’s expectations, Panikovsky’s misdeed did not provoke any condemnation from Ostap. Bender slouched in his chair, casually staring ahead. On the high back wall of the restaurant garden, trees were painted—lush and uniform, like in a textbook illustration. There were no real trees in the garden, but the shadow cast by the wall provided a refreshing coolness that fully satisfied the patrons. The patrons were apparently all members of a union, as they were drinking only beer and didn’t even have any snacks.

A green car pulled up to the garden gate, continuously sighing and shooting, with a white arched inscription on the door that read: “Oh, I’ll take you for a ride!” Below it were the terms for rides in the cheerful vehicle. Three rubles per hour. For the end of the ride – by agreement. There were no passengers in the car.

The visitors in the garden whispered anxiously. For about five minutes, the driver looked through the gate with a pleading expression.сада.And, having seemingly lost hope of getting a passenger, he shouted provocatively:

– The taxi is available! Please get in!

But none of the citizens expressed a desire to get into the car. “Oh, I’ll take you for a ride!” Even the driver’s invitation had a strange effect on them. They hung their heads and tried not to look in the direction of the car. The driver shook his head and slowly drove away. The Arbat residents watched him sadly as he left. Five minutes later, the green car sped past the garden in the opposite direction. The driver was bouncing in his seat.sittingand was shouting something unintelligible. The car was still empty.

Ostap watched her leave and said:

“Well, Balaganov, you’re a dandy. Don’t take it personally. With this, I…”justI want to specify exactly the place you occupy under the sun.

“Go to hell!” Balaganov said rudely.

– Are you really upset? So, in your opinion, being the son of a lieutenant isn’t just showing off?

“But you are the son of Lieutenant Schmidt yourself!” Balaganov exclaimed.

“You’re a dandy,” Ostap repeated., – and.the son of a dandy. And your children will be dandies too.
Boy! What happened this morning was not even an episode, just a
pure coincidence, a whim of the artist. A gentleman in search of a ten. It’s not in my nature to chase
such meager chances. And what kind of profession is this,
for heaven’s sake! The son of Lieutenant Schmidt! Well, maybe a year, maybe two.!And then what? After that, your red curls will become familiar, and they will just start hitting you.

– So what should we do? – Balaganov said anxiously. – How can we earn our daily bread?

“One must think,” he said sternly.answeredOstap: “For example, I am nourished by ideas. I don’t reach out for the sour executive ruble. My ambitions are broader. I see that you selflessly love money. Tell me, what amount do you like?”

“Five thousand,” Balaganov replied quickly.

– Per month?

– Per year.

– Then I’m not on the same path as you. I need five hundred thousand. And preferably all at once, not in parts.

“Maybe you’ll take it in parts after all?” asked the vengeful Balaganov.

Ostap looked carefully at his interlocutor and replied completely seriously:

– I would take it in parts. But I need it all at once.

Balaganov wanted to make a joke.и.Regarding this phrase, but, raising his eyes to Ostap, he immediately fell silent. In front of him sat an athlete with…sharpened, as if struck on a coin,.The text appears to be fragmented and lacks context. However, a possible translation could be:

“face. The dark throat
was cut by a fragile…”

If you have more context or additional text, please provide it for a more accurate translation.cherryScar. The eyes sparkled with a fierce joy.

Balaganov suddenly felt an irresistible urge to stretch his arms out to the sides. He even felt the need to clear his throat, as is common for people of average responsibility when speaking to someone of higher rank. And indeed, after clearing his throat, he awkwardly asked:

– Why do you need so much money… and all at once?

“Actually, I need more,” said Ostap. “Five hundred thousand is my minimum, five hundred thousand full-weight estimated rubles. I want to leave, Comrade Shura, leave very far away, to Rio de Janeiro.”

“Do you have any relatives there?” asked Balaganov.

– Do I really look like someone who could have relatives?

– No, but I…

“I have no relatives, Comrade Shura, I am all alone in this world. I had a father, a Turkish subject, but he passed away long ago in terrible convulsions. That’s not the point. I’ve wanted to go to Rio de Janeiro since childhood. You, of course, don’t know about the existence of this city.”

Balaganov mournfully shook his head. Apart from Moscow, the only cultural centers he knew were Kyiv, Melitopol, and Zhmerinka. And in general, he was convinced that the earth was flat.

Ostap threw a page torn from a book onto the table.

– This is an excerpt fromSmall Soviet EncyclopediaHere’s what it says about Rio de Janeiro: “1.36 million residents”… so… “a significant number of mulattos… by the vast bay of the Atlantic Ocean”… There you go! “The main streets of the city, in terms of the wealth of shops and the splendor of buildings, are on par with the leading cities of the world.” Can you imagine, Shura? On par! Mulattos, the bay, coffee exports, so to speak, coffee dumping.Charleston “U”“My girl has a little something” and… what is there to talk about! You can see for yourself what is happening.!One and a half million people, and all of them in white pants.!I want to leave here. Over the past year, I have had serious disagreements with the Soviet government. It wants to build socialism, but I don’t. I’m bored with building socialism.What am I, a stonemason, a stonemason in a white apron?Now you understand why I need so much money?

“Where will you get five hundred thousand?” Balaganov asked quietly.

– Anywhere, – replied Ostap. – Just show me
onlyrichI will take his money.

– How? Murder? –More.“Lower your voice,” Balaganov asked quietly, glancing at the neighboring tables where the Arbat crowd was raising their glasses in a toast.

“Well,” Ostap said, “you shouldn’t have signed what is called…”Sukharevskayaconventions. This mental exercise, as it seems, has really drained you. You are getting dumber right before my eyes. Keep in mind, Ostap Bender has never killed anyone. He was killed.,.It happened. But he himself is
clean before the law. I’m certainly no cherub., u.I don’t have wings.. But.I read.criminalCode. It’s my weakness.

– How.you thinkTake away the money?

– How do I think about taking? The methods of taking or stealing money vary depending on the circumstances. Personally, I have four hundred relatively honest ways to take. But it’s not about the methods. The issue is that there are no rich people right now. And that’s the horror of my situation. Someone else might, of course, pounce on some defenseless government institution, but that’s not in my rules. You know my respect forcriminalthe code. There’s no calculation to rob the collective. Give me an individual who’s wealthier. But
he doesn’t exist, this individual.

“Really?!” exclaimed Balaganov. “There are very wealthy people…”!

“Do you know them?” Ostap immediately said. “Can you name the last name and exact address of at least one Soviet millionaire? After all, they exist; they must be out there.”. But.how to find someone like thatcon artist?.

Ostap even sighed. Apparently, dreams of a wealthy individual had been troubling him for a long time.

“How nice,” he said.thoughtfully, – working with a legitimate millionaire in a well-organized bourgeois state with old capitalist traditions. There, a millionaire is a popular figure. His address is well-known. He lives in a mansion somewhere in Rio de Janeiro. You just walk straight in for an appointment, and right in the foyer, after the first greetings, you take the money. And all of this, mind you, is done nicely and politely: “Hello, sir, don’t worry…!.I’ll have to bother you a little.All right“Done.” And that’s it. Culture! What could be simpler? A gentleman among gentlemen runs his little business. Just don’t shoot at the chandelier; that’s unnecessary. And we… oh my God., in.In which cold country do we live?Текст для перевода: ..Everything is hidden with us, all underground. Even the Narcomfin with its powerful tax apparatus can’t find a Soviet millionaire. And the millionaire might be sitting right now in this so-called summer garden, at the next table, drinking a forty-kopek “Tip-Top” beer. That’s what’s frustrating!

– So, you think, – Balaganov asked after a pause, – that if there were such a secret millionaire, then…Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

– Don’t continue., I.I know what you want to say. No, not that at all. I won’t smother him with a pillow or hit him.воронымwith a nagan to the head. And in general, nothing silly will happen. Ah! E.If only I could find an individual! I would make sure that he brings me his money himself, on a silver platter.

– That’s very good.!– Balaganov trustingly chuckled. – Five hundred thousand on a little plate with a blue rim.!.

He got up and started to circle around the table. He was plaintively smacking his lips, stopping to even open his mouth as if wanting to say something, but without saying anything, he would sit down and then get up again. Ostap watched Balaganov’s antics with indifference.

“Will he bring it himself?” Balaganov suddenly asked in a creaky voice. “On a little plate? And what if he doesn’t bring it? By the way, where is Rio de Janeiro? Is it far? It can’t be that everyone walks around in white pants.”!.Stop it, Bender.!.With five hundred thousand, you can live well here too.

“Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” Ostap said cheerfully, “you can get by. But don’t flap your wings without reason. You don’t even have five hundred thousand.”

On the serene, unplowed forehead of Balaganov, a deep wrinkle appeared. He looked uncertainly at Ostap and said:

– I know a millionaire like that.It could lead to a case.

The liveliness vanished from Bender’s face in an instant. His expression immediately hardened and took on its usual medal-like contours once again.

“Go on, go on,” he said, “I only serve on Saturdays, there’s no need to linger here.”

“Honestly, Monsieur Bender.”!Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

“Listen, Shura, if you’ve completely switched to French, then don’t call me…”mister., and the situation, what
it means – a citizen. By the way, what’s the address of your millionaire?

– He lives in Chernomorsk.

– Well.,.Of course, I knew it.!Chernomorsk! Even in pre-war times, a person with ten thousand was called a millionaire there. And now… I can only imagine! No, that’s nonsense!

– No, let me finish. This is a real
millionaire. You see, Bender, I happened to…sitin the local dopre…

In ten minutes, the milk brothers left the summer cooperative garden with a beer service. The great combinator felt like a surgeon about to perform a very serious operation. Everything was ready. In the electric pots, napkins and bandages were steaming, and the sister of mercy in a white toga moved silently across the tiled floor.shinesmedical porcelain and nickel, the patient lies on a glass table, languidly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, in the specially heated air the scent of German chewing gum lingers. The surgeon, with outstretched arms, approaches the operating table, takes a sterilized Finnish knife from the assistant, and dryly says to the patient:

“Well then, take off your burnous!”

“I always find myself in this situation,” Bender said, his eyes shining, “I have to start a million-dollar venture with a significant shortage of cash. My entire capital—fixed, working, and reserve—amounts to just five rubles… What did you say the name of the underground millionaire is?”

– Koreiko, – replied Balaganov.

– Yes, yes, Koreiko. A wonderful surname. And you claim that no one knows about his millions?

– No one except me and Pruzansky. But Pruzansky, you see…already.He said he would be in prison for another three years. If only you could have seen how he was devastated and cried when I was released. He,apparentlyI felt that I shouldn’t have talked about Koreiko.

– The fact that he revealed his secret to you is nonsense. It’s not because of that that he was so upset and cried. He probably sensed that you would tell.the whole matterFor me.
And this is indeed a direct loss for the poor Pruzhansky. By the time
Pruzhansky gets out of prison, Koreiko will find solace
only in the trite saying: “Poverty is not a vice.”

Ostap tossed his summer cap into the air and, waving it around, asked:

– Do I have gray hair?

Balaganov picked up his stomach, spread his toes to the width of a rifle butt, and replied in the voice of a right-flank soldier:

– Not at all.Текст для перевода: ..

– So, there will be. We are facing great battles ahead. You will also turn gray, Balaganov.

Balaganov suddenly chuckled foolishly.Текст для перевода: ..

– How do you say? He’ll bring the money on a silver platter with a blue rim?

– For me on a saucer, – said Ostap, – and for you on a plate.

– What about Rio de Janeiro? I want to wear white pants too.

– Rio de Janeirothis is fragile“The dream of my childhood,” the great combinator replied sternly, “do not touch it with your paws. Let’s get to the point. Send the linear units at my disposal. The troops are to arrive in the city of Chernomorsk as soon as possible. Dress code: guard uniform. Now, sound the march! I will be in command of the parade!”

Chapter Three

A year before Panikovsky violated the convention by trespassing into someone else’s operational area, the first car appeared in the town of Arbatov. The pioneer of the automotive industry was a driver named Kozlevich.

The decision to start a new life led him to the steering wheel. Adam Kozlevich’s old life was sinful. He constantly broke the rules.criminalthe RSFSR Code, specifically Article 162, which addresses issues related to the secret theft of someone else’s property (theft). This article has many clauses, but the sinful Adam was unfamiliar with clause “a” (theft committed without the use of any technical means). This was too primitive for him. Clause “d,” which punishes with imprisonment for up to five years, was more in line with his inclinations.also.He didn’t fit in. He didn’t like sitting in prison for long. And since he had been drawn to technology since childhood, he devoted himself entirely to point “v” (the secret theft of someone else’s property, committed using technical means, either repeatedly or in collusion with others).and equal, although without the specified conditions, perfectat train stations, docks, steamships, carriages, and in hotels).

But Kozlevich was unlucky. He was caught both when he used his favorite technical tools and when he managed without them.The text does not contain any translatable parts. Returning it as is: :
его.They caught him at train stations, docks, on steamships, and in hotels. They also caught him in the train cars. He was even caught when, in complete despair, he began to seize other people’s property in collusion with others.

After spending a total of three years, Adam Kozlevich came to the realization that it was much more convenient to engage inhonestby accumulating his own property rather than through the secret theft of someone else’s. This thought brought peace to his troubled soul. He became a model prisoner, wrote revealing poems for the prison newspaper “The Sun Rises and Sets,” and diligently worked in the mechanical workshop.IspravdomaThe penitentiary system had a positive influence on him. Kozlevich Adam Kazimirovich,46.A man from the former Częstochowa district, single, who had been tried multiple times, came out of prison as an honest person.

After two years of working in one of the garages in Moscow, he bought, quite by chance, such an old car that its appearance on the market could only be explained by the liquidation of an automobile museum. The rare specimen was sold to Kozlevich for one hundred ninety rubles. For some reason, the car was sold along with an artificial palm tree in a green pot. He had to buy the palm tree as well. The palm was still in decent shape, but he had to spend a long time tinkering with the car: searching the markets for missing parts, patching it up…seat…rebuilding the electrical system. The repair was crowned with painting the car in a lizard green color. The make of the car was unknown, but Adam Kazimirovich claimed that it was “Lauren-DietrichAs proof, he pinned a copper plate to the car radiator withlorenditrikhskoyfactory brand.
It was time to start the private rental that Kozlevich had long dreamed of.

On the day when Adam Kazimirovich was set to showcase his creation for the first time at the car market, a sad event occurred for all private drivers. One hundred and twenty small black cars, resembling brownie taxis, arrived in Moscow.Renault.Kozlevich didn’t even try to compete with them. He left the palm for safekeeping at the cab driver’s tea house “Versailles” and headed out to work in the province.

Arbatov, deprived of automobileshouseholdsThe driver liked it, and he decided to stay in it forever.

To Adam Kazimirovichit seemedhow diligently, cheerfully, and most importantly, honestly he will work in the field of car rental.It was imagined.to him, like earlydog’sthe platform, and he eagerly scans their faces, hoping to spot someone he knows. Wrapped in a bright orange scarf and wearing aviator goggles perched on his forehead, he cheerfully offers cigarettes to the porters. Behind him, the frozen cab drivers huddle together, shivering from the cold and shaking their thick blue coats. Suddenly, the anxious ringing of the station bell pierces the air. The train has arrived. Passengers step onto the platform.train stationThe square, with satisfied grimaces, stops in front of the car. They didn’t expect that the idea of car rentals had already made its way into this backwater of Arbat. Blowing his horn, Kozlevich rushes passengers to the Peasant’s House. There’s work for the whole day, and everyone is happy to take advantage of the mechanical carriage services. Kozlevich and his faithful…Lauren-Dietrich“– the indispensable participants of all city weddings, excursions, and celebrations. But the most work comes in the summer. On Sundays, whole families drive out of town in Kozlevich’s car. The meaningless laughter of children rings out, the wind tugs at scarves and ribbons, women chatter cheerfully, and fathers look at the driver’s leather back with respect, asking him about the state of the automotive business in…”North AmericanIn the United States (is it true, in particular, that Ford buys himself a new car every day?).

Thus, Kozlevich envisioned his new wonderful life in Arbatov. But reality quickly shattered the air castle that Adam Kazimirovich had built in his imagination, with all its towers and drawbridges.flagsи.standardsТекст для перевода: ..

First, he adjusted the railway schedule. The express and courier trains passed through the Arbatov station without stopping, taking the staffs on the fly and discarding them.mail.Mixed trains arrived only twice a week. They brought in more and more ordinary people: walkers and shoemakers with their bundles, wooden shoe forms, and petitions. Generally, mixed passengers did not use the train. There were no excursions or celebrations, and Kozlevich’s weddings were not attended. In Arbatovo, it was customary to hire cab drivers for wedding processions, who, in such cases, would weave paper roses and chrysanthemums into the horses’ manes, which the fathers of the bride and groom greatly appreciated.

However, there were plenty of country walks. But they were nothing like what Adam Kazimirovich had dreamed of. There were neither children nor… trembling.shaferov, nor cheerful chatter.

On the very first evening, illuminated by dim kerosene lamps, four men approached Adam Kazimirovich, who had spent the entire day standing fruitlessly in Spaso-Cooperative Square. They stared at the car for a long time in silence. Then one of them, a hunchback, hesitantly asked:

– Can everyone ride?

“To everyone,” Kozlevich replied, surprised by the timidity of the Arbat citizens. “Five rubles an hour.”

The men whispered among themselves. The driver could hear them.passionatesighs and words: “Shall we go for a ride, comrades, after the meeting? Is it convenient? At twenty-five kopecks per person, it’s not expensive. What’s inconvenient about it?”

And for the first time, the transport machine welcomed the Arbat residents into its cardboard embrace. For several minutes, the passengers were silent, overwhelmed by the speed of movement, the hot smell of gasoline, and the whistling wind. Then, tormented by an unclear premonition, they quietly began to sing: “Swift as the waves, are the days of our lives.” Kozlevich took…secondThe dark outlines of the canned food tent flashed by, and the car burst onto the moonlit path.

“With each passing day, our path to the grave grows shorter,” the passengers sang languidly. They felt sorry for themselves and were upset that they had never been students. They sang the chorus in loud voices:

“One little shot, just a tiny one, tirlim-bom-bom, tirlim-bom-bom.”

“Stop!” the hunchback suddenly shouted. “Let’s go back!”!.The soul burns.!.

In the city, the riders captured many white bowling pins and some broad-shouldered woman. They set up a camp in the field, had dinner with vodka, and then danced the polka without music.

Exhausted from the night’s adventure, Kozlevich dozed at the wheel in his parking spot all day. By evening, the previous night’s group showed up, already in high spirits, piled back into the car, and spent the whole night racing around the city. On the third day, the same thing happened again. The nightly feasts of the merry company, led by the hunchback, continued for two weeks straight. The joys of automobile travel had a strange effect on Adam Kazimirovich’s clients: their faces swelled and glowed in the dark, like pillows. The hunchback, with a piece of sausage hanging from his mouth, resembled a ghoul.

They became restless and, in the midst of the festivities, sometimes cried. Once, a poor hunchback drove a sack of rice to the car in a cart. At dawn, the rice was taken to the village, exchanged there for homemade vodka, and that day they did not return to the city. They drank with the men, toasting while sitting on haystacks. At night, they lit bonfires and cried especially mournfully.

On the following gray morning, the railway cooperative “Lineets,” where the hunchback was the manager and his cheerful companions were members of the board and the store committee, closed for an inventory of goods. What a bitter surprise it was for the auditors when they found neither flour, nor pepper, nor household soap, nor peasant troughs, nor textiles, norrice.Shelves, counters, drawers, and tubs – everything was laid bare. Only in the middle of the store, on the floor, stood towering giant hunting boots reaching up to the ceiling.,.the forty-ninth number, on a yellow cardboard sole, andThe text for translation: murky.the automatic ticket machine “National” flickered in the glass booth,
a nickel-plated female bust, whichwas covered with colorful buttons. And a summons from the public investigator was sent to Kozlevich’s apartment.;The driver was summoned as a witness in the case of the “Lineets” cooperative.

The hunchback and his friends were no longer around, and the green car sat idle for three days.

New passengers, like the first ones,appearedunder the cover of darkness. They toostartedfrom an innocent walk outside the city, but the thought of vodkaaroseThey barely have a car.did itthe first half a kilometer. Apparently, the Arbat residents couldn’t imagine how one could use a car while sober, and they thoughtauto-cartKozlevich’s den of debauchery, where one must behave in a boisterous manner, make indecent noises, and generally waste life away.

Only then did Kozlevich understand why the men passing by his parking lot during the day were winking at each other and smirking.

Everything was going completely differently than Adam Kazimirovich had expected. At night, he raced with his headlights on past the nearby groves, hearing the drunken commotion and screams of the passengers behind him, and during the day, dazed from insomnia, he sat with the investigators and gave witness testimony. The Arbat people were wasting away…your lifefor some reason, into the money that belonged to the state, society, and cooperatives. And Kozlevich, against his will, once again plunged into the abyss.criminalthe code, in
the world of chapter three, which instructively speaks about official crimes.

The court proceedings have begun. In each of them, the main witness for the prosecution was Adam Kazimirovich. His truthful accounts left the defendants reeling, and they, gasping through tears and snot, confessed to everything. He has ruined numerous institutions. His latest victim was the branch office of the regional film organization, which was filming the historical movie “Stenka Razin and the Princess” in Arbatovo. The entire branch was sentenced to six years, and the film, which represented…narrow judicialThe interest was transferred to the museum of material evidence, where hunting boots from the “Lineets” cooperative were already located.

After that, disaster struck. People began to fear the green car like the plague. Citizens went out of their way to avoid Spaso-Cooperative Square, where Kozlevich had erected a striped pole with a sign reading “Car Exchange.” For several months, Adam earned not a penny and lived off the savings he had made.во.time
of night trips.

Then he made some sacrifices. On the door of the car, he wrote a white and, in his opinion, quite enticing phrase: “Hey, I’ll give you a ride!” and lowered the price from five rubles an hour to three. But the citizens still didn’t change their tactics. The driver slowly cruised around the city, pulling up to institutions and shouting into the windows:

– What fresh air!Let’s go for a ride.Is that so?

Officials leaned out onto the street andThe text for translation: ,.under the roar of Underwoods,.answered:

– You ride it yourself.!.Murderer!

“Why a murderer?” Kozlevich asked, almost in tears.

– Yes, he is a killer, – the staff replied, – you’ll wrap up the off-site session.!

“Why don’t you ride your own?” the driver shouted angrily. “With your own money!”!

At these words, the officials exchanged humorous glances and locked the windows. Riding in a car at their own expense seemed simply foolish to them.

The owner of “Eh, I’ll take you for a ride!” has fallen out with the entire city. He no longer greets anyone, becoming nervous and angry. Envying some official in a long Caucasian shirt with balloon sleeves, he would drive up behind him and, with a bitter laugh, shout:

– Scammers! I’m going to report you right now for a public example! Under Article 109!!

The service member shuddered, indifferently adjusting the belt with the silver set, as is usually the case.decoratedthe harness of the draft horses, and pretending that the shouts were not directed at him, quickened his pace. But the vengeful Kozlevich continued to ride alongside andteasedthe enemy with the monotonous reading of a pocket criminal code:

“The appropriation by an official of money, valuables, or other property that is under their control due to their official position is punishable…”

The office worker cowardly ran away, lifting his rear high, flattened from long sitting on the office stool.

–.L.“imprisonment,” Kozlevich shouted after him, “for a term of up to three years.”!

But all of thisif it brought any satisfaction to the driver, it was only moral.His financial situation was not good. His savings were running out. He needed to make a decision. It couldn’t go on like this any longer.

In such an agitated state, Adam Kazimirovich sat one day in his car, looking with disgust at the silly striped post that read “Car Exchange.” He vaguely understood that his honest life had not turned out as he had hoped, that the automotive messiah had arrived ahead of schedule and the citizens did not believe in him. Kozlevich was so absorbed in his sorrowful thoughts thatI didn’t even notice.two young people who had been admiring his car for quite a while.

– An original design, – one of them finally said, – the dawn of automobilism. You see, Balaganov, what can be done with a simple sewing machine.toy carsZinger?
A small device – and it turned into a lovely collective farm sheaf binder.

– Step back.!“gloomily said Kozlevich.”

– What do you mean by “step aside”! Why did you put the advertising stamp “Oh, I’ll take you for a ride!” on your threshing machine? Maybe my friend and I want to go on a business trip? Maybe we actually want to go for a ride?

И.For the first time during his Arbat period of life, a smile appeared on the face of the martyr of the automotive world. He jumped out of the car and quickly started the heavily knocking engine.

“Please,” he said, “where to?”

– This time – nowhere, –noticedBalaganov, there’s no money.!.Nothing can be done, comrade mechanic, poverty.

“Anyway, sit down!” Kozlevich shouted desperately.I will take (it).for free.!Aren’t you going to drink? Aren’t you going to dance naked under the moon? Oh! I’ll take you for a ride!

“Well, let’s take advantage of your hospitality,” said Ostap, sitting down next to the driver. “I see you have a good character. But why do you think we are capable of dancing in the nude?”

“Everyone here is like that,” the driver replied, pulling the car onto the main street, “they’re all state criminals.”!

He was tormented by the desire to share his grief with someone. Of course, the best option would have been to tell his tender, wrinkled mother about his suffering. She would have felt sorry for him. But Madame Kozlevich had long since passed away from grief when she learned that her son Adam was starting to gain notoriety as a repeat offender. And the driver told the new passengers the whole story of the fall of the city of Arbatov, beneath the ruins of which…strugglesNow it’s his green car.

“Where to go now?” Kozlevich finished with a sigh. “Where to turn?”

Ostap hesitated, looked significantly at his red-haired companion, and said:

“All your troubles come from the fact that you are a truth-seeker. You are just a lamb, a failed Baptist. It’s sad to see such pessimistic attitudes among drivers. You have a car – and you don’t know where to go.”!We have it worse – we don’t have a car.And yetWe know where to go. Would you like to go together?

“Where to?” the driver asked.

– To Chornomorsk, – said Ostap. – We have a small intimate matter there. And you’ll find work as well. In Chornomorsk, they appreciate antiques and are eager to buy them. Let’s go.?.

At first, Adam Kazimirovich just smiled, like a widow who has nothing left in life that she cherishes. But Bender didn’t feel sorry for him.paintsHe unfolded amazing vistas before the embarrassed driver and immediately painted them in blue and pink.

– In Arbatovo, you have nothing to lose except for spare chains.“he insisted.”On the road, you won’t go hungry. I’ll take care of that. Your gas – our ideas.!

Kozlevich stopped the car and, still leaning on it, said grimly:

– There’s not enough gasoline.!.

– Will fifty kilometers be enough?

– Enough for eighty.

– In that case, everything is fine.Like me.you alreadyreportedI have no shortage of ideas and thoughts. Exactly sixty kilometers from you…will be.Right on the road, there’s a big iron barrel waiting with aviation fuel. Do you like aviation fuel?

“I like it,” Kozlevich replied shyly.

Life suddenly seemed easy and cheerful to him. He felt an urge to go to Chernomorsk immediately.

– And this barrel, – Ostap concluded, – you will receive completely free of charge. I’ll go further. People will be asking you to take this gasoline.

– What gasoline? – whispered Balaganov. – What are you rambling on about?

Ostap looked intently at the orange freckles scattered across the face of his milk brother and quietly replied:

“People who don’t read newspapers should be morally eliminated on the spot.”They are not needed by anyone.I leave my life to you only because I hope to reform you.

Ostap did not explain what connection exists between reading newspapers and the large barrel of gasoline that…,.allegedly.,.lies on the road.

“I declare the big speed run from Arbatov to Chernomorsk open.”!“– Ostap said solemnly.”CommanderI appoint myself as the driver of the car.How.your last nameThe text for translation: ?…Adam Kozlevich. Citizen Balaganov is appointed as a flight engineer, with the additional duties of a servant for everything. But here’s the thing, Kozlevich, the inscription “Oh, I’ll take you for a ride!” needs to be painted over immediately. We don’t need any distinguishing marks.

In two hoursgreenThe car, with a fresh dark green spot on its side, slowly rolled out of the garage and made its way through the streets of Arbatov one last time. Hope shone in Kozlevich’s eyes. Next to him sat Balaganov, who was busily polishing the copper parts with a cloth, diligently fulfilling his new duties as a flight engineer.CommanderHe collapsed onto the rusty seat, looking with satisfaction at his new subordinates.

– Adam! – he shouted, drowning out the screech of the engine. – What’s the name of your cart?

–.“Lauren-Dietrich”,” Kozlevich replied.

– Well, what kind of name is that? A car, like a warship, should have its own name. Your“Lauren-Dietrich”distinguished by its remarkable speed and noble beauty of lines. Therefore, I propose to name the car –Antelope. Antelope-Gnu.Who is against? Unanimously.

GreenAntelope, creaking with all its parts,rushed offShe drove along the outer road of the Boulevard of Young Talents and emerged onto the market square.

Before the crew’s eyesAntelopesintroduced herselfdomesticA man was running from the square towards the highway, bent over, with a white goose tucked under his arm. With his left hand, he was holding a stiff straw hat on his head. Behind him…screamsa large crowd was running. The one fleeing often looked back, andthen.On his noble actor’s face, one could discern an expression of horror.

“Panikovsky is running away!” shouted Balaganov.

– The second stage of the goose theft, – Ostap remarked coldly. – The third stage will begin after the culprit is caught. It involves significant beatings.

Regarding the approach of the third stage, Panikovsky was probably aware, as he was running at full speed. Out of fear, he didn’t let go of the goose, and this caused…pursued the strongestirritation.

–.166.“The article,” Kozlevich said by heart. “The secret, as well as the open, theft of large livestock from the working agricultural and livestock-raising population.”

Balaganov burst out laughing. He was amused by the thought that the violator of the convention would receive their rightful punishment.

The car made its way onto the highway, cutting through the noisy crowd.

“Help!” shouted Panikovsky when…Antelopecaught up with him.

– God will provide.!“answered Balaganov, leaning over the side.”

The car splashed Panikovsky with clouds of raspberry dust.

“Take me!” Panikovsky shouted, clinging to the car with his last bit of strength. “I’m a good one!”!.

The voices of the pursuers merged into a collective malevolent roar.

“Maybe we should take the bastard?” Ostap asked.

“Don’t,” Balaganov replied harshly, “let him know next time what it means to break the conventions.”!

But Ostap had already made his decision.

“Drop the bird!” he shouted at Panikovsky and, turning to the driver, added: “Slow down.”!

Panikovsky immediately obeyed. The goose grumpily got up from the ground, scratched itself, and, as if nothing had happened, walked back to the city.

“Get in,” Ostap suggested, “to hell with you! But don’t sin again, or I’ll rip your arms out by the roots.”

Panikovsky, shuffling his feet, grabbed the side of the truck, then leaned over the edge with his stomach, rolled into the vehicle like someone getting into a boat, and, banging his cuffs, fell to the bottom.

“Full speed ahead!” Ostap commanded. “The meeting continues.”!

Balaganov pressed.rubberthe pear, and from the brass horn burst forth old-fashioned, cheerful sounds that suddenly cut off:

The match is a delightful dance.

Ta-ra-ta…

The match is a delightful dance.

Ta-ra-ta…

I.Gnu AntelopeI broke free into the wild field, heading towards a barrel of aviation fuel.

Chapter Four

A man without a hat, wearing gray canvas trousers, leather sandals worn monk-style on bare feet, and a white collarless shirt, bent his head as he stepped out of the low gate of house number 16. Once on the sidewalk, paved with bluish stone slabs, he stopped and said quietly:

– It’s Friday. That means it’s time to go to the train station again.

As he uttered these words, the man in sandals quickly turned around. He thought he saw a citizen with a zinc face lurking behind him. But Malaya Kasatelnaya Street was completely empty.

The June morning was just beginning to take shape. The acacias trembled, dropping cold, tin-like dew onto the flat stones. The street birds were chirping some cheerful tune.The word “ералашь” does not have a direct translation in English, as it is a colloquial term often used in Russian to refer to a mix-up or a jumble. It can also refer to a children’s film series in Russia. If you have a specific context in mind, please provide more details for a more accurate translation.At the end of the street, down below, beyond the rooftops, a molten, heavy sea blazed. Young dogs, glancing back sadly and scratching with their claws, climbed onto the garbage bins. The hour of the janitors had already passed, while the hour of the milkmaids had yet to begin.

It was that time between five and six o’clock when the street sweepers, having thoroughly wielded their prickly brooms, had already dispersed to their tents. The city was bright, clean, and quiet, like a government bank.; in.In such a moment, I want to cry and believe that it’s just sour cream.в.In fact, it is healthier and tastier than bread wine; but the distant thunder is already approaching.,.They are unloading milkmaids from the dacha trains with their cans. Now they will rush into the city and start a typical quarrel with the housewives on the landings of the back staircases. For a moment, workers with baskets will appear, and then they will quickly disappear through the factory gates., from.The factory pipes will belch smoke. And then, jumping with rage, they will spill over the nightstands.grayed outthe ringing of myriad alarm clocks (from the “Pavel Bure” brand, quieter, of the trust“Precise Mechanic”more ringing);And the Soviet clerks will moo sleepily, falling down from the high girls’ beds. The hour of the milkmaids will end, and the hour of the serving people will come.

But it was still early; the employees were still sleeping under…ficusesA man in sandals walked through the entire city, encountering almost no one along the way. He walked under the acacias, which in Chornomorsk served some public functions: on some of them hung blue mailboxes with the official emblem.– with an envelope
and lightning,To the others, there were tin bowls filled with water for the dogs.

A man in sandals arrived at the Primorsky Station just as the milkmaids were coming out. After bumping into their iron shoulders a few times, he approached the luggage storage and presented his receipt. The luggage attendant, with an unnatural strictness typical of railway staff, glanced at the receipt and immediately tossed the man’s suitcase aside. In turn, the man unfastened his leather wallet, sighed, took out a ten-kopek coin, and placed it on the luggage counter, which was made from six old, elbow-polished rails.

Finding himself in the train station square, a man in sandals set his suitcase down on the pavement and looked around carefully.его.from all sides and even touched with his hand the white suitcase lock. It was an ordinary little suitcase, made of wood and covered with artificial fiber. In such little suitcases, younger passengers keep their threadbare socks.“SKETCH”two changes of hoodies, one hair holder, panties, a brochure titled “The Tasks of the Komsomol in the Village,” and three cool squashed eggs; exceptIn the corner, there is always a bundle of dirty laundry wrapped in a newspaper called “Economic Life.” Older passengers keep a complete suit and a separate pair of checkered trousers made from a fabric known as “Century“Odessa,”
suspenders on rollers, home slippers with tongues, a bottlewith triple cologneand a white Marseille blanket. It should be noted that in this case, there is something wrapped in “Economic Life” in the corner. But this is no longer dirty laundry; it’s a pale boiled chicken.

Satisfied with a quick glance, the man in sandals picked up his suitcase and climbed into a white tropical tram that took him to the other side of the city – to the Eastern Station. Here, his actions were the exact opposite of what he had just done at the Primorsky Station. He checked his suitcase into storage and received a receipt from the dignified baggage attendant.

After undergoing these strange transformations, the owner of the suitcase left the train station just as the most exemplary employees began to appear on the streets. He blended into their disorganized columns, after which his suit lost all originality. The man in sandals was an employee, and the employees in Chernomorsk almost all dressed according to an unwritten fashion: a nightshirt with sleeves rolled up above the elbows, light orphan pants, and the same sandals or canvas shoes. No one wore hats or caps. Occasionally, a cap could be spotted, but more often than not, there were black, tousled locks sticking up, and even more frequently, like a melon in a field, a sunburned bald head shimmered, on which one would very much like to write some word with a chemical pencil.

The institution where the person in sandals served was calledHERCULESand was located in a former hotel. A revolving glass door with brass ship’s handrails pushed him into a large lobby made of pink marble. In the grounded elevator, there was an information desk. From there, a smiling woman’s face was already peeking out. After instinctively taking a few steps, the newcomer stopped in front ofthe old Swiss manIn a cap with a golden zigzag on the brim and with a cheerful voice, he asked:

– Well.,.What’s up, old man, is it time for the crematorium?

– It’s time, father, – replied the doorman, smiling happily, – to our Soviet columbarium.

He even waved his arms. On his kind face, there was a complete readiness to embrace a fiery burial at any moment.

In Chornomorskgatheredto build a crematorium with an appropriate space for urns, that is, a columbarium, and this innovation from the cemetery department somehow amused the citizens. Perhaps they were amused by the new words – crematorium and columbarium – or maybe they found particularly funny the very idea that a person could be burned like a log.;But they only harassed all the old men and old women on the trams and in the streets, shouting: “Where are you rushing off to, old lady? In a hurry to the crematorium?”или.“Let the old man go ahead, it’s time for him to go to the crematorium.” And,.It’s an amazing thing, the idea of cremation for the elderly is very…likedSo the funny jokes received their full approval. In general, conversations about death, which had been considered uncomfortable and impolite until now, became as popular in Chernomorsk as anecdotes from Jewish and Caucasian life, sparking widespread interest.

Having passed the naked marble girl at the beginning of the staircase, who held an electric torch in her raised hand, and casting an annoyed glance at the poster: “CleaningHERCULESIt begins. Down with the conspiracy of silence and the circular guarantee, the employee went up to the second floor. He worked in the financial accounting department.

Fifteen minutes remained before the start of classes, but at their desks were already sitting Sakharov, Dreyfus, Tezoimenitsky, Musicant, Chevazhevskaya, Kukushkind, Borisokhlebsky, and Lapidus Jr. They were not at all afraid of the cleanings, as they repeatedly assured each other, but for some reason, lately, they had started coming to work as early as possible. Taking advantage of the few minutes of free time, they were noisily chatting among themselves. Their voices buzzed in the huge hall, which had once been a hotel restaurant. The ceiling reminded of this…oak carvedin the coffers and painted walls, where maenads, naiads, and dryads tumbled about with terrifying smiles.

“Have you heard the news, Koreyko?” asked Lapidus Jr. as he entered. “You really haven’t heard? Well? You’re going to be amazed.”!

– What’s the news??.Hello, comrades! – said Koreiko. – Hello, Anna Vasilievna.Текст для перевода: ..

– You evento imagine“You can’t!” said Lapidus Jr. with pleasure. “The accountant of Berlag has ended up in a mental hospital.”

– What are you talking about? Berloga? He’s a perfectly normal person!

– Until yesterday, everything was perfectly normal, but starting today, it has changed.abnormalest, – Borisokhlebsky joined the conversation. – That’s a fact. I…His wife called.Текст для перевода: ..He hasserious mental illness,.disorder of the plantar nerve.

“One can only wonder why none of us has developed this nerve disorder yet,” the old man Kukushkind ominously remarked, looking at his comrades through his oval nickel-plated glasses.

– Don’t caw.!.– said Chevazhevskaya. – He always brings such melancholy.

“Still, it’s a pity for Berlag,” Dreyfus remarked, turning on his swivel stool to face the group.

Society silently agreed with Dreyfus. Only Lapidus Jr. smiled mysteriously. The conversation shifted to the behavior of the mentally ill; they began to talk about maniacs, and several stories were shared about famous madmen.

“Well, I had,” exclaimed Sakharov, “a crazy uncle who imagined himself to be Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob all at once. Can you imagine the noise he made?”Did you raise it?..

“One can only marvel,” said the old man Kukushkind in a tinny voice, slowly wiping his glasses with the sleeve of his jacket, “one can only marvel that we still haven’t imagined ourselves as Abraham,” the old man snorted, “as Isaac…”

– And with Jacob? – Sarakhkov asked mockingly.

– Yes! And with Yakov! – Kukuškind suddenly squealed. – And with Yakov! Exactly Yakov!!You live in such a nerve-wracking time… Back when I worked at the banking firm “Sikorsky and Tsesarovich,” there was no such thing as a purge.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

At the word “cleaning,” Lapidus Jr. perked up, took Koreiko by the arm, and led him to a huge window, where two Gothic knights were arranged with colorful pieces of glass.

– You don’t know the most interesting thing about Berlag yet, – he whispered.The text for translation: ,.– Berloga is as healthy as a bull.

– How? So, he’s not in a mental hospital?

– No, in a crazy way.

Lapidus smiled faintly.

– That’s the whole trick. He just got scared of the cleaning and decided to ride out the tough times. He pretended to be crazy. Right now, he’s probably growling and laughing. What a sly one!Текст для перевода: ..Even
envy.Текст для перевода: ..

– He has,probablyAre the parents not okay?
Merchants? An alien element?

– Yes.. I.The parents are not well, and he himself, between you and me, owned a pharmacy. Who could have known there would be a revolution? People were making do as best they could.,.who had a pharmacy, and who even had a factory… Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with that.bad.

“You should have known,” Koreyko said coldly.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Lapidus quickly interjected, “people like that have no place in a Soviet institution.”

And, looking at Koreiko with wide eyes, he walked away to his desk.

The hall was already filled with employees, and from the boxes were taken out flexible metal rulers, gleaming with herring silver, abacuses with palm seeds, thick books marked with pink and blue lines, and a multitude of other small and large office supplies. The name-day celebrant tore off yesterday’s page from the calendar., has begunA new day, and one of the staff has already sunk their young teeth into a long sandwich with lamb pâté.

Koreiko settled down at his desk. Resting his tanned elbows on the writing table, he began to make entries in the current account book.

Alexander Ivanovich Koreyko, one of the most insignificant officials.HERCULESThere was a man in the final throes of youth.,.he was38.years. On the red waxy face sat yellow wheat eyebrows and white eyes. The English mustache was coloredeven.He had a face that seemed quite young, if not for the rough sergeant’s lines crossing his cheeks and neck. In service, Alexander Ivanovich behaved like a conscript soldier: he didn’t question orders, was diligent, hardworking, inquisitive, and somewhat dull.

“He’s kind of timid,” said the head of the finance department about him, “he seems overly submissive, almost too devoted. As soon as they announce a bond subscription, he’s the first one to jump in with his monthly salary. He signs up right away. And it’s his entire salary, too.”46.rubles. I would like to know how he manages to live on that money.Текст для перевода: ..

Alexander Ivanovich had an amazing ability. He could instantly multiply and divide large three-digit and four-digit numbers in his head. But this did not free him from…Alexander Ivanovichfrom the reputation of a dull-witted guy.

–.Listen.“Alexander Ivanovich,” the neighbor asked, “how much will it be?”836.на.423.?.

–.353.628“Well,” replied Koreiko, pausing just a little.

And the neighbor didn’t check the multiplication result, because he knew that the dimwitted Koreiko never makes mistakes.

“Someone else in his place would have made a career.”saidand Sakharov, and Dreyfus, and Tezoimenitsky, and
Musikant, and Chevazhevskaya, and Borisokhlebsky, and Lapidus the younger, and the old fool
Kukushkind, and even the accountant Berlag who ran away to the insane asylum, – and this onehat.He will spend his whole life sitting on his forty-six rubles.

And, of course, Alexander Ivanovich’s colleagues, as well as the head of the finance department, Comrade Arnikov, and not just him, but eventhe head of GERCULES, Comrade Ogn-Polykhaev, and his personal secretary Serna Mikhailovna, well, in short, everyone—They would be extremely surprised if they found out that Alexander Ivanovich Koreiko, the humblest of clerks, had just an hour ago been dragging a suitcase from one train station to another for some reason, in which there were not trousers…Century“Odessa,” not a pale chicken or some “Tasks of the Komsomol in the countryside,” but ten million rubles in foreign currency and Soviet banknotes.

In 1915, the petty bourgeois Sasha Koreiko wastwenty-three-year-olda slacker among those who, in all fairness,calleda retired gymnasium student. He never graduated from the real school, didn’t engage in any work, wandered around the boulevards, and relied on his parents for support. His uncle, a clerk for a military officer, got him out of military service, andbecauseHe listened without fear to the cries of the half-crazed newspaper vendor:

– The latest telegrams! Our troops are advancing! Thank God!
Many killed and wounded! Thank God!

At that time, Sasha Koreyko imagined the future like this: he is walking down the street and suddenly finds a cherry-red leather wallet, creaking like a saddle, by the wall near a rain gutter sprinkled with zinc stars. The wallet contains a lot of money—two thousand five hundred rubles..
A.from now on, everything will be extremely good. He imagined so often how he would find the money that he even knew exactly where it would happen. On Poltavskaya Street.victoriesIn the asphalt corner formed by the protrusion of the house, by the starry gutter, there it lies, the leather benefactor, slightly dusted with the dry color of acacias, next to a flattened cigarette butt.street.Poltava’svictoriesSasha went out every day, but to his utter surprise, the wallet was gone. He rummaged through the trash with a gym stick and stared blankly at the enamel plaque hanging by the front entrance.:.“Tax inspector Y.M.”Bomb.And Sasha stumbled home in a daze, collapsed onto the red plush sofa, and dreamed of wealth, overwhelmed by the pounding of his heart and pulses. The pulses were small, angry, and impatient.

The revolution of seventeen drove Koreiko off his plush sofa. He realized that he could become a happy heir to the wealth of strangers. He sensed that all over the country, there was a great abundance of abandoned gold, jewelry, exquisite furniture, paintings, carpets, furs, and china. He just had to seize the moment and quickly grab the riches.

But back then he was still foolish and young. He took over a large apartment, the owner of which had wisely left for Constantinople on a French steamer, and openly settled in. For an entire week, he immersed himself in the luxurious lifestyle of the vanished merchant, drinking the muscat he found in the buffet, snacking on rationed herring, and hauling various trinkets to the market. He was quite surprised when he was arrested.

He was released from prison after five months.His case got lost, and the young man was released only because no one knew what he was being accused of.

He didn’t give up on the thought of becoming rich, but he realized that the matter…его.It requires secrecy, darkness, and gradualness. One needed to put on a protective skin, and it came to Alexander Ivanovich in the form of high orange boots, bottomless blue breeches, and a long frock coat of a food supply worker.

In those troubled times, everything made by human hands served worse than before: houses offered no protection from the cold, food failed to satisfy, electricity was only available during major crackdowns on deserters and bandits, plumbing provided water only to the first floors, and trams were completely out of service. The forces of nature had become more vicious and dangerous: winters were colder than ever, the wind was stronger, and a cold that once laid a person up in bed for three days now killed them in the same span of time. Young people without any particular pursuits wandered the streets in groups, carelessly singing a song about money that had lost its value:

I rush into the cafeteria,

Not a penny to my name,

Change ten million…

Alexander Ivanovich watched with concern as the money he had earned through great effort was turning into nothing.

Typhus was claiming thousands of lives.,.Sasha was trading stolen medications from the warehouse. He made five hundred million on typhus, but the exchange rate over the month turned that into five million. He earned a billion on sugar. The exchange rate turned that money into dust.

During this period, one of his most successful undertakings was the hijacking of a food supply train heading to the Volga. Koreyko was the commandant of the train. The train left Poltava for Samara, but it never reached Samara and did not return to Poltava. It vanished without a trace along the way. Along with it, disappearedи.Alexander Ivanovich.

Chapter Five

The orange boots emerged in Moscow at the end of 1922. Over the boots, there was a greenish overcoat made of golden fox fur. The raised lambswool collar, which looked like a quilt from the inside, protected the rugged face with Sevastopol-style sideburns from the cold. On Alexander Ivanovich’s head sat a charming curly papakha.

And in Moscow at that time, new engines with crystal lanterns were already running around, and fast carriages were moving through the streets with their drivers in fur hats.and fur coats, shot downblackfur.“Lyra”;
inPointed Gothic shoes and briefcases with suitcase straps and handles were in vogue.; wordThe word “citizen” began to replace the familiar term “comrade.”;Some young people, quickly realizing what the joy of life is all about, were already dancing in restaurants.уанстэп“Dixie” and even a foxtrot.Flowers.“sun”; above.The city was filled with the shouts of daredevils, and in the large building of the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs, tailor Zhurkievich was sewing tails for Soviet diplomats departing abroad day and night.

Alexander Ivanovich was surprised to see that his attire, which was considered a sign of masculinity and wealth in the provinces, here in Moscow was seen as a relic of the past and cast an unfavorable shadow onсамогоits owner.

Two months later, a new establishment opened on Sretensky Boulevard under the sign “Revenge Chemical Products Cooperative.” The cooperative had two rooms. In the first…–.A portrait of the founder of socialism, Friedrich Engels, hung on the wall, under which sat Koreiko himself, innocently smiling in a gray English suit, threaded with red silk. The orange knee-high boots and rough half-breeches were gone. Alexander Ivanovich’s cheeks were well-shaven. In the back room, there was production taking place. Two oak barrels stood there, equipped with manometers and water gauges, one on the floor and the other on a high shelf. The barrels were connected by a thin enema tube.intestinea cart, and poured it into another container. The boy, wearing felt boots, worked diligently, his breath visible in the cool air of the production room. As he scooped the liquid from the lower barrel, he couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh, a sign of the hard work he was putting in.loftand poured it into the upper barrel. After finishing this complex production process, the boy would go to the office to warm up, while from the enema tube, sobs could be heard again.,.The liquid followed its usual path – from the upper reservoir to the lower one.

Alexander Ivanovich himself wasn’t exactly sure what kind of chemicals the “Revanche” cooperative was producing. He had other things on his mind.chemicalsHis workday was already packed. He was moving from bank to bank, hustling for loans to expand production. In the trusts, he was signing contracts for the supply of chemical products and securing raw materials at a fixed price. He was also obtaining loans. A lot of time was consumed by reselling the raw materials he acquired to state factories at a tenfold price, and he was drained by the currency dealings on the black market, at the foot of the monument to the heroes of Plevna.

A year later, banks and trusts were eager to find out how beneficial the financial and raw material assistance provided to the “Revanche” cooperative had been for its development, and whether a healthy private entity still needed any further support. A commission, adorned with scholarly beards, arrived at the “Revanche” cooperative in three small carriages. In the empty office, the chairman of the commission stared intently at Engels’ indifferent face for a long time.long.He was tapping a stick on the fir counter, calling the leaders and members of the cooperative. Finally, the door to the production area swung open, and before the commission appeared a tearful boy holding a bucket in his hand.

From a conversation with a young representative of “Revenge,” it became clear that production is in full swing and that the owner hasn’t shown up for a week. The commission didn’t stay long in the production area. The liquid, which had been bubbling away in the enema bag, resembled ordinary water in taste, color, and chemical composition, which is exactly what it was. After confirming this incredible fact, the chairman of the commission said “hmm” and looked at the members, who also said “hmm.” Then the chairman, with a dreadful smile, turned to the boy and asked:

– How old are you?

“The twelfth has passed,” the boy replied.

And he was filled with such…sobbingthe commission members, pushing each other, rushed out onto the street and, settling on the platforms, left in complete confusion. As for the “Revanche” cooperative, all its operations were recorded in the bank and trust books onIncome Statementand specifically in that section of thisAccounts.which does not mention profits at all and is entirely devoted to losses.

On that very day, when the commission was having a significant conversation with the boy at the “Revanche” office, Alexander Ivanovich Koreiko disembarked from the sleeping car of a direct train in a small grape-growing republic, located three thousand kilometers from Moscow.

He opened the window in his hotel room and saw a town in an oasis with a bamboo aqueduct, a shabby clay fortress, a town separated from the sands by poplars and filled with Asian noise.

The next day, he learned that the republic had begun constructing an electric power station. He also found out that there was a constant shortage of funds and that the construction, which was crucial for the future of the republic, could come to a halt.

And the healthy private entrepreneur decided to help the republic. He put on his orange boots again, donned a traditional cap, and, grabbing his bulging briefcase, headed to the construction management office.

He was not greeted very warmly; however, he behaved quite dignifiedly, asking nothing for himself and mainly emphasizing that the idea of electrifying the underdeveloped regions was very close to his heart.

– Your construction project, – he said, – is lacking funds. I will get them.

And he suggested setting up a profitable auxiliary enterprise during the construction of the power plant.

– What could be simpler! We will sell postcards featuring construction scenes, and this will bring in the funds that the construction project desperately needs. Remember: you won’t be giving anything away; you will only be receiving.

Alexander Ivanovich was emphatically slicing the air with his hand; his words seemed convincing, and the project was sound and profitable. Having secured a contract that entitled him to a quarter of all the profits from the postcard venture, Koreiko began to work.

First, working capital was needed. It had to be taken from the funds allocated for the construction of the station. There was no other money in the republic.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured the builders, “remember this: from this moment on, you will only be receiving.”

Alexander Ivanovich, riding a horse, inspected the gorge where the concrete parallelepipeds of the future station were already rising, and with a single glance, he assessed the picturesque porphyry cliffs. Following him, photographers rolled into the gorge on a line. They surrounded the construction with their jointed, spindly tripods, hid under black shawls, and clicked their shutters for a long time. When everything was captured, one of the photographers lowered his shawl.on the shouldersand wisely said:

– It would have been better to build this station further to the left, against the backdrop of the monastery ruins; it’s much more picturesque there.

To print postcards, it was decided to set up our own printing house as soon as possible. The funds, as before, were taken from the construction budget. Therefore, some work at the power station had to be put on hold. But everyone consoled themselves with the thought that the profits from the new venture would make up for the lost time.

The printing house was built in the same gorge, opposite the station. Soon, concrete parallelepipeds of the printing house appeared near the concrete parallelepipeds of the station. Gradually, barrels of cement, iron rods, bricks, and gravel were moved from one end of the gorge to the other. Then the workers made an easy transition across the gorge – they were paid more at the new construction site.

Six months later, agents in striped pants appeared at all the train stations. They sold postcards depicting the cliffs of the grape republic, among which grand works were underway. In summer gardens, theaters, cinemas, on steamboats and at resorts, young ladies dressed as sheep spun the glass drums of a charity lottery. The lottery was a sure win – every prize was a postcard featuring a view of the electric gorge.

Korayko’s words came true – income flowed in from all sides. But Alexander Ivanovich did not let go of any of it. He kept a quarter for himself as per the agreement, appropriated the same amount, claiming that reports from all the agency caravans had not yet come in, and used the remaining funds to expand the charitable organization.

“One must be a good host,” he said quietly, “first we need to get things in order, then the real profits will come.”

By this time, the excavator…“Marshan”, taken from the power station, dug a deep pit for the new printing house. Work at the power station came to a halt. The construction site was deserted. Only photographers were lingering there, and black shawls flitted about.

The matter blossomed, and Alexander Ivanovich, whose honest Soviet smile never left his face, began printing postcards featuring portraits of movie stars.

As usual, one evening a shaky vehicle arrived carrying the commission. Alexander Ivanovich didn’t waste any time; he cast a farewell glance at the cracked foundation of the power station, at the grand, brightly lit…,.The building of the auxiliary enterprise and the fire alarm system.

– Hmm.The text for translation: ,.“said the chairman”commissions, poking a stick in the cracks of the foundation. – Where is the power station?

And he.I looked at the members of the commission, who in turn said “hmm.” There were no power plants.

However, in the building of the printing house, the commission found work in full swing. Lilac lamps were shining, and the flat printing machines were anxiously flapping their wings. Three of them were churning out a gorge in one color, while from the fourth, a multicolored one, postcards featuring portraits of Douglas Fairbanks in a black half-mask on a thick samovar-like face, the charming Lia de Putti, and the delightful little fellow with bulging eyes known as Monty Banks were flying out like cards from a magician’s sleeve.

And for a long time after that memorable evening in the gorge under the open sky, there were show trials. And Alexander Ivanovich added half a million rubles to his capital.

His little angry pulses still beat impatiently. He felt that right now, when the old economic system had collapsed, the new one was just…beganLive, one can
build great wealth. But he already knew that the open struggle for enrichment
inSovietthe country is unthinkable.
And with a smile of superiority, he looked atpitiful remnants of NEPmen…rotting under signs that read: “Trade in goods from the wool trust B.A. Leybedev,” “Brocade and utensils for churches and clubs,” or “Grocery store H. Robinson and M. Pyatnitsa.”

Under the pressure of state oppression, the financial foundation of both Leybedev and Pyatnitsa, as well as the owners of the music industry, is cracking.false artels“There is the sound of a tambourine.”

Koreiko realized that only underground trade, based on strict secrecy, was possible at the moment. All the crises that shook the young economy worked to his advantage.;Everything the state lost brought it income. He broke into every commodity gap and carried away his hundred thousand from there. He traded in grain products, cloth, sugar, and textiles.,.to everyone. And he was alone, completely alone with his millions. In different parts of the country, big and small crooks worked for him, but they didn’t know who they were working for. Koreyko operated only through front men. Only he knew the length of the chain along which the money flowed to him.

* * *

At exactly twelve o’clock, Alexander Ivanovich pushed aside the ledger and began his breakfast. He took out a pre-peeled raw turnip from the drawer and, looking straight ahead, ate it. Then he swallowed a cold soft-boiled egg. Cold soft-boiled eggs are very unappetizing food.. I.A good, cheerful person would never eat them. But Alexander Ivanovich didn’t eat; he nourished himself. He didn’t have breakfast; he engaged in the physiological process of introducing the right amounts of fats, carbohydrates, and vitamins into his body.

All the Hercules fans crowned their breakfast with tea.;Alexander Ivanovichdrank.glasswhiteboiling water in small sips. Tea stimulates excessive activity of the heart, and Koreiko valued his health.

The owner of ten million looked like a boxer, calculatingly.preparatoryhis triumph. He follows a special regime, does not drink or smoke, tries to avoid stress, trains, and goes to bed early.;Everything was aimed at stepping into the shining ring as a happy winner on the appointed day. Alexander Ivanovich wanted to feel young and fresh on that day when everything would return to the old ways, and he could emerge from the underground, fearlessly opening his ordinary little suitcase. Koriyko never doubted that the old ways would come back. He was saving himself for capitalism.

And so that no one would uncover his second and main life, he lived a miserable existence, trying not to go beyond the forty-six ruble limit.salaries, which he received for his miserable and tedious job in the finance department, decorated with menads, dryads, and naiads.

Chapter Six

The green box with four crooks raced down the smoky road in fits and starts. The car was subjected to the same forces of nature that a swimmer experiences when bathing in stormy weather. It was suddenly jolted by a bump, pulled into potholes, tossed from side to side, and enveloped in red sunset dust.

“Listen here, student,” Ostap addressed the new passenger, who had already recovered from the recent shock and was sitting carefree next to the commander, “how dare you break…”Sukharevskayathe convention, this esteemed pact, approved by the League tribunalNations.

Panikovsky pretended not to hear and even turned away.

– And anyway, – Ostap continued, – you have an unclean grip. Just now we witnessed a disgusting scene.The text for translation: : for.You were being chased by the Arbat people, from whom you stole a goose.

– Pitiful, insignificant people.,.“Panikovsky muttered angrily.”

– I see.?.“— said Ostap. — So you consider yourself, obviously, a public doctor? A gentleman? Then here’s the thing: if it occurs to you, as a true gentleman, to make notes on your cuffs, you’ll have to write with chalk.”

“Why?” the new passenger asked irritably.

– Because they are completely black. Is it not from dirt?

“You are a pathetic, worthless person!” Panikovsky quickly declared.

– And you say this to me, your savior? – Ostap asked gently. – Adam Kazimirovich, please stop your car for a moment. Thank you. Shura, my dear, please restore the status quo.

Balaganov didn’t understand what “status quo” meant.But.I focused on the intonation with which these words were spoken.:.Disgustedly, he smiled as he took Panikovsky under his arms, carried him out of the car, and set him down on the road.

– Student, go ahead.back“In Arbatov,” Ostap said dryly, “the owners of the goose are eagerly awaiting you. We don’t need any more rude people. We are rude enough ourselves. Let’s go.”

– I won’t do it anymore! – Panikovsky pleaded. – I’m nervous!

“Get on your knees,” said Ostap.

Panikovsky dropped to his knees so suddenly, as if his legs had been cut out from under him.

– Good., he saidOstap., – yourYour position satisfies me. You are conditionally accepted until the first violation of discipline, with the imposition of servant duties on you for everything.

Gnu Antelopeshe accepted the subdued rude man and rolled on, swaying like a funeral cart.

Half an hour later, the car turned onto the large Novozaytsevsky road and, without slowing down, entered the village. A crowd had gathered near a log house, on the roof of which grew a crooked, knotted radio mast. From the crowd, a beardless man stepped forward decisively. In his hand, the beardless man held a piece of paper.

– Comrades!.“he shouted angrily”The text does not contain any translatable parts. Returning it as is: . –
С.ч.итаю.the solemn session is openТекст для перевода: ..Allow me, comrades, to count these applause…

He apparently had prepared a speech and was already glancing at his notes, but noticing that the car wasn’t stopping, he decided not to elaborate.

– Everything to Avtodor! – he said hastily, looking at Ostap, who had caught up with him. – We’ll set up mass production of Soviet cars.!The iron horse is taking over from the peasant horse.!

And already, as the car drove away, amidst the celebratory roar of the crowd, he shouted the final slogan:

–.A car is not a luxury., but a means of transportation!

Except for Ostap, everyone.antelope peopleThey were somewhat worried about the solemn meeting. Not understanding anything, they fidgeted in the car like sparrows in a nest. Panikovsky, who generally disliked large gatherings of honest people in one place, cautiously squatted down, so that the peasants could only see the dirty straw roof of his hat. But Ostap was not at all flustered. He took off his cap with a white top and responded to greetings with a proud nod of his head, first to the right, then to the left.

“Improve the roads!” he shouted as a farewell. “Thanks for the hospitality!”

And the car found itself once again on the white road cutting through a large quiet field.

“Are they going to chase us?” Panikovsky asked anxiously. “Why is there a crowd? What happened?”

“People have just never seen a car,” said Balaganov.

– The exchange of impressions continues, – noted Bender..– WordBehind the driver
of the car. What’s your opinion, Adam Kazimirovich?

The driver thought that he had startled the dog with the sounds of the engine, which had foolishly run out onto the road, and he speculated that the crowd had gathered for the temple festival.. P.“Such holidays,” the driver explained.Antelopes, – are often found among peasants.

“Yes,” said Ostap. “Now I can clearly see that I’ve ended up in the company of uncultured people, that is, tramps without higher education. Oh, children, dear children of Lieutenant Schmidt, why don’t you read the newspapers? You should read them. They often spread the reasonable, the good, and the eternal.”

Ostap took out a copy of “Izvestia” from his pocket and read aloud to the crew of the Antelope an article about the car rally from Moscow to Samara and back.

“Right now,” he said smugly, “we are on the route of the car rally, approximately one hundred and fifty kilometers ahead of the lead vehicle. I assume you’ve already figured out what I’m talking about?”

The lower ranks of the Antelope remained silent. Panikovsky unbuttoned his jacket and scratched his bare chest under the dirty silk tie.

– So, you didn’t understand? As it turns out, in some cases, not even reading the newspapers helps. Well, fine, I’ll elaborate, even though it’s not really my style. First…–.the peasants acceptedAntelopefor the lead vehicle of the rally. The second one–.We are not giving up this title.. Morethat.,.We will reach out to all institutions and individuals with a request to provide us with the necessary assistance.hintingspecifically that we are the leading machine. Third… Well, two points are enough for you. It is quite clear that for some time we will stay ahead of the rally, skimming off the cream and other such froth from this high-culture endeavor.

The speech of the great schemer made a huge impression. Kozlevich cast devoted glances at the commander. Balaganov rubbed his palms through his fiery curls and burst into laughter. PanikovskyThe text for translation: ,.in anticipation of safe profit,.shouted “Hooray.”

– Well, enough with the emotions.!– said Ostap. – Due to the onset of darkness, I declare the evening open. Stop!

The car stopped, and the tired antelope people got out. In the ripening fields of grain, the grasshoppers were forging their little happiness. The passengers…long ago.They had already settled in a circle by the road, and the old woman…AntelopeIt was still boiling: sometimes the body would crackle on its own, and sometimes a short clattering could be heard from the engine.

The inexperienced Panikovsky built such a large fire that it seemed,.A whole village is on fire. The flames, hissing, were leaping in all directions. While the travelers fought against the fiery column, Panikovsky, crouching down, ran into the field and returned holding a warm, crooked cucumber. Ostap quickly snatched it from Panikovsky’s hands, saying:

– Don’t make a cult out of food.!

After that, he ate a cucumber by himself. They had dinner with sausage, which was taken from home by the resourceful Kozlevich.fell asleep, showered in stardustТекст для перевода: ..

“Well then,” Ostap said to Kozlevich at dawn, “get ready properly.”, suchThe day that lies ahead of you today is something your mechanical bucket has never seen and will never see.

Balaganov grabbed a cylindrical bucket labeled “Arbat Maternity Hospital” and ran to the river for water. Adam Kazimirovich lifted the car hood, whistling, and plunged his hands into the engine, starting to tinker with it.steelPanikovsky leaned back against a car tire and, feeling downcast, stared without blinking at the cranberry-colored segment of the sun that had appeared above the horizon. Panikovsky had a wrinkled face with many signs of aging: bags under his eyes, pulsating veins.,.strawberry blush. Such a face belongs to a person who has lived a long and decent life, has grown children, drinks healthy “Zheludin” coffee in the mornings, and occasionally writes in…institutionalin a wall newspaper under the pseudonym “Antichrist.”

“Shall I tell you, Panikovsky, how you will die?” Ostap suddenly said.

The old man flinched and turned around.

“You will die like this. One day, when you return to the empty, cold room of the ‘Marseille’ hotel (it will be somewhere in a provincial town where your profession takes you), you will feel unwell. You will lose a leg.”Hungryи.unshavenyou will be lying on a wooden bed. I.No one will come to you, Panikovsky, no one will pity you. You have children…probably,didn’t give birth out of economy, but
wivesthrew awayYou will suffer for a whole week. Your agony will be terrible. You will die slowly, and everyone will get tired of it. You won’t be completely dead yet, but… bureaucrat.–.manager of the hotel–.Already writing a letter to the municipal services department regarding the issuance of a free coffin… What is your first name and patronymic?

– Mikhail Samueleevich, – replied the stunned Panikovsky.

– …on the issuance of a free coffin forThe text for translation: gr..M.S. Panikovsky. However, no need for tears, you’ll manage for another year or two. Now, let’s get down to business. We need to take care of the cultural and propaganda aspect of our campaign.

Ostap took his obstetric bag out of the car and placed it on the grass.

– My right hand, – said the great schemer, patting the suitcase on its plump, sausage-like side. – Here’s everything that an elegant gentleman of my age and stature could possibly need.

Bender crouched over the small suitcase like a wandering Chinese magician over his magic bag, and one by one, he began to pull out various items. First, he took out a red armband, on which the word “organizerThen a police cap with the emblem of the city of Kyiv lay on the grass, along with four decks of cards with identical backs and a stack of documents with round lilac seals.

The entire crewWildebeestsI looked at the suitcase with respect. And from there, new items kept appearing.

“You are pigeons,” Ostap said, “you will never understand that an honest Soviet pilgrim like me cannot do without a doctor’s gown.”

In addition to the robe, there was also a stethoscope in the suitcase.

“I’m not a surgeon,” Ostap remarked., – I.I’m a neurologist, I’m a psychiatrist. I study the souls of my patients. And for some reason, I always seem to encounter very foolish souls.

Then the following were brought to light: an alphabet for the deaf, charity postcards, enamel badges, and a poster featuring a portrait of Bender himself.shalvarakhand in a turban. The poster read:

!!! THE PRIEST HAS ARRIVED !!!

the famous Bombay Brahmin (yogi)

– Parva’s son —

Iokanaan Marusidze

(Honored Artist of the Union Republics)

numbers based on the experience of Sherlock Holmes.

Indian fakir. – Invisible chicken. —

Candles from Atlantis. – Hellish tent. —

Prophet Samuel answers questions from the audience.

Materialization of spirits and distribution of elephants

Entrance tickets range from 50 kopecks to 2 rubles.

A dirty, tattered turban appeared following the poster.

“I use this pastime very rarely,” said Ostap. “Imagine that the most prominent people caught by the priest are the heads of railway clubs. The work is easy, but unpleasant. Personally, I find it distasteful to be a favorite of Rabindranath Tagore. And the prophet Samuel is asked the same questions: ‘Why is there no animal fat for sale?’ or ‘Are you Jewish?’”

In the end, Ostap found what he was looking for: a tin lacquer box with honey paints in porcelain cups and two brushes.

“– The car that leads the race needs to be decorated with at least one slogan,” said Ostap.

And on a long strip of yellowish calico, taken from the same
suitcase, he wrote in brown block letters:

Car rally throughto the rough roads and sloppiness!

The poster was secured above the car on two sticks. As soon as the car started moving, the poster bent under the pressure of the wind and took on such a fierce appearance that there was no longer any doubt about the need to shake things up with a rally through the rough terrain, carelessness, and perhaps even bureaucracy. The passengersAntelopesThey straightened up. Balaganov.stretchedHe put on his cap, which he always carried in his pocket, over his red hair. Panikovsky turned the cuffs inside out and pulled them out from under his sleeves by two centimeters. Kozlevich cared more about the car than about himself. Before leaving, he washed it with water, and on its uneven sides…AntelopesThe sun began to shine. The commander squinted cheerfully and teased his companions.

– Port side.–.“Village!” shouted Balaganov, with a shelf.placingPalm to forehead. – Are we going to stop?

“Behind us,” said Ostap, “there are five top-notch cars following. Meeting them is not part of our plans. We need to quickly reap the rewards. Therefore, I’m setting our stop in the town of Udoev. By the way, a barrel of fuel should be waiting for us there. Let’s move, Kazimirovich.”!.

“Should I respond to greetings?” Balaganov asked anxiously.

– Respond with bows and smiles. Mouths.I would like to ask.Do not open it. Otherwise, you might say who knows what.

The village greeted the main machine warmly. But the usual hospitality…worea rather strange character. Apparently, the village community had been informed that someone would be passing through, but they didn’t know who it would be or for what purpose. So, just in case, all the sayings and slogans made over the past few years were brought out. Along the street, schoolchildren stood with a variety of old-fashioned posters: “Greetings to the League of Time and its esteemed founder Comrade Kerzhentsev,” “We are not afraid of bourgeois clamor, we will respond to Curzon’s ultimatum,” “So that the children…yours.“Please don’t extinguish, organize a nursery.”
In addition, there were many posters, predominantly executed…Church Slavonicwith the same greeting in the font: “Welcome!”

All of this rushed past the travelers. This time, they confidently waved their hats. Panikovsky couldn’t hold back and, despite the prohibition, jumped up and shouted an indistinct, politically illiterate greeting. But amidst the noise of the engine and the crowd’s shouts, no one could make out anything.

“Hip, hip, hooray!” shouted Ostap.

Kozlevich opened the muffler, and the car released a plume of blue smoke that made the dogs chasing after it start coughing.

“How’s the gasoline?” Ostap asked. “Will it be enough to get us to Udoeva? We only need to cover thirty kilometers. After that, we’ll take everything.”

“That should be enough,” Kozlevich replied doubtfully.

“Keep in mind,” Ostap said, giving a stern look to his troops, “looting…”I.I won’t allow it. No violations of the law.!.I will be the one to call the shots.

Panikovsky and Balaganov were embarrassed.

– Everything we need, the milkers will give us themselves. You’ll see that soon. Prepare a place for the bread and salt.

Thirty kilometersAntelopeI ran for an hour and a half. The last kilometer
Kozlevich was very fidgety, stepping on the gas and shaking his head in frustration. But that’s all.these.The efforts, along with Balaganov’s shouts and urgings, led to nothing. The brilliant finish envisioned by Adam Kazimirovich failed due to a lack of gasoline. The car shamefully came to a stop in the middle of the street, not even reaching a hundred meters to the podium adorned with pine garlands in honor of the brave motorists.

The gathered crowd shouted loudly.threw themselvesto meet the one who has arrived from the mists of time“Lauren-Dietrich”They were roughly pulled out of the car and began to be shaken with such ferocity, as if they were drowning victims and needed to be saved at all costs.Need to.it was to bring back to life.

Kozlevich stayed by the car while the others were taken to the department, where a three-hour impromptu meeting was scheduled. A young driver managed to squeeze his way over to Ostap.The text for translation: type.and asked:

– How are the other cars?

“You’re behind,” Ostap replied indifferently. “Hiccups, breakdowns, the enthusiasm of the population. All of this causes delays.”

“Are you in the command car?” the amateur driver pressed on. “Is Kleptunov with you?”

“I took Kleptunova off the race,” Ostap said, dissatisfied.

– And the professorCouplet? At “PackardThe text for translation: »?.

– At “PackardIt seems that there is no text provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

– And what about the writer Vera Kruts? – the half-driver asked curiously. – I’d love to see her.Текст для перевода: ..On her and onArapoportIs he with you too?

“Well, you see,” Ostap said, “I’m tired from the run.”Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

– And you on “StudebakerThe text for translation: »?.

– You can consider our car as “Studebaker“– said Ostap angrily, – but until now it was called ‘Lauren-Dietrich“Are you satisfied?”

But the amateur driver was not satisfied.

“Excuse me,” he exclaimed with youthful insistence, “but there are no ‘…”Loren-DietrichovI read in the newspaper that there are two “Packard», two «Fiat.» and
one «StudebakerIt seems that there is no text provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

“Go to hell with your ‘Studebaker“Who is Studebaker?” Ostap shouted. “Is he your relative? Is your dad Studebaker? Why are you so fixated on this guy?”!In Russian, they tell him that “Studebaker“replaced at the last moment”Lorenz-Dietrich“, and he’s just messing with my head.”“Studebaker”! “Studebaker”!

The young man had long been pushed aside by the organizers, while Ostap continued to wave his arms and mumble for a long time:

“Experts! We need to get rid of such experts!”Studebaker“He’s always asking for more!”

He did this in order to finally get rid of dangerous questions once and for all.

The chairman of the commission for the rally launched into such a long chain of subordinate clauses in his welcoming speech that he couldn’t extricate himself from them for half an hour. During all this time, the commander of the rally was in great distress. From his elevated position, he watched the suspicious actions of Balaganov and Panikovsky, who were darting around the crowd with too much energy. Bender made terrifying faces and eventually managed to pin down the children with his signaling.lieutenantto one place.

– I’m glad, comrades, – Ostap declared in his response, – to break the patriarchal silence of the city of Udoeva with the sound of a car siren. A car, comrades, is not a luxury, but a means of transportation. The iron steed is taking the place of the peasant’s horse. We will establish mass production of Soviet cars. We will tackle the rough roads and negligence with a motor rally. I’m wrapping up, comrades. After a light snack, we will continue our long journey.!

While the crowd, motionless around the lectern, listened attentively to the words.CommanderKozlevich engaged in extensive activities. He filled the tank with gasoline, which, as Ostap had said, turned out to be of the highest quality, shamelessly seized three large canisters of fuel for his reserves, changed the tires and treads on all four wheels, took the pump, and even a jack. In doing so, he completely depleted both the base and operational warehouses of the Udoevsky branch of Avtodor.

The road to Chernomorsk was supplied with materials. There was, however, a lack of money. But that didn’t concern the commander. In Udoevo, the travelers had a wonderful lunch.and money, in essence, was not yet needed.

“Don’t worry about pocket money,” said Ostap, “it’s lying around on the road, and we will…”их.select as needed.

Between the ancient Udoev, founded in 794, and Chornomorsk, founded in 1794, there lay–.a thousand years and a thousand kilometers of dirt and paved road.

Over the course of a thousand years on the Udoev—Black Sea highway, various figures appeared. Traveling along it were itinerant merchants with goods from Byzantine trading firms. Coming out of the buzzing forest to meet them was the Nightingale the Robber, a rough man in a karakul hat. He would seize the goods and dispose of the merchants. Conquerors with their retinues trudged along this road,arrivedThe men, with songs, were trudging along like wanderers.

The life of the country changed with each century. Clothing evolved, and weapons were perfected.и.the potato riots were quelled, peopleThey learned to shave beards. The first hot air balloon took flight. The iron twins were invented – the steamboat and the locomotive. Cars started honking.

And the road remained the same as it was during the time of the Nightingale the Robber.

Hunched over, covered in volcanic mud or buried in dust, poisonous like bedbug powder,–.the domestic road stretched past the villages,cities, factories and collective farms, stretched a thousand-verst long trap. On either side, in the yellowing, desecrated grasses, lie the skeletons of carts and tortured, gasping cars.

Perhaps the emigrant, driven mad by selling newspapers among the asphalt fields of Paris, recalls the charming details of his native landscape: a puddle where the moon sits, crickets praying loudly, and an empty bucket clinking, tied to a peasant’s cart.

But the moonlight has been given something else.appointmentThe month will be able to shine brilliantly on the tarred highways. Car sirens and horns will replace the symphonic ringing of a peasant’s bucket. And crickets can be listened to in special reserves; there will be grandstands built, and citizens, prepared by the introductory words of some gray-haired speaker…cricket keeperwill be able to fully enjoy the singing of their favorite insects.

Chapter Seven

The race commander, the driver, the flight engineer, and the crew all felt great. The morning was cool. A pale sun struggled in the pearly sky. In the grass, small birds were chirping. The road birds, known as “herdsmen,” slowly crossed the road right in front of the car’s wheels. The steppe horizons exuded such invigorating scents that if Ostap had been a mediocre peasant writer from the “Steel Udder” group, he wouldn’t have been able to resist.–.he would get out of the car, sit in the grass, and right thereThe text for translation: would.I would start writing a new story in my travel notebook, beginning with the words: “The winter crops have sprouted. The sun has peeked out, casting its rays across the wide world. Old Romualdych sniffed his foot wrap and was quite taken aback.”It seems that there is no text provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

But Ostap and his companions were far from poetic perceptions. They had been racing ahead of the motor rally for a whole day. They were greeted with music and speeches. Children played drums for them. Adults provided them with lunches and dinners, supplying them in advance.preparedwith auto parts, and in one position they brought it closereven.bread and salt on an intricately carved oak platter with a towel embroidered with cross-stitch. The bread and salt lay at the bottom of the car, between Panikovsky’s legs. He kept pinching off pieces from the loaf and eventually made a mouse hole in it. After that,него.The fastidious Ostap threw the bread and salt onto the road. The night was spent by the antelope hunters in a village, surrounded by the attentions of the local community. They left with a large jug of melted milk and a sweet memory of the cologne-scented hay they had slept on.

– Milk and hay, – said Ostap, whenAntelopeAt dawn, she left the village – what could be better??.Always think.–.“I still have time for that. There will be plenty of milk and hay in my life.” But in reality, there will never be any more of that. Just know this: it was the best night inyour.life, my poor friends. And you didn’t even notice this.

Bender’s companions looked at him with respect. They were thrilled by the easy life that lay before them.

“Life is good!” said Balaganov. “Here we are, we’re well-fed.”!Maybe happiness awaits us…

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” asked Ostap. “Happiness awaits.”вас.On the road? Maybe it’s still flapping its wings in impatience? Where?,
says he,Admiral Balaganov? Why has he been gone for so long??.“You’re crazy, Balaganov! Happiness doesn’t wait for anyone. It wanders through the country in long white robes, singing a children’s song: ‘Oh, America – that’s the place where they stroll and drink without snacks.’ But this naive little thing needs to be caught, it needs to be wooed, it needs attention. And you, Balaganov, won’t have a romance with this little one. You’re a ragamuffin. Just look at what you resemble.”?.A person in your suit will never achieve happiness. And in general, the whole crew…AntelopesThe equipment is terrible. I’m surprised that we are still considered participants in the rally.Текст для перевода: ..

Ostap looked at his companions with regret and continued:

– Panikovsky’s hat is really confusing me. In general,,.He is dressed in provocative luxury. This precious tooth, these underpants…seedsthis hairy chest under the tieПожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.You need to dress more simply, Panikovsky.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.You are a venerable old man.I need a deaf person.a black frock coat and a beaver hat. Balaganovsuitableplaid cowboyshirtand leather gloves. And he will immediately take on the appearance of a student engaged in physical education. But right now, he looks like a sailor from the merchant fleet who has been fired for drinking. I won’t even mention our esteemed driver. The heavy trials sent by fate have prevented him from dressing according to his rank. Don’t you see howapproachedto his inspired, slightly oil-stained face, a leather jumpsuit and a chrome black cap. Yes,girlsYou need to gear up.

“There’s no money,” Kozlevich said, turning around.

– The driver is right, – politely.notedOstap, there really is no money. There are no
those little metal coins that I love so much.

Gnu Antelopeslid down the hill. The fields continued to slowly rotate on both sides of the car. A large red owl sat right by the road, tilting its head to the side and stupidly staring with its yellow blind eyes. Alarmed by the creakingAntelopesthe bird spread its wings,took flightover the car and soon flew away to attend to her boring owl business. Nothing else worthy of attention happened on the road.

– Look!,.“Suddenly, Balaganov shouted.”, –
car!.

Ostap ordered the removal of the poster, which urged citizens to take to the streets in a motor rally against negligence, just in case. While Panikovsky was carrying out the order,Antelopeapproached the oncoming car.

Closed gray “CadillacStanding at the edge of the road, slightly tilted, was a car. The Central Russian landscape, reflected in its thick polished windows, looked cleaner and more beautiful than it actually was. A kneeling driver was removing the tire from the front wheel. Above him, three figures in sandy road coats waited in anticipation.

“Are you enduring a disaster?” Ostap asked politely.lifting upcap.

The driver raised his tense face and, without saying a word, immersed himself in his work again.

The antelope hunters climbed out of their green tarantass. Kozlevich walked around the wonderful vehicle several times, sighing with envy, then squatted down next to the driver and soon struck up a special conversation with him. Panikovsky and Balaganov, with childlike curiosity, were examining the passengers, two of whom had a rather haughty foreign appearance. The third one, judging by the overwhelming smell of galoshes emanating from his rubber coat, was a compatriot.

“Are you enduring a disaster?” Ostap repeated, delicately touching the rubber shoulder of his compatriot while simultaneously casting a thoughtful glance at the foreigners.

The compatriot irritably started talking about a flat tire, but his mumbling went in one ear and out the other for Ostap. On the main road, in130.A few kilometers from the nearest regional center, in the very heart of European Russia, two plump foreign chicks were strolling by their car. This stirred the great schemer.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted, “aren’t those two from Rio de Janeiro?”

– No, – replied the compatriot, – they are from Chicago. AndI am a translator.from “Intourist”.

–.What.What they do here, at the crossroads, in the wild ancient field, far from Moscow, from the ballet “The Red Poppy,” from antique shops and the famous painting by the artist Repin “Ivan the Terrible Kills His Son.”–two-faced person“I don’t understand! Why did you bring them here?”

“To hell with them!” the translator said with sorrow. “We’ve been running around the villages like crazy for three days now.”!.They’ve completely worn me out. I’ve dealt with a lot of foreigners, but I’ve never seen anyone like this.

And he waved his hand towards his rosy companions.

– All tourists are just tourists.. They are running around.In Moscow, they buy wooden spoons in artisanal shops.The text for translation: , a.These two managed to escape. They started traveling from village to village.

“That’s commendable,” Ostap said., – widethe masses of billionaires are getting acquainted with the everyday life of a new Soviet village!

The citizens of Chicago were closely watching the repair of the car. They wore silver hats, frozen starched collars, and red matte shoes.

The translator looked at Ostap with indignation and exclaimed:

– Of course! What they really need is a new village! They need village moonshine, not a village.Текст для перевода: ..

At the mention of the word “moonshine,” which the translator pronounced with emphasis, the gentlemen glanced around anxiously and began to approach those who were talking.

“See!,” said the translator. “They can’t bear to hear these words.”

“Yes. There’s some kind of mystery here,” said Ostap.. –
Orperverse tastes. I don’t understand how one can love moonshine when we have a wide selection of fine spirits in our country.

“All of this is much simpler than it seems to you,” said the translator., – theylooking for a recipemanufacturinggood
moonshine.

“Of course!” shouted Ostap. “After all, they have…”prohibition lawEverything is clear.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.Got the recipe.?.Oh, did they not get to you? Well, yes. You might as well have arrived in three cars! It’s clear that they take you for the management. And I assure you, you won’t get the recipe.

The translator started complaining about foreigners.Текст для перевода: ..

“Can you believe it? People have started to throw themselves at me.”. Tell me,Sure, tell me., in whatthe secret of moonshine. And I’m not a moonshiner.!I am a member of the education workers’ union. I have an elderly mother in Moscow.

– Do you really want to go back to Moscow?The text does not contain any translatable parts.Text for translation: to mom?.

The translator sighed plaintively.

– In that case, the meeting will continue.!–
said Bender. – How much will your bosses pay for the recipe? One hundred and fifty?

– They’ll give two hundred, – the translator whispered. – Do you really have the recipe?

“Now I’ll dictate it to you, that is…”The text for translation: ,.now upon receiving the money. Any kind: potato, wheat, apricot, barley, from mulberries, from buckwheat porridge.evenYou can make moonshine from an ordinary stool. Some people enjoy stool liquor. Otherwise, you can just have a simple one.kishmish grapeor slivanka. In short – any of the one hundred and fifty types of moonshine whose recipes I know.

Ostap was introduced to the Americans. In the air, politely raised hats floated for a long time. Then they got down to business. The Americans chose wheat moonshine, attracted by its simplicity of production. They took a long time to jot down the recipe in their notebooks. As a free bonus, Ostap shared with the American walkers the best design for a desktop distillation apparatus, which could easily be hidden from prying eyes in a desk drawer. The walkers assured Ostap that with American…technologiesManufacturing such a device is no trouble at all. Ostap assured the Americans that his design produces a bucket of delightful aromatic moonshine each day.

– Oh! – the Americans shouted.– Pervatch!
Pervatch!

They have already heard this word in one.familiarto the esteemed family from Chicago. And there aboutpervatch’eThere were excellent references provided. The head of this family was once with the American occupation forces in Arkhangelsk, where he drank there.pervatchand since then he hasn’t been able to forget the charming feeling he experienced at that moment.

In the mouths of languid tourists, a coarse word.pervachIt sounded gentle and enticing.

The Americans easily handed over two hundred rubles and shook Bender’s hand for a long time. Panikovsky and Balaganov also managed to say goodbye with a handshake to the citizens of the transatlantic republic, who were exhausted.prohibition lawThe translator, in a moment of joy, gave Ostap a hearty kiss on the cheek and invited him to drop by, adding that his mother would be very happy to see him. However, for some reason, he didn’t leave an address.

The traveling companions settled into their cars. Kozlevich played a farewell tune, and to its cheerful sounds, the cars sped off in opposite directions.

“See,” said Ostap, as the American car was engulfed in dust.– EverythingIt happened just as I told you. We were driving, and there was money lying on the road. I picked it up. Look, it’s not even dusty.

And he cracked a stack of credit cards.

“To be honest, there’s nothing to brag about; the combination
is quite simple. But neatness and honesty – that’s what really matters. Two hundred rubles.”!.In five minutes.!And I not only did not break the law, but eveneveryone.Did something nice. Crew.AntelopesHe provided financial satisfaction. He returned the translator son to his elderly mother. And finally, he quenched the spiritual thirst of the citizens of the country with which we, after all, have trade relations.

Lunchtime was approaching. Ostap immersed himself in the route map, torn from a car magazine, and announced the impending arrival of the city of Luchansk.

–.Town“Very small,” said Bender, “that’s not good. The smaller the city, the longer the welcome speeches.”BecauseLet’s ask the gracious hosts of the city for lunch for the first course, and speeches for the second. During the intermission, I will provide you with some supplies. Panikovsky! You are starting to forget your duties.!Restore the poster to its original place.

The triumphant Kozlevich skillfully brought the car to a halt right in front of the grandstand. Here, Bender limited himself to a brief greeting. They agreed to postpone the meeting by two hours. After enjoying a complimentary lunch, the motorists, in a delightful mood, headed towards the ready-to-wear store. They were surrounded by curious onlookers. The Antilopovites carried the sweet burden of fame that had unexpectedly fallen upon them with dignity. They walked down the middle of the street, holding hands and swaying, like sailors in a foreign port. The red-haired Balaganov, indeed resembling a young bosun, broke into a sea shanty.

The store “Men’s, Women’s, and Children’s Dresses” was located beneath a huge sign that covered the entire two-story building. The sign featured dozens of figures: yellow-faced men with thin mustaches, wearing fur coats with turned-out sable collars, ladies holding muffs, short-legged children in sailor suits, young Komsomol members in red scarves, and gloomy tradesmen, sunk up to their thighs in felt boots.

All this splendor was shattered by a small piece of paper that was stuck.у.entrance door
of the store:

There are no pants.

– Ugh, how rude!!“– said Ostap, entering.”ImmediatelyIt’s clear that it’s from the province. They wrote it as they do in Moscow: “No pants.”. P.Splendid and noble. The citizens, satisfied, are dispersing to their homes.And here – “no pants.”

The motorists didn’t linger long in the store. For Balaganov, there was a cowboy shirt in a roomy canary check pattern and a Stetson hat with holes. Kozlevich had to…to be satisfied withwith a promised chrome cap and a similar
jacket, shining like pressed caviar. They spent a long time with Panikovsky.
The pastor’s long frock coat and soft hat, which, according to Bender’s plan,
were supposed to elevate the appearance of the convention violator, fell away in the very first
minute. The store could only offer a firefighter’s suit: a jacket with golden
pumps on the epaulettes.и.hairy
half-wool trousers and a cap with a blue brim. Panikovsky lingered for a long timebroke down andjumped in front of the wavy mirror.

“I don’t understand,” he said.finallyOstap, what don’t you like about the firefighter’s suit? It’s still better than the suit of a king in exile that you’re wearing now. Come on!,.Turn around, son! Great! I’ll tell you straight. This suits you more than…designeda frock coat and a hat.

They went out onto the street in new outfits.Ostap didn’t buy anything for himself.

“I need a tuxedo,” he said.he., –
but it’s not here. We’ll wait for better times.Isn’t that right, my friend the firemaster?

Ostap opened the meeting in a cheerful mood, unaware of the storm that was about to hit the passengers.AntelopesHe joked, shared funny travel adventures and Jewish anecdotes, which greatly endeared him to the audience. He dedicated the end of his speech to discussing a long-overdue automotive issue.

– A car, – he exclaimed in a booming voice, – is not a luxury, but…

At that moment, he saw that the chairman of the meeting commission had received a telegram from a boy who had run up to him. As he spoke the words…:.“Not a luxury, but a means of transportation,” Ostap leaned to the left and peered over the chairman’s shoulder at the telegram form. What he read shocked him. He thought there was still a whole day ahead. His mind instantly registered a series of villages and towns whereAntelopeused someone else’smaterialsand means.

The chairman was still twitching his mustache, trying to grasp the content of the message, while Ostap, having jumped down from the podium mid-sentence, was already making his way through the crowd.AntelopeThe traffic light turned green at the intersection. Fortunately, the passengers were seated and, bored, were waiting for the moment when Ostap would order them to load the city’s gifts into the car. This usually happened after the rally.

Finally, the chairman understood the meaning of the telegram. He looked up and saw the commander running away.

“These are crooks!” he shouted.with a suffering voiceТекст для перевода: ..

He worked all night on crafting his welcome speech, and now his authorial pride was wounded.

– Grab them, guys!

The chairman’s shout reached the antelope people. They nervously started to fidget. Kozlevich fired up the engine and leaped into his seat in one motion. The car jumped forward, not waiting for Ostap. In their haste, the antelope people didn’t even realize they were leaving their commander in danger.

“Stop!” Ostap shouted, making giant leaps. “I’ll catch up and fire everyone!”

“Stop!” shouted the chairman., addressing
Bender.

“Stop, you fool!” Balaganov shouted at Kozlevich. “Can’t you see…”,.We’ve lost the boss!

Adam Kazimirovich pressed the pedals.AntelopeThe car screeched to a halt. The Commander tumbled into the vehicle with a desperate shout: “Full speed ahead!” Despite the versatility and calmness of his nature, he couldn’t stand physical violence. The frantic Kozlevich shifted into third gear, the car lurched forward, and Balaganov fell out through the open door. All of this happened in an instant.momentWhile Kozlevich was slowing down again, the shadow of the approaching crowd had already fallen over Balaganov. Huge hands were reaching out to him when something crept up behind him.Antelope,And the iron hand of the commander grabbed him by his cowboy shirt.

“– The most complete!” – Ostap shouted.

And it was here that the residents of Luchansk first understood the advantage of mechanical transport over horse-drawn vehicles. The machine rattled with all its parts and quickly sped away, taking four offenders far from their just punishment.

The first kilometer, the crooks were breathing heavily. Balaganov, who was proud of his beauty, was looking at…pocket-sizeda small mirror with raspberry scratches on the face, received from a fall. Panikovsky trembled in his firefighter suit. He was afraid of the commander’s wrath. And she arrived immediately.

– Did you drive the car before?The text for translation: ,.“What have I managed to sit on?” the commander asked sternly.

“By God…” Panikovsky began.

– No, no, don’t unlock it.Текст для перевода: ..These are your things. So, you’re also a coward, huh? I ended up in a company with a thief and a coward? Fine! I will demote you. Until now, you were a firemaster in my eyes. From now on, you…–.simple axe

And Ostap ceremoniously ripped the golden pumps off Panikovsky’s red lapels.

After this procedure, Ostap introduced his companions to the content of the telegram.

– Things are bad.!The telegram suggests stopping the green car ahead of the motor rally. We need to turn off somewhere right now. We’ve had enough of triumphs, palm branches, and free meals with vegetable oil. The idea has run its course. The only turn we can make is onto the Gryazhskoe Highway. But it’s still about three hours away. I’m sure a hot meeting is being prepared in all the nearby towns. Damn telegraph everywhere.pokedtheir poles with wires.Panikovsky! Take care of your skull bowl!

The commander was not mistaken.

In the very first village, they were offered a place to stay. Kozlevich quickened his pace. A few dozen yards behind them, a tall, cheerful young man, apparently a village policeman, was lazily galloping on an unbridled mare and shouting something.

Further along the way lay a small town, the name of which the antelope people never learned but wished they had, so they could curse it when the opportunity arose. Right at the entrance to the town, the road was blocked by a heavy log.AntelopeShe turned around and, like a blind puppy, started bumping into things in search of a way around. But there was none.

“Let’s go back!” said Ostap, who had become very serious.

And here.The text for translation: same.The crooks heard a very distant mosquito.Singing.motors. As can be seen, the cars of the real
rally were passing by. There was no way to go back, and the antelope team rushed forward again.

Kozlevich frowned and quickly drove the car up to the very log. The citizens standing around stepped back in fear, anticipating a disaster. But Kozlevich unexpectedly slowed down and moved slowly.tipped overthrough the obstacle. WhenThe antelope crossed.The city, passersby grumbled at the passengers, but Ostap…, usually sensitive to all kinds of insults, evendid not respond.

To Gryazskoye HighwayAntelopeThe increasing roar of invisible cars approached. Barely…onlyThey managed to turn off the cursed highway and, in the darkness that followed, hid the car behind a hill just as explosions and the roar of engines erupted, and the lead vehicle appeared in the beams of light. The crooks crouched in the grass right by the road and, suddenly losing their usual boldness, silently watched the passing convoy.

CanvasdazzlingThe lights flickered on the road. Cars softly squeaked as they passed by the fallen antelopes. Dust flew up from under the wheels. The horns howled mournfully. The wind whipped in all directions. In a moment, everything vanished, and only the ruby flashlight of the last car swayed and jumped in the darkness.

Real life flew by, joyfully trumpeting and shimmering with glossy wings. All that was left for the adventurers was a trail of gasoline. And they sat in the grass for a long time, sneezing and shaking themselves off.

“Yes,” said Ostap.. – NowI can see for myself that a car is not a luxury, but a means of transportation. Aren’t you envious, Balaganov? I am envious.!

Chapter Eight

In the fourth hour of the night, the frightened Antelope stopped above a cliff. Below, on a small plate, lay an unfamiliar city. It was cut neatly, like a cake. Colorful morning mists swirled above it. A barely perceptible crackle and the faintest whistling seemed to the dismounted antelopes. Apparently, the citizens were snoring. A jagged forest approached the city. The road wound down in loops from the cliff.

– The Paradise Valley, – Ostap said. – It’s nice to rob cities like this early in the morning when the sun isn’t blazing yet. You get less tired.

“It’s just early morning right now,” Panikovsky remarked, flattering as he gazed into the commander’s eyes.

“Silence, golden mouth!” shouted Ostap. “What an insatiable old man! He doesn’t understand jokes.”!.

– What to do withAntelope“?” – asked Kozlevich.

“Yes,” said Ostap, “to the city in this green tub.”no.You will enter. They will arrest you. You will have to follow the path of the most advanced countries. In Rio de Janeiro, for example, stolen cars are repainted in a different color. This is done out of purely humane motives – so that the previous owner doesn’t get upset seeing a stranger driving his car.AntelopeShe has earned herself a sour reputation; it needs to be rebranded.

It was decided to enter the city on foot to get some paint, while looking for a safe place for the car outside the city limits.

Ostap quickly walked along the road by the cliff and soon saw a slanted log cabin, the small windows of which glimmered with river blue. Behind the cabin stood a shed, which appeared to beOstapsuitable for concealmentAntelopesПожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

While the great schemer pondered how best to sneak into the cottage and befriend its inhabitants, the door swung open and an elderly gentleman in soldier’s long johns rushed out onto the porch, adorned with black tin buttons. On his pale, waxy cheeks sat respectable gray sideburns. Such a face would have been quite ordinary at the end of the last century. At that time, most men…grewOn their faces, there were these official-looking, loyal subjects’ facial hair styles. But now, beneath the sideburns, there was neither a blue uniform nor civilian attire.orderswith a satin ribbon, nor the epaulettes with the golden stars of a secret advisor,–.This face seemed unnatural.

– O.,.Lord!.– The inhabitant of the log cabin murmured, stretching his hands toward the rising sun. – God, oh God! The same dreams! The very same dreams!

PronouncingAt this complaint, the old man cried and, shuffling his feet, ran along the path around the house. An ordinary rooster, about to crow for the third time, had stepped out into the middle of the yard for that purpose.and already with his mouth open, in fearHe rushed away; in a fit of anger, he took a few hasty steps and even dropped his pen, but soon he came to his senses, climbed onto the fence, and from that safe position announced to the world that morning had arrived. However, his voice betrayed a sense of unease caused by the owner’s unseemly behavior.

– They haunt me, the cursed ones.!– The voice of the old man reached Ostap.

Bender looked on in surprise at the strange man with sideburns that you can now find only on the face of a minister or the doorman of the conservatory.

“What kind of hermit crab is this?” thought Ostap.

Meanwhile, the extraordinary gentleman completed his circle and reappeared at the doorstep. Here he paused and, with the words…–.“I’ll go and try again.”—.he hid behind the door.

“I love old people,” Ostap whispered, “you’ll never be bored with them. We’ll have to wait for the results of the mysterious test.”

Ostap didn’t have to wait long. Soon, a mournful wail echoed from the little house, and, backing out like Boris Godunov in the final act of Mussorgsky’s opera, an old man stumbled onto the porch.

“Get away from me, get away!” he exclaimed with a Shalyapin-like intonation in his voice. “It’s the same dream! A-a-a!”

He turned around and, stumbling over his own feet, walked straight towards Ostap. Deciding it was time to take action, the great schemer stepped out from behind the tree and swept the sideburned man into his powerful embrace.

“What’s going on? Who is it? What is happening?” shouted the anxious old man. “What?”

Ostap carefully released his embrace, grabbed the old man by the hand, and shook it warmly.

“I sympathize with you!” he exclaimed.

“Really?” asked the owner of the cottage, leaning in closer to Bender’s shoulder.

– Of course, that’s true.Текст для перевода: ..–.о.Ostap replied, “I often have dreams myself.”

– What do you dream about?

– Various.

– So what is it, after all? – the old man insisted.

– Well, it’s a mix of different things. What the newspaper calls “Everything from Everywhere” or “World Screen.” The day before yesterday, for example, I dreamed about the funeral of the mikado, and yesterday – the anniversary of the Sushchevskaya Fire Department.

“God!” the old man exclaimed. “God! What a happy person you are! How happy! Tell me, have you ever dreamed of some governor-general or… even a minister?”

Bender didn’t stubbornly resist.

“I had a dream,” he said cheerfully. “Of course!”?.Governor-General. Last Friday.
I dreamed about him all night. And I remember, there was also a police chief standing next to him, in
patterned trousers.

– Ah, how wonderful, – said the old man. – Did you perhaps dream of the arrival of the Emperor in the city of Kostroma?

– To Kostroma? That happened.dream. Let me know, when will this be?, well.Yes, on February 3rd of this year. The Emperor, and next to him, if I remember correctly, Count Fredericks was also standing there, you know, the court minister?

– Oh my God! –got worriedOld man: “So, what are we doing standing here?”Текст для перевода: ..Welcome to my place. Excuse me, are you not a socialist? Not a party member?

“Well, come on!” Ostap said good-naturedly. “What kind of party member am I? I’m an independent monarchist. A servant to the tsar, a father to the soldiers. In short, rise up, falcons, like eagles; there’s plenty of sorrow to mourn.”!…

– Would you like some tea? – mumbled the old man, nudging Bender towards…to the doorsТекст для перевода: ..

The house had one room with a hallway.log cabinOn the walls hung portraits of gentlemen in uniform frock coats. Judging by the epaulettes, these gentlemen had served at one time in the Ministry of Public Education. The bed was in disarray, indicating that the owner had spent the most restless hours of his life on it.

“How long have you been living as a hermit?” asked Ostap.

– Since spring, – replied the old man. – My surname is…–.Khvorobyev. Here, I thought, a new life would begin. But what actually happened? Just understand this.!…

Fedor Nikitich Khorobyev was a monarchist and hated the Soviet regime. This power was repugnant to him. Once a guardian of the educational district, he was forced to serve as the head of the methodological and pedagogical sector of the local Proletkult. This filled him with disgust.

Until the very end of his service, he did not know how to decipher the word.Proletkultand because of that, he despised him even more. The mere sight of the members of the local committee, his colleagues, and the visitors of the methodological and pedagogical sector filled him with a shudder of disgust. He had come to hate the word.sectorOh, this sector! Fedor Nikitich, who appreciated all things elegant, including geometry, never imagined that this beautiful mathematical concept, denoting a part of the area of a curved figure, would be so trivialized.

At work, Khorobyev was irritated by many things: meetings, wall newspapers, loans. But he found no peace for his proud soul at home either. There were also wall newspapers, loans, and meetings at home. Acquaintances spoke exclusively about what Khorobyev considered to be rude matters: aboutsalary, which they referred to as a salary,
about the monthly assistance for children and the social significance of the play “Armored Train.”

There was nowhere to escape from the Soviet regime. When the disheartened Khvorobyev was walking alone through the streets of the city, even here, from the crowd of passersby, he would hear the tiresome phrases flying by:

The text for translation: «.…Then we decided to remove him from the board of directors…The text for translation: ».

The text for translation: «.…And I said: your RKK has a primcamera,
primcamera.The text for translation: …».

And, glancing sadly at the posters urging citizens to complete the five-year plan in four years, Khvorobyev irritably repeated:

– Get out! From the composition! The priming chamber! At four years old!
Rude authority!

When the methodological and pedagogical sector switched to a continuous week and, instead of a clean…resurrectionRecently, Khvorobyeva has been experiencing some kind of purple fifth days; he disgustedly managed to secure a pension for himself and moved far out of town. He did this to escape the new authorities that had taken over his life and deprived him of peace.

For whole days, the solitary monarchist sat by the cliff, looking at the city and trying to think of pleasant things: about the prayers for the name day of some high-ranking individual, about the gymnasium exams, and about relatives who worked in the Ministry of Education. But, to his surprise, his thoughts immediately jumped to the Soviet, the unpleasant.

“Is something being done now in this damned Proletkult?” he thought.

After Proletkult, he recalled completely outrageous episodes: the May Day and October demonstrations, club family evenings with lectures and beer, and the semi-annual budget of the methodological sector.

–.The Soviet government took everything from me, thought the former supervisor of the educational district—titles, orders, honor, and money in the bank. It even replaced my thoughts.!But there is a sphere where the Bolsheviks cannot penetrate.. This.dreams sent to man by God. The night will bring me peace. In my dreams, I will see what will be pleasant for me to see.!

On the very first night after that, God…sentFedor Nikitich has a terrible dream. He dreams that he is sitting ininstitutionalin a corridor lit by a kerosene lamp. He sits there, knowing that he is about to be removed from the board at any moment. Suddenly, an iron door swings open, and employees rush out shouting, “We need to load Hvorobyeva!” He wants to run, but he can’t.

Fedor Nikitich woke up in the middle of the night. He prayed to God, pointing out that, as it seemed, an unfortunate misunderstanding had occurred.,.And the dream, meant for a responsible, perhaps even party, comrade, ended up in the wrong hands. He, Khvorobyev, would like to see, to begin with, the royal exit from the Assumption Cathedral.

Calmed down, he fell asleep again, but instead of the face of his beloved monarch, he immediately sawface.the chairman of the local committee, Comrade Surzhikov.

And every night, Fyodor Nikitich was visited by the same composed Soviet dreams with an incomprehensible methodicalness. He envisioned: membership fees, wall newspapers,МОПРЫ,Sovkhoz “Giant,” the grand opening of the first kitchen factory, the chairman of the Society of Friends of Cremation, and large Soviet flights.

The monarchist was howling in his sleep. He didn’t want to see his friends’ cremation. He wanted to see the far-right deputy of the State Duma.Thoughts.Purishkevich, Patriarch Tikhon, the Yalta mayor Dombadze, or at least some simple inspector of public schools. But none of this existed. The Soviet regime even invaded the dreams of the monarchist.

– The same dreams again! – concluded Khvorobyev with a weeping voice. – Damn dreams!

“Your situation is dire,” Ostap said sympathetically, “as they say, existence determines consciousness. Since you live in…”SovietIn a country like that, your dreams should be Soviet too.

– Not a moment of rest.!– complained Khvorobyev. – Anything at all.!I’m already willing to agree to anything. Just not Purishkevich.!Let it be Milyukov. After all, he is a person with a higher education and a monarchist at heart. But no! All these Soviet anti-Christs.!

“I’ll help you,” said Ostap., – to meI had to treat friends and acquaintances according to Freud. Dreams are trivial. The main thing is to eliminate the cause of the dream. The primary cause is the very existence of Soviet power. But at the moment, I can’t eliminate it. I simply don’t have the time. You see, I’m a sports tourist, and right now I need to make a small repair on my car, so please allow me to roll it into your shed. And don’t worry about the cause; I’ll take care of it on my way back. Just let me finish my trip.

Dazed from heavy dreams, the monarchist readily allowed the sweet and responsive young man to use the barn. He threw a coat over his shirt, slipped on galoshes over his bare feet, and followed Bender out into the yard.

– So, can we hope for that? – he asked, trailing after his early guest.

“Don’t doubt it,” the commander replied casually, “as soon as the Soviet power is gone, you’ll feel a lot easier right away. You’ll see.”!…

In half an hour.AntelopeIt was hidden with Khvorobyev and left under the supervision of Kozlevich and Panikovsky. Bender, accompanied by Balaganov, went to the city to get some paint.

The milk brothers walked towards the sun, making their way to the center of the city. Gray pigeons were strolling along the ledges of the buildings. The wooden sidewalks, splashed with water, were clean and cool.

A person with a clear conscience enjoys stepping out of the house on a morning like this, pausing for a moment at the gate, pulling a box of matches from their pocket, which features an airplane with a cookie instead of a propeller and the inscription “Response to Kerzon,” admiring a fresh pack of cigarettes, and lighting one up, scaring away a bee with golden embellishments on its belly with the incense-like smoke.

Bender and Balaganov fell under the influence of the morning, the tidy streets, and the pennyless doves. For a moment, it seemed to them that their conscience was unburdened, that everyone loved them, that they were suitors on their way to meet their brides.in
marquisette dresses.

Suddenly, a man with a folding easel and a polished paint box in his hands blocked the brothers’ path. He hadseverala frantic look, as if he had just jumped out of a burning building, managing to saveот.Only an easel and a box by the fire.

“Excuse me,” he said loudly, “but a certain Comrade Plotsky-Potseluev was supposed to pass by here. Did you happen to see him? Has he not passed through here?”

“We never meet anyone like that,” Balaganov said bluntly.

The artist pushed Bender in the chest, said “pardon,” and hurried on.

– Plotsky-Potseluev!– grumbled the great combinator, who hadn’t had breakfast yet. – I once knew a midwife with the last name Medusa-Gorgon, and I didn’t make a fuss about it, nor did I run through the streets shouting: “Have you seen citizen Medusa-Gorgon by any chance?”Текст для перевода: ..“She was just taking a stroll here,” they say. “What a surprise! Plotsky-Potseluev!”

Before Bender could finish his tirade, two people with black easels and polished sketchbooks suddenly appeared in front of him. They were completely different individuals. One of them clearly adhered to the notion that an artist must be hairy, and by the amount of facial hair, he could have been a direct stand-in for Henry of Navarre in the USSR. His mustache, curls, and little beard brought a lot of life to his flat face. The other man was simply bald, and his head was slick and smooth, like a glass lampshade.

– Comrade Plotsky… – said the deputy of Heinrich of Navarre, out of breath.

– Poytselueva!– I added a lampshade.

“Did you see?” shouted Navarrsky.

– He should be walking around here, – explained the lampshade.

Bender dismissed Balaganov, who had just revealed…yawn.to utter a curse, and with
offensive politeness said:

– Comrade Plotsky, born Potseulyev,We haven’t seen him, but if the mentioned person really interests you, then hurry up. His…already.A worker, looking like a painter or a gunsmith, is searching for something.

The artists, jostling each other and bumping their easels,let’s runfurther.А в.At that moment, a cab crew emerged from around the corner. Inside sat a stout man, whose sweaty belly was discernible beneath the folds of his blue sweatshirt. The overall appearance of the passenger brought to mind an old advertisement for a patented ointment that began with the words: “The sight of a bare body covered in hair is repulsive.”The text for translation: »..It wasn’t difficult to understand the profession of the hefty man. He was holding a large stationary easel with one hand. At the feet of the coachman lay a polished box, which undoubtedly contained paints.

“Hello!” shouted Ostap. “Are you looking for…”Pletskoy-Poцелуева?

“Yes, indeed,” confirmed the plump artist, looking at Ostap with a pitiful expression.

” Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!” shouted Ostap. “Three artists have already passed you by!”!What’s going on? What happened?

But the horse, clattering its hooves on the wild cobblestones, had already taken away the fourth representative of the visual arts.

“What a cultured city!” said Ostap. “You probably noticed, Balaganov, that out of the four citizens we met, all four turned out to be artists. Interesting, isn’t it?”!.

When the milk brothers stopped in front of the shop, Balaganov whispered to Ostap:

– Aren’t you ashamed?

“What’s that?” asked Ostap.

– That you are going to pay for the paint with cash.?.

– Ah, you mean that.?.– said Ostap. – I must admit, I’m a bit embarrassed. It’s a silly situation, of course. But what can you do?Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.You can’t just run to the executive committee and ask for paints for the event.Lark Day!They will give it to us, but we will lose a whole day.!

The dry paints in cans, glass cylinders, bags, barrels, and torn paper packets had enticing circus colors and gave the Moscow shop a festive appearance.

The commander and the onboard mechanic began to carefully select the paints.

– Black is too mournful, – Ostap said. – Green.already.not suitable.Э.the color of shattered hope. Lilac – no!.Let the head of the investigative department drive around in a lilac car. Pink is tacky, blue is banal, red is a bit too loyal. We’ll have to repaint it.Antelopein yellow. It will bea little bitBright, but beautiful.

– And who might you be? Artists? – asked the seller, whose chin was slightlypainted overкиноварью.

– Artists, – replied Bender.– Batalistsand marinists.

– Then you shouldn’t be here, – said the seller, taking bags and cans off the shelf.

– Not here! – exclaimed Ostap. – But where then?

– On the contrary.

The shopkeeper led his friends to the door and pointed with his hand at the sign
across the street. It featured a brown horse’s head.,.In black letters on a blue background, it reads:
“Oats and Hay.”

“That’s right,” Ostap said, “hard and soft feed for livestock. But what does that have to do with us—artists? I don’t see any connection.”

However, the connection turned out to be very significant. Ostap discovered it right at the beginning of the clerk’s explanation.

The city has always loved painting, and four artists who had long lived here founded the group “Dialectical Easelists.” They painted portraits of responsible workers and sold them to the local art museum. Over time, the number of unpainted responsible workers significantly decreased, which noticeably reduced the earnings of the dialectical easelists. But this was still bearable. The years of suffering began from that point on,when.A new artist, Theophan, has arrived in the city.КопыттоТекст для перевода: ..

His first work caused quite a stir in the city. It was a portrait of the head of the hotel trust. TheophanКопыттоleft the machinists far behind. The head of the hotel trust was depicted not in oil paints, not in watercolor, not in charcoal, not in tempera, not in pastel, not in gouache, and not in lead pencil. He was made of oats. And when the artistКопыттоI was transporting a painting to the museum in a cart, and the horse was nervously looking around and whinnying.

Over timeКопыттоbegan to consume other grains as well. They hadloudsuccess portraits made of millet, wheat, and poppy seeds, bold sketches with corn and grains, landscapes made of rice, and still lifes made of millet.

Right now, he was working on a group portrait. The large canvas depicted a meeting of the local planning committee. Feofan was preparing this painting using beans and peas. But deep down, heremainedfaithful to the oats that made his career and knocked him off the positions of the dialectical
machinists.

“Of course, it’s more capable with oats!” exclaimed Ostap. “And Rubens and Raphael were fools for working with oil.”!We are fools too, like Leonardo da Vinci. Give us some yellow enamel paint.

As he was paying the talkative salesman, Ostap asked:

–.Yes. By the way. Who?Is that Plotsky-Potseluev? Because, you know, we’re not from around here and we’re not in the loop.дел.Текст для перевода: ..

– ComradePlozky-Potseluev is a well-known employee of the center, a local resident. He has now come to visit from Moscow on vacation.

“Everything is clear,” said Ostap., – thank youThank you for the information. Goodbye!

On the street, the milk brothers envied the dialectical machinists. All four of them, with faces sad and languid like gypsies, stood at the intersection. Next to them were easels arranged in a pyramid like a stack of rifles.

– What’s wrong, soldiers? – asked Ostap. – Did you lose Plotsky-Potseluev?

– Missed it.! – They groaned.Artists. – Slipped away.

“Did Feofan intercept it?” asked Ostap, revealing a good familiarity with the subject.

“He’s already writing, the slacker,” replied the deputy of Henry of Navarre. “With oats. He says he’s going back to his old style. Complaining, the merchant, about a crisis in his craft.”

– Where is this crook’s workshop? – Ostap inquired. – I’d like to take a look.

The artists, who had plenty of free time, eagerly took Ostap and Balaganov to Feofan.КопыттоFeofan was working in his garden, outdoors. Sitting on a stool in front of him was his friend Plotsky.–KissesThe person, apparently shy, watched the artist without breathing, who, like a sower on a three-kopeck note, scooped up handfuls of oats from a basket and scattered them.on canvasПожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.КопыттоHe frowned. The sparrows were bothering him. They boldly flew up to the painting and pecked out individual details from it.

– How much will you get for this painting? – he asked shyly.KissesТекст для перевода: ..

Feofan paused his work, critically examined his creation, and thoughtfully replied:

– Well then.Текст для перевода: ..The museum will give two hundred fifty rubles for it.

– However, it’s expensive.

– But the oats this year, – he said.КопыттоSinging sweetly, you can’t buy it. Oats are expensive!

“Well, how’s the spring wedge?” Ostap asked, poking his head through the garden gate. “I see the planting season is going well.”!.One hundred percent.?.But all of this is nonsense compared to what I saw in Moscow. There, an artist created a painting made of hair. A large painting with many figures.и,.Note that it was ideologically consistent, although the artist did use the hair of non-partisans – that was a certain sin. But ideologically, I repeat, the painting was remarkably consistent. It was called “Grandfather Pakhom and the Tractor at Night.” It was such a stubborn painting that with it…The text for translation: already and.They didn’t know what to do. Sometimes her hair would stand on end. But one fine day, she completely turned gray, and there was no trace left of Grandpa Pakhom and his tractor. However, the artist managed to grab about fifteen hundred for his invention. So don’t get too carried away, comrade.Kopytto.The oats will suddenly sprout, your paintings will sway, and you will never have to harvest again.

The dialectical machinists chuckled sympathetically. But Theophan remained unfazed.

– It sounds paradoxical, – he remarked, resuming the planting activities.

“Alright,” Ostap said as he was saying goodbye, “sow the reasonable, the good, the eternal, and we’ll see what happens next.”Текст для перевода: ..Farewell to you too, soldiers.!.Put down your oil paints. Switch to a mosaic made of nuts, bolts, and screws. A portrait made of nuts!In our age of steam and electricity!A wonderful idea.!.

All day long, the antelope hunters were painting their car. By evening, it had become unrecognizable and was shining in all shades of egg yolk.

At dawn the next day, transformedAntelopeI left the hospitable barn and headed south.

“It’s a pity we couldn’t say goodbye to the master. But he was sleeping so sweetly that we didn’t want to wake him. Maybe he’s finally dreaming the dream he’s been waiting for so long: Metropolitan Dvulogiy is blessing the officials of the Ministry of Public Education on the three-hundredth anniversary of the Romanov dynasty.”

And at that very moment, from the log cabin behind him, there came the familiar mournful roar that Ostap had already heard.

– It’s the same dream! – shouted old Khvorobyev. – God, oh God!

– I was wrong, – Ostap noted., – to himIt must have been not Metropolitan Dvulogiy who visited my dreams, but rather a broad plenary session of the literary group “Kuznitsa and Usadba.” But to hell with it! Matters call us to Chernomorsk.!

Chapter Nine

People engage in all sorts of activities! Alongside the big world, where great people and great things exist, there is a small world with little people and little things. In the big world, the diesel engine was invented, “Dead Souls” was written, the Volkhov Hydroelectric Station was built, and circumnavigation of the globe was perfected. In the small world, the screaming bubble was invented…Go away, go away.The song “Bricks” was written and pants of the style “Plenipotentiary“In the larger world, people are driven by the desire to benefit humanity. The small world…”distant.from such lofty matters. Its inhabitants have one desire – to somehow survive without feeling hunger.

Little people hurry after the big ones. They understand that they must resonate with the times, and only then can their goods find a market. In Soviet times, when ideological strongholds were established in the larger world, there was a noticeable revival in the smaller world. A granite foundation is laid beneath all the minor inventions of the ant world.communistideologies. On the bubble “Go away, go away.Chamberlain is depicted here, very much resembling the way he is portrayed in “Izvestia.” In a popular song, a clever mechanic, in order to win the love of a Komsomol member, fulfills and even exceeds the production plan in three refrains. And while a fierce debate is raging in the larger world about shaping a new way of life, in the small world everything is already ready: there is a tie called “Dream of the Stakhanovite.”sweatshirt “Gladkovka”a plaster figurine “The Bathing Collective Farm Woman” and ladies’ cork underarm pads “The Love of Bees for Labor.”

In the realm of rebuses, charades, charadoids, logogriphs, and mysterious pictures, new trends have emerged. Traditional methods have fallen out of fashion. The secretaries of newspaper and magazine sections like “In Leisure Hours” or “Stir Your Brain” have resolutely stopped accepting submissions without an ideological underpinning. And while the great country was bustling, while tractor factories were being built and grand grain mills were being established, old man Sinitsky, a professional rebus maker, sat in his room, staring blankly at the ceiling, and composed a charade for the trendy word “industrialization.”

Sinitsky had the appearance of a gnome. Such gnomes were usually depicted by painters on the signs of umbrella shops. The sign gnomes stood in red caps and friendly winked at passersby, as if inviting them to quickly buy a silk umbrella or a cane with a silver handle shaped like a dog’s head. Sinitsky’s long yellowish beard hung straight down under the table, into the wastebasket.

– Industrialization!– he whispered mournfully, moving his pale, wrinkled lips like raw meat patties.

And he habitually…dividedthis word is in charade partsПожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.

– Indian. Three. Ali. ForПожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

All.это.It was wonderful. Sinitsky was already imagining a lavish riddle, significant in content, easy to read, and difficult to solve.Doubtsonly the last one calledpart “The text for translation: “ция” ..

– What is this “tion” all about?The text for translation: ,.– the old man tensed up, – hereIf only there were a “campaign”! Then it would have turned out great: industrialization.

After struggling for half an hour and not…having thought it over, how to deal with the
whimsical ending, Sinitsky decided that the end would come on its own, and he began to
work. He started writing his poem on a sheet torn from an accounting book,
withfattywith the inscription “debit.”

ThroughbigThrough the glass balcony door, blooming acacias, patched roofs of houses, and the sharp blue line of the sea horizon were visible. The Black Sea midday flooded the city with a jelly-like heat.

The old man thought for a moment and wrote down the initials on the paper.lines:.

My first syllable sits in a turban,

He is on.eastto be obliged.

– He is onto live in the eastobliged!“With pleasure,” the old man said.

He liked what he had composed, but it was difficult to find rhymes for the words “obliged” and “turban.” The puzzle-maker walked around the room and touched his beard with his hands. Suddenly, inspiration struck him.Текст для перевода: ..

The second syllable is known to me,

He seems to be connected to numbers.

It seems that the text is incomplete. Could you please provide the full text for translation?за.“also managed to handle it easily”Текст для перевода: ..

In the turban sits a third syllable,

He also lives oneastТекст для перевода: ..

The fourth syllable will help, God.

To find out what this is a pretext.

Exhausted from his last effort, Sinitsky slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was already seventy years old. For fifty of those years, he had been creating rebuses, charades, enigmatic pictures, and charadoids. But he had never found it as difficult to work as he did now. He had fallen behind the times, was politically illiterate, and young competitors easily outperformed him. They brought puzzles to the editorial office with such a wonderful ideological setup that the old man, reading them, cried from envy. How could he possibly keep up with a task like this, for example:

Task-arithmoid

On threeVorobyovo stationsThe text for translation: ,.Grachyovoи.DrozdovoThere was an equal number of employees. At the Drozdovo station, there were six times fewer Komsomol members than at the other two stations combined, and at the Vorobyovo station, there were 12 more party members than at the Grachevo station. However, at the latter, there were 6 more non-party members than at the first two stations. How many employees were at each station and what was the…there.party and Komsomol layer?

Awakening from his sorrowful thoughts, the old man picked up the sheet labeled “debit” again, but at that moment, a girl with wet, cropped hair and a black swimsuit draped over her shoulder entered the room.

She silentlypassedOn the balcony, she hung her damp suit on the peeling railing and looked down. The girl saw the poor yard she had known for many years—a shabby yard where broken crates lay scattered.from under the pasta, cats covered in coal were wandering around andtin workerwith thunder
was fixing a bucket. On the lower floor, the housewivesThe word “растабарывали” can be translated as “were prying open” or “were forcing open,” depending on the context. If you have a specific sentence or context in which this word is used, I can provide a more accurate translation.about her difficult life.

And the girl heard these conversations.not the firstOnce, she knew the cats by…names, and.tin worker, as it seemed to her, had been repairing that very bucket for many years in a row. Zosia Sinitskaya returned to the room.

– The ideology has gotten stuck, – she heard her grandfather mumble, – but what kind of ideology can there be in a puzzle? A puzzle…

Zosya glanced at the old people’s scrawls.grandfather.and she shouted immediately:

– What did you write here? What is this? “The fourth syllable
will help God know what this is a pretext.” Why?–.God? After all, you yourself said that they don’t accept it in the editorial office.nowcharades with church expressions.

Sinitzky gasped. Shouting, “Where is God, where? There is no God there!”!.He pulled on his white-framed glasses with trembling hands and grabbed the sheet of paper.

“There’s a god,” he said sadly. “It turned out…”Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст, который вы хотите перевести.I messed up again.!.Ah, what a pity! A good rhyme is lost.Текст для перевода: ..

“Instead of ‘God,’ put ‘rock,’” Zosia said.

But the frightened Sinitsky refused the “fate.”Текст для перевода: ..

– This is also mysticism.!.I know.!Ah.gave a wave,What have you done! What is this going to be, Zosenka?

Zosya looked at him indifferently.grandfather.and suggested coming up with a new riddle.

“Anyway,” she said, “Text for translation: words.You don’t have anything ending in “tion.”they are coming outDo you remember how you struggled with the word “teplofikatsiya”?

– How come?!–.came to lifeold man. – I.In the third syllable, I put “kats” and wrote: “And the third syllable, having leisure, will learn the surname of a Jew.” They didn’t accept this riddle. They said– weakly, don’t come near.Текст для перевода: т..Gave a whack.Текст для перевода: ..

The old man, sitting down at his desk, began to work on a large, ideologically sound puzzle. First, he sketched a goose with a letter “G” in its beak, big and heavy like a gallows. The work was going well.

Zosya began to set the table for lunch. She moved from the sideboard with mirrored portholes to the table, unloading dishes. A porcelain soup bowl with chipped handles appeared, plates with flowers and without, yellowed forks, and even a compote dish, although no compote was planned for lunch. In general, the Sinytskiys were in a bad way. Riddles and charades brought more worries than money into the house. The home lunches that the old riddle master provided to familiar citizens were the main source of income.homethe income was also bad. Podvysotsky andBolts.went on vacation,.Stulyan married a Greek woman and started having lunch at home, while Pobirukhina was removed from the institution under the second category, and he lost his appetite from the stress and refused to eat lunch. Now he walked around the city, stopping acquaintances and uttering the same phrase full of hidden sarcasm: “Have you heard the news? I was removed under the second category.”!.“And some acquaintances sympathetically replied, ‘Look at the trouble these people have caused.’”banditsMarx and EngelsIt seems that there is no text provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.Some said nothing, shooting fiery glances at Pobirukhin and rushing past.trembling.portfolios. In the end, out of all the
freeloaders, only one was left, and even that one was notpaidfor a week now, citing a delaysalariesТекст для перевода: ..

With a dissatisfied shrug, Zosya headed to the kitchen, and when she returned, the last diner at the table was Alexander Ivanovich Koreiko.

In the environmentnon-serviceAlexander Ivanovich did not seem like a timid or diminished person. However, a wary expression never left his face for a moment. Right now, he was carefully examining the new puzzle from Sinitsky. Among other mysterious drawings, there was one depicted there.zero., from which letters “T” were falling, a Christmas tree behind which the sun was shining, and a sparrow sitting on a musical staff. The riddle endedtwistedup with a comma.

– This riddle will be a bit tricky to solve.!.“– You’ll have to sit over it,” said Sinitsky, pacing around the table., Alexander Ivanovich.

– I guess so, I guess so, – replied Koreyko with a smirk, – but that goose is puzzling me. What would we need such a goose for? Ah-ha!Текст для перевода: ..There is.Текст для перевода: ..Ready.Текст для перевода: ..“In the struggle, you will find your right”?

“Yes,” the old man said, disappointed, “how did you guess so quickly? You have quite a talent.”!It’s immediately obvious.personfirst class.

– Second class, – corrected Koreyko. – And what is this riddle for? For printing?

– For printing.

– And quite in vain, – said Koreyko, looking with curiosity at the borscht, in which floated golden medals of fat. There was something deserved in this borscht, something under-officer-like. – “In struggle, you will find your right” – that’s a slogan of the Social Revolutionaries. Not suitable for print.

– Ah, you!,.Oh my God! – groaned the old man. – Holy Queen of Heaven! I’ve messed up again.!.Do you hear, Zosenka? I made a mistake.!What should we do now?

They were calming the old man down., but he was inconsolable.After having a hasty lunch, he immediately got up and gathered…manufacturedIn a week of riddles, he put on a horsehair straw hat and said:

– Well, Zosenka, I’m going to “Youth News.” I’m a little worried about the algebraic stuff, but overall, I’ll manage to get the money there.Goodbye, Alexander Ivanovich.

In the Komsomol magazine “Youth News,” the old man was often criticized and scolded for being backward, but he was not offended, and this magazine was the only place where a thin stream of money flowed to him. Sinitsky brought with him a riddle that began with the words: “My first syllable is at the bottom of the sea,” two collective farm logogriphs, and one algebraic puzzle, which, through very complicated multiplication and division, proved the superiority of Soviet power over all other authorities.

When the puzzle maker left, Alexander Ivanovich gloomily began to examine Zosya. Alexander Ivanovich dined at the Sinitskys’ initially because the meals were…there.cheap and tasty. Moreover, he made it a rule to never forget for a moment that he is a low-ranking employee. Hehe poked everyone in the eyes with his feigned poverty andHe loved to talk about the difficulties of existence in a big city on a shoestring budget.salaryBut for some time now, the price and taste of meals have lost for him the abstract and illustrative significance that he once attributed to them. If he were asked to…,.And if he could do it openly, he would pay more than sixty for lunch.five.kopecks, as he did it now, and three or even five thousand rubles.

Alexander Ivanovich, a dedicated individual, consciously exhausted himself with financial constraints, forbidding himself to touch anything that costs more than fifty kopecks, and at the same time irritated by the fact that out of fear of losing millions, he cannot openly spend a hundred rubles.–.fell in love with all the determination that a strong, stern person is capable of.angryendless waiting.

Today, finally, he…decidedto confess his feelings to Zosa and offer
his hand, where a pulse beat, small and angry like a ferret, and his heart,
bound by magical rings.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s how things are, Zosia Viktorovna.”

Having done this message, citizen Koreyko grabbed something from the table.longan ashtray with a pre-revolutionary slogan written on it: “Husband, do not anger your wife,” and he began to look at it closely.

It should be clarified that there is no girl in the world who wouldn’t know at least a week in advance about an impending declaration of feelings. Therefore, Zosia Viktorovna sighed with concern.and stoppedin front of the mirror. She had that athletic look that all the beautiful girls had adopted in recent years. After confirming this, she settled down across from Alexander Ivanovich and prepared to listen. But Alexander Ivanovich said nothing. He only knew two roles:poora servant and an underground millionaire. The thirdroles.he didn’t know.

“Have you heard the news?” Zosia asked. “Pobirukhina has been cleaned out.”

“We’ve started our cleaning too,” replied Koreyko.ManyThey will fly. For example, Lappidus Jr. And Lappidus Sr. is good too…

Here, Koreiko noticed that he was walking along the path of a poor clerk. A leaden thoughtfulness once again took hold of him.

“Yes, yes,” he said, “you live like this in solitude, unaware of pleasures.”

– What, what do you not know? – Zosya perked up.

“Not knowing the attachment of a woman,” noted Koreiko in a stuffy voice.

Not seeing any support from Zosia, he expanded on his thought.

He is already old. Not that he’s old, but he’s not young anymore. And it’s not even that he’s not young; it’s just that time is passing, the years are going by. The years go by. And this passage of time brings various thoughts to his mind. About marriage, for example. Let them not think that he’s some kind of weirdo. He’s a good person, overall. A completely harmless man. He deserves sympathy. And he even thinks that he can be loved. He’s not a show-off like others, and he doesn’t like to throw words around carelessly.Honestly and openly.Why wouldn’t a girl go ahead and marry him?Текст для перевода: ..

Expressing his feelings in such a timid manner, Alexander Ivanovich glared atto the granddaughter of the puzzle makerТекст для перевода: ..

“Can they really clean out Lapidus Jr.?” she asked.Zosia.Текст для перевода: ..

And, without waiting for a response, she got to the point. She understands everything perfectly. Time really does fly by so quickly. Just not long ago, she was nineteen, and now she’s already twenty. And in another year, she’ll be twenty-one. She never thought that Alexander Ivanovich was like that. On the contrary, she always believed he was a good person. Better than many. And, of course, he deserves everything. But right now, she’s going through some kind of search, some…?.–.She and.She doesn’t even know herself. In general, she can’t get married at the moment. And what kind of life could they have? She has her own search.!Well, to be honest and straightforward, he has only…46,000 rubles per month.

– What are those forty-six rubles?!.“With a terrifying voice,” Alexander Ivanovich suddenly said, standing up to his full height. “I have…”Me.Пожалуйста, предоставьте текст для перевода.

He didn’t say anything more. He was scared. The role of a millionaire was beginning, and it could only end in disaster. His fear was so great that he…even.he started mumbling something about how happiness isn’t in money.

But at that moment, someone could be heard outside the door.snoringZosya ran out into the hallway.

There stood a grandfather in his big hat, sparkling with straw crystals., he.He hesitated to enter. His beard had become unkempt from grief, like a broom.

“Why so soon?” Zosia shouted. “What happened?”

The old man raised his eyes to her, filled with tears.

The frightened Zosya grabbed the old man by his prickly shoulders and quickly dragged him intoapartmentSinitzky lay on the couch for half an hour, trembling.

– What happened? – Zosia asked insistently. – Don’t worry. Just tell me everything.

After much persuasion, Grandpa began to tell his story.

Everything was wonderful.The weather was favorable for Sinitsky’s journey.He reached the editorial office of the “Youth News” without any incidents. The head of the “Mental Exercises” department greeted the puzzle enthusiast very politely.

– I offered my hand, Zosenka, – sighed the old man. – “Please, have a seat,” says Comrade Sinitsky. And that’s when he hit me with the news. – “Our department is being closed down,” he says, “a new editor has arrived.”,.He stated that our readers do not need mental exercises, but what they need, Zosenka, is a special section for checkers. So what will happen?? —.I’m asking. “Oh, it’s nothing,” says the head, “your material won’t do.” But he praised my riddle a lot. He said, “It’s just like Pushkin’s lines, especially this part: ‘My first syllable is at the bottom of the sea, at the bottom of the sea is my second syllable.’”

Old manThe rebus enthusiast continued to shudder on the couch for a long time, complaining about…dominationSoviet ideology.

“Another drama!” Zosya exclaimed.

She put on her hat and headed for the exit. Alexander Ivanovich followed her, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t.As they walked down the long corridor of the communal apartment, densely packed with people and belongings, doors opened behind them, and the burning eyes of the neighbors glowed in the dim light.

On the street, Zosia took Koreiko by the arm.and said:.

– We’re still going to be friends, right?

– It would be better if you married me, – Korayko grumbled frankly.

“He’s such a stubborn man,” Zosya said, “he’ll manage!”

In the open buffets of artificial mineral waters, young people without hats crowded together, wearing white shirts with rolled-up sleeves.elbowssleeves. Blue siphons with metal taps were standing on the shelves. Long glass cylinders withsyrupsOn a spinning stand, the apothecary lights flickered. Persians with sorrowful faces roasted nuts on braziers, and the acrid smoke beckoned passersby.

“I want to go to the movies,” Zosia said petulantly., –
o.I want to relax.zeltarskoywith syrup.

For Zosia Koreiko, I’m ready.was.for everything. He would even be willing to slightly break his cover by spending about five rubles on a spree., but nowIn his pocket, in a flat metal box from “Caucasus” cigarettes, lay ten thousand rubles in banknotes, each worth twenty-five chervonets. But even if he went mad and decided to reveal at least one banknote, it still couldn’t be found in any cinema.The text for translation: would.to exchange.

“Salary payments are delayed,” he said in complete despair, “they are made very irregularly.”

At this moment fromcrowds.A young man in beautiful sandals on bare feet separated himself.He greeted Zosya with a raised hand at a 45-degree angle.

“Hi, hi,” he said, “I have two tickets for the movies. Do you want them?”, ZosiaOnly instantly.

And the young man in the remarkable sandals led Zosya under the dim sign of the movie “Where Are You Going?”former “Quo Vadis”Текст для перевода: ..

This nightclerkHe didn’t sleep at home. Until the very morning, he wandered around the city, blankly staring at the cards of naked infants in photographers’ glass displays, crushing gravel on the boulevard with his feet, and gazing into the dark abyss of the port. There, invisible steamers were conversing, and police whistles could be heard.,.and the red beacon light was turning.

“Curse this country!” Korayko muttered. “A country where a millionaire can’t take his fiancée to the movies.”!

Now Zosia already seemed to him like a bride.

By morning, Alexander Ivanovich, pale from sleeplessness, wandered to the outskirts of the city. As he walked down Bessarabskaya Street, he heard the sounds of a match. Surprised, he stopped.

Towards himfrom where the street ends and the field begins,was descending from the mountainbiga yellow car. Behind the wheel, hunched over, sat a tired driver in a chrome jacket. Next to him, a broad-shouldered guy dozed off, his head tilted to the side in a Stetson hat with holes. In the backsittingTwo more passengers collapsed: a firefighter in full dress uniform and an athletically built man in a naval cap with a white top.

“Hey, first Black Sea sailor!” Ostap shouted as the car thundered by like a tractor.Pork chopsAre the warm sea baths still open? Is the city theater functioning? Has Odesa already been declared a free city?

But Ostap did not receive a response. Kozlevich opened the silencer, andAntelopeI drowned the first Black Sea sailor in a cloud of blue smoke.

“Well,” said Ostap.to the one who looked backBalaganov, the meeting is still ongoing.!.Bring your underground Rockefeller here. I’m going to strip him down now.!.Oh, these princes and beggars!

• 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