The Twelve Chairs (31 page)

"For  the first go-terrific! An executive's rate!  You amaze me, Pussy.
But what  fool gave you three roubles, I'd like to know? You didn't give him
change, I hope?"
"It was Iznurenkov."
"What, really? Absalom! Why,  that  rolling stone. Where has he  rolled
to! Did you talk to him? Oh, he didn't recognize you!"
"He asked all sorts of questions about the Duma. And laughed."
"There, you  see,  marshal, it's not  really so  bad  being  a  beggar,
particularly with  a  moderate  education and a  feeble voice. And  you were
stubborn about  it, tried to give yourself airs as though you were  the Lord
Privy Seal.  Well, Pussy my lad,  I haven't been  wasting  my  time, either.
Fifteen roubles. Altogether that's enough."
The next morning the fitter  received  his money and  brought them  two
chairs in the evening. He claimed it was not possible to get the third chair
as the sound effects were playing cards on it.
For  greater  security the friends  climbed practically to the  top  of
Mashuk.
Beneath,  the  lights  of  Pyatigorsk  shone strong  and  steady. Below
Pyatigorsk more  feeble lights marked  Goryachevodsk village. On the horizon
Kislovodsk stood out from behind a mountain in two parallel dotted lines.
Ostap glanced up  at  the starry sky and took the familiar  pliers from
his pocket.

Engineer Bruns  was sitting on  the stone verandah of his little wooden
house at the Green  Cape,  under a large palm,  the starched leaves of which
cast narrow, pointed shadows  on  the back  of his  shaven neck,  his  white
shirt, and the Hambs chair from Madame  Popov's suite, on which the engineer
was restlessly awaiting his dinner.
Bruns  pouted  his thick, juicy  lips  and called in  the  voice  of  a
petulant, chubby little boy:
"Moo-oosie!"
The house was silent.
The tropical flora fawned  on the engineer. Cacti  stretched out  their
spiky mittens towards  him.  Dracaena  shrubs rustled their  leaves.  Banana
trees and sago  palms chased the flies from  his face,  and  the roses  with
which the verandah was woven fell at his feet.
But all  in  vain.  Bruns was  hungry. He  glowered  petulantly at  the
mother-of-pearl bay, and the distant  cape at Batumi, and called  out  in  a
singsong voice:
"Moosie, moosie!"
The sound quickly died away in the moist sub-tropical air. There was no
answer. Bruns  had visions  of  a  large  golden-brown goose with  sizzling,
greasy skin, and, unable to control himself, yelled out:
"Moosie, where's the goosie?"
"Andrew Mikhailovich," said a woman's voice from inside, "don't keep on
at me."
The  engineer, who  was already  pouting  his lips  into the accustomed
shape, promptly answered:
"Moosie, you haven't any pity for your little hubby."
"Get out, you glutton," came the reply from inside.
The engineer did not  give in, however. He  was just  about to continue
his  appeals for the  goose, which had been going on unsuccessfully  for two
hours, when a sudden rustling made him turn round.
From the black-green clumps  of  bamboo there had emerged a man in torn
blue tunic-shirt-belted  with a shabby twisted  cord with tassels-and frayed
striped  trousers.  The  stranger's  kindly  face  was  covered with  ragged
stubble. He was carrying his jacket in his hand.
The man approached and asked in a pleasant voice:
"Where can I find Engineer Bruns?"
"I'm Engineer  Bruns,"  said the goose-charmer  in an unexpectedly deep
voice. "What can I do for you?"
The man silently fell to his knees. It was Father Theodore.
"Have you gone crazy? " cried the engineer. "Stand up, please."
"I  won't," said Father Theodore, following the  engineer with his head
and gazing at him with bright eyes.
"Stand up."
"I won't."
And carefully, so that it would not hurt, the priest  began beating his
head against the gravel.
"Moosie, come  here!"  shouted the frightened  engineer.  "Look  what's
happening! Please get up. I implore you."
"I won't," repeated Father Theodore.
Moosie ran out  on to the verandah;  she was very  good at interpreting
her husband's intonation.
Seeing  the lady, Father  Theodore promptly crawled  over  to her  and,
bowing to her feet, rattled off:
"On you, Mother, on you, my dear, on you I lay my hopes."
Engineer Bruns thereupon  turned red in the face, seized the petitioner
under  the arms and,  straining hard,  tried to lift him to his feet. Father
Theodore  was crafty, however, and  tucked up  his legs. The disgusted Bruns
dragged his  extraordinary visitor into a corner  and forcibly sat him  in a
chair (a  Hambs chair, not from  Vorobyaninov's house,  but one belonging to
General Popov's wife).
"I  dare not  sit in the presence  of  high-ranking  persons,"  mumbled
Father  Theodore,  throwing  the  baker's jacket, which  smelt  of kerosene,
across his knees.
And he made another attempt to go down on his knees.
With a pitiful cry the engineer restrained him by the shoulders.
"Moosie,"  he said, breathing heavily,  "talk  to this citizen. There's
been some misunderstanding."
Moosie at once assumed a businesslike tone.
"In my house," she said  menacingly, "kindly  don't go down on anyone's
knees."
"Dear lady," said Father Theodore humbly, "Mother!"
"I'm not your mother. What do you want? "
The priest  began burbling something incoherent, but apparently  deeply
moving. It was only after lengthy questioning that they  were able to gather
that he was asking them to do him a special favour and sell him the suite of
twelve chairs, one of which he was sitting on at that moment.
The  engineer let go of  Father Theodore  with  surprise, whereupon the
latter immediately  plumped down on his knees again and began creeping after
the engineer like a tortoise.
"But why," cried the engineer, trying to  dodge Father Theodore's  long
arms, "why should I sell my chairs? It's no use how much you go down on your
knees like that, I just don't understand anything."
"But they're my chairs," groaned the holy father.
"What do you mean, they're yours? How can they be  yours? You're crazy.
Moosie, I see it all. This man's a crackpot."
"They're mine," repeated the priest in humiliation.
"Do  you  think  I stole  them  from  you,  then?" asked  the  engineer
furiously. "Did I steal them? Moosie, this is blackmail."
"Oh, Lord," whispered Father Theodore.
"If I stole  them from you, then take  the  matter to court, but  don't
cause pandemonium in  my house. Did  you hear that, Moosie? How impudent can
you get? They don't even let a man have his dinner in peace."
No,  Father Theodore did not want to recover "his" chairs by taking the
matter  to  court. By  no means. He  knew that Engineer Bruns had not stolen
them  from him. Oh, no. That was  the last idea he had in his mind. But  the
chairs had nevertheless belonged to him before the revolution, and his wife,
who was on her deathbed in Voronezh,  was very attached  to  them. It was to
comply with  her wishes and not on his own initiative that he had taken  the
liberty  of finding  out the whereabouts  of the chairs  and coming  to  see
Citizen Bruns. Father Theodore  was not asking for charity.  Oh, no.  He was
sufficiently well off (he owned a small candle factory in Samara) to sweeten
his  wife's  last  few  minutes  by buying the  old chairs. He was  ready to
splurge and pay twenty roubles for the whole set of chairs.
"What?"  cried the  engineer,  growing purple.  "Twenty roubles? For  a
splended drawing-room suite? Moosie, did you hear that? He  really is a nut.
Honestly he is."
"I'm  not  a nut, but  merely complying with the wishes of my  wife who
sent me."
"Oh, hell!" said the engineer. "Moosie, he's at it again. He's crawling
around again."
"Name your price,"  moaned Father Theodore, cautiously beating his head
against the trunk of an araucaria.
"Don't spoil the tree, you crazy man. Moosie, I don't think he's a nut.
He's  simply distraught at his wife's illness. Shall we sell  him the chairs
and get rid of him? Otherwise, he'll crack his skull."
"And what are we going to sit on?" asked Moosie.
"We'll buy some more."
"For twenty roubles?"
"Suppose I don't  sell them for  twenty. Suppose I  don't sell them for
two hundred, but supposing I do sell them for two-fifty?"
In response came the sound of a head against a tree.
"Moosie, I'm fed up with this!"
The  engineer went over to Father Theodore,  with his mind  made up and
began issuing an ultimatum.
"First, move back  from the palm at least three paces; second, stand up
at once; third, I'll sell you the chairs for two hundred and fifty and not a
kopek less."
"It's not for personal gain," chanted  Father Theodore,  "but merely in
compliance with my sick wife's wishes."
"Well, old boy,  my wife's also  sick. That's  right, isn't it, Moosie?
Your lungs aren't in too good a state, are they? But on the strength of that
I'm not asking you to . . . er . . . sell me your jacket for thirty kopeks."
"Have it for nothing," exclaimed Father Theodore.
The engineer waved him aside in irritation and then said coldly:
"Stop your tricks. I'm not going to argue with you any more.
I've assessed the worth of the chairs at  two hundred and fifty roubles
and I'm not shifting one cent." "Fifty," offered the priest.
"Moosie,"  said the engineer, "call Bagration. Let him see this citizen
off the premises." "Not for personal gain. . . ." "Bagration!"
Father  Theodore  fled  in terror, while  the  engineer  went  into the
dining-room and sat down to the goose. Bruns's favourite bird had a soothing
effect on him. He began to calm down.
Just as  the engineer was about to pop a goose leg into his pink mouth,
having first wrapped a piece of cigarette paper around the bone, the face of
the priest appeared appealingly at the window.
"Not for personal gain," said a soft  voice.  "Fifty-five roubles." The
engineer let out a roar without turning around. Father Theodore disappeared.
The whole  of that  day  Father  Theodore's  figure  kept appearing  at
different points near the house. At one moment it was seen coming out of the
shade of the cryptomeria, at another it  rose from a mandarin grove; then it
raced  across the  back yard  and,  fluttering, dashed towards the botanical
garden.
The whole day  the engineer  kept calling for Moosie, complaining about
the crackpot and his own headache. From time to time Father Theodore's voice
could be heard echoing through the dusk.
"A hundred and eight," he called from  somewhere  in the  sky. A moment
later his voice came from the direction of Dumbasoc's house.
"A hundred and forty-one.  Not for personal gain, Mr. Brans, but merely
. . ."
At length the engineer could stand it  no longer; he came out on to the
verandah and, peering into the darkness, began shouting very clearly:
"Damn you! Two hundred roubles then. Only leave us alone."  There was a
rustle  of disturbed bamboo, the sound of a soft groan and fading footsteps,
then all was quiet.
Stars floundered in the bay. Fireflies chased after Father Theodore and
circled round his head, casting a greenish medicinal glow on his face.
"Now  the  goose  is  flown,"  muttered  the  engineer,  going  inside.
Meanwhile, Father Theodore  was speeding along the  coast in the last bus in
the direction of Batumi. A  slight surf  washed right up to the side of him;
the wind blew in  his  face, and the  bus hooted  in  reply to  the  whining
jackals.
That evening Father Theodore sent a telegram to his wife in the town of
N.

THEO
For  two  days he  loafed about  elatedly near Bruns's house, bowing to
Moosie in the distance, and even making the  tropical distances resound with
shouts of  "Not for personal gain, but merely at the wishes  of my  wife who
sent me."
Two  days later the  money  was  received  together  with  a  desperate
telegram:

EVSTIGNEYEV STILL HAVING MEALS STOP KATEY
Father Theodore  counted the money, crossed himself frenziedly, hired a
cart, and drove to the Green Cape.
The  weather  was  dull.  A wind from the Turkish  frontier blew across
thunderclouds. The  strip of blue sky became narrower and narrower. The wind
was  near gale force. It was forbidden  to take boats to sea  and  to bathe.
Thunder rumbled above Batumi. The gale shook the coast.
Reaching Bruns's house, the priest ordered  the Adzhar  driver to  wait
and went to fetch the furniture.
"I've  brought the  money," said Father  Theodore.  "You ought to lower
your price a bit."
"Moosie," groaned the engineer, "I can't stand any more of this."
"No, no, I've  brought the  money,"  said Father Theodore hastily, "two
hundred, as you said."
"Moosie, take the money and give him the chairs, and let's get it  over
with. I've a headache."
His life  ambition  was  achieved. The candle  factory  in  Samara  was
falling into his lap. The jewels were pouring into his pocket like seeds.
Twelve chairs were  loaded into the  cart  one after another. They were
very like  Vorobyaninov's chairs, except that the covering was not  flowered
chintz, but rep with blue and pink stripes.
Father Theodore was  overcome with impatience. Under his shirt behind a
twisted  cord  he had tucked  a  hatchet.  He  sat next to  the  driver and,
constantly looking round at the chairs, drove to Batumi. The spirited horses
carried the holy  father and his treasure  down along  the highway  past the
Finale  restaurant, where the  wind  swept  across  the  bamboo  tables  and
arbours, past a tunnel  that was swallowing up the last few tank  cars of an
oil  train, past the photographer, deprived that  overcast day of his  usual
clientele, past a  sign reading "Batumi Botanical Garden",  and carried him,
not too quickly, along the very line of surf.  At  the point  where the road
touched the  rocks, Father Theodore was soaked with salty spray. Rebuffed by
the rocks,  the  waves turned  into waterspouts and, rising up  to the  sky,
slowly fell back again.
The  jolting and the spray  from the  surf  whipped  Father  Theodore's
troubled spirit  into a frenzy. Struggling  against  the  wind,  the  horses
slowly approached  Makhinjauri.  From every  side  the  turbid green  waters
hissed and swelled. Right up to Batumi the white surf swished like the  edge
of a petticoat peeking from under the skirt of a slovenly woman.
"Stop!"  Father   Theodore   suddenly  ordered   the   driver.   "Stop,
Mohammedan!"
Trembling and stumbling, he  started to  unload the  chairs  on  to the
deserted shore. The apathetic Adzhar  received his five roubles,  whipped up
the horses and rode off. Making sure there was no one about, Father Theodore
carried the  chairs down  from the rocks on  to a dry patch of sand and took
out his hatchet.
For a moment he hesitated, not knowing where to start. Then, like a man
walking in his sleep, he went over to the third chair and  struck the back a
ferocious blow with the hatchet. The chair toppled over undamaged.
"Aha!" shouted Father Theodore. "I'll show you!"
And he flung himself on the chair as though it had  been a live animal.
In a trice the  chair had been hacked to ribbons.  Father Theodore could not
hear the sound of the hatchet against the wood, cloth covering, and springs.
All sounds were drowned by the powerful roar of the gale.
"Aha! Aha! Aha!" cried the priest, swinging from the shoulder.
One by one the chairs were  put  out of action. Father Theodore's  fury
increased more and more. So did the fury of the gale. Some of the waves came
up to his feet.
From  Batumi to Sinop there was a great din.  The sea raged  and vented
its  spite on  every little ship. The S.S. Lenin  sailed towards Novorossisk
with its  two funnels  smoking and its stern plunging  low in the water. The
gale  roared across the Black  Sea, hurling thousand-ton  breakers on to the
shore of Trebizond, Yalta,  Odessa  and  Konstantsa. Beyond the still in the
Bosporus and the Dardanelles surged the Mediterranean. Beyond the Straits of
Gibraltar,  the  Atlantic smashed against  the shores of Europe.  A belt  of
angry water encircled the world.
And on  the Batumi  shore stood  Father Theodore, bathed in  sweat  and
hacking  at the  final  chair. A  moment later  it was all over. Desperation
seized him.  With  a dazed look at the mountain of legs, backs, and springs,
he turned back. The water grabbed  him by the feet. He  lurched forward  and
ran  soaked to the road. A  huge wave broke on the spot where he had been  a
moment  before  and,  swirling  back,  washed away the mutilated  furniture.
Father Theodore no longer saw anything. He staggered along the road, hunched
and hugging his fist to his chest.
He went into Batumi, unable to see anything about him. His position was
the most  terrible thing of all.  Three thousand miles from home and  twenty
roubles in his pocket-getting home was definitely out of the question.
Father  Theodore passed the Turkish bazaar-where he  was advised  in  a
perfect stage whisper to buy some Coty powder, silk stockings and contraband
Batumi tobacco-dragged himself to the station, and lost himself in the crowd
of porters.