A smoke break was announced at the hospital.
The head doctor, an eccentric, decided to go around the wards.
The patients staged a show jumping competition in it.
Where, the guest, got stuck halfway.

Stubborn rooks walk across the sky.
Salt and vodka were poured into the stomachs.
Herring smell, camphor, doctors.
Burning, "Voronaya Slobodka".

Varvara Ptiburdukova was happy. Sitting at the round table, she looked around her
farming. There was a lot of furniture in the Ptiburdukovs’ room, so there was almost no free space.
did not have. But the area that remained was enough for happiness. Lamp
sent light out the window, where, like a lady’s brooch, a small green branch trembled. On the table
There were cookies, sweets and pickled pike perch in a round iron box. Plug
The teapot gathered on its curved surface all the comfort of Ptiburdukov's nest. In him
the bed, the white curtains, and the nightstand were reflected. Ptiburdukov himself was reflected,
sitting opposite his wife in blue pajamas with laces. He was happy too. Skipping
cigarette smoke through his mustache, he was sawing out a toy country outhouse from plywood with a jigsaw.

The work was painstaking. It was necessary to cut out the walls, put on an oblique cover,
arrange internal equipment, glaze the window and attach it to the doors
microscopic hook. Ptiburdukov worked with passion; he considered sawing by
tree the best rest.

Having finished his work, the engineer laughed joyfully, patted his wife on her thick warm back and
He pulled the box with pike perch closer to him.

But at that moment there was a strong knock on the door, the lamp flickered, and the kettle moved from
wire stand.

Who would it be this late? - said Ptiburdukov, opening the door.

Vasisualiy Lokhankin stood on the stairs - He was wrapped in white up to his beard.
a Marseilles blanket, from under which one could see hairy legs. He clutched a book to his chest
“Man and Woman,” thick and gilded, like an icon. Vasisualia's eyes wandered.

“You’re welcome,” the engineer said stunned, taking a step back. - Varvara, what is this?

“I have come to live with you forever,” Lokhankin answered in a sepulchral iambic voice, “I hope
find shelter with you.

How-shelter? - said Ptiburdukov, turning purple. - What do you want, Vasisualiy Andreevich?
Varvara ran out onto the platform,

Sashuk! Look, he's naked! - she screamed, “What happened, Vasisualiy?” Yes come in
Well, come in.

Lokhankin crossed the threshold with bare feet and muttered:

“Misfortune, misfortune,” he began to rush around the room. With the end of the blanket he immediately swept it to the floor
fine carpentry work by Ptiburdukov. The engineer retreated to a corner, feeling that nothing
good things are no longer in sight.

What misfortune? - Varvara asked. - Why are you in one blanket?

“I have come to settle with you forever,” Lokhankin repeated in a cow’s voice.

His yellow drum heel beat out an alarming beat on the clean wax floor.

Why are you talking nonsense? - Varvara attacked her ex-husband. - Go home and
sleep it off. Get out of here! Go, go home!

“There’s no home,” Vasisualiy said, continuing to tremble. --

Burnt to the ground. Fire, fire drove me here. I only managed to save a blanket and a book
saved my beloved one. But since you are so cruel to me, I will go away and curse
besides.

Vasisualiy, staggering sadly, went to the exit. But Varvara and her husband held him back. They
they asked for forgiveness, said that they didn’t figure out what was going on right away, and generally made a fuss. On
Ptiburdukov's new jacket suit, underwear and shoes were revealed.

While Lokhankin was getting dressed, the couple conferred in the corridor.

Where should I arrange it? - Varvara whispered. - He can’t spend the night with us, we have one
room.

“I’m surprised at you,” said the good engineer, “a man has a misfortune, and you think
only about your well-being.

When the couple returned to the room, the fire victim was sitting at the table and straight from the iron
boxes of marinated fish.

In addition, two volumes of Strength of Materials were knocked off the shelf, and their place
The gilded “Man and Woman” took over.

Did the whole house burn down? - Ptiburdukov asked sympathetically. - This is terrible!

“But I think that maybe it’s necessary,” said Vasisualiy, finishing his host’s dinner,
- maybe I’ll come out of the flames transformed, huh? But he was not transformed.

When everything was discussed, the Ptiburdukovs began to settle in for the night. Vasisualia
laid a mattress on the very remainder of the area, which an hour ago was enough
for happiness. The window was closed, the light was turned off, and night entered the room.

For about twenty minutes everyone lay in silence, tossing and turning from time to time and sighing heavily. Then with
Lokhankin’s drawling whisper reached the floor:

Varvara! Varvara! Listen, Varvara?

What do you want? - the ex-wife asked indignantly.

Why did you leave me, Varvara? Without waiting for an answer to this fundamental
question, Vasisualiy whined:

You are a female, Varvara! You are a wolf! You wolf, I despise you...

The engineer lay motionless in bed, choking with anger and clenching his fists.

"Voronya Slobodka" caught fire at twelve o'clock in the evening, at the same time that Ostap
Bender danced tango in an empty office, and foster brothers Balaganov and Panikovsky
They left the city, bending under the weight of golden weights.

In the long chain of adventures that preceded the fire in apartment number three,
the starting point was no one's grandmother. She, as you know, burned kerosene on her mezzanine,
because she didn’t trust electricity. After the flogging of Vasisuali Andreevich in the apartment a long time ago
no interesting events were happening anymore, and the restless mind of Chamberlain Mitrich
languished from forced idleness. Having thought carefully about his grandmother's habits, he
worried.

The old woman will burn down the whole apartment! - he muttered. - What does she need?

And I have one piano, maybe it costs two thousand.

Having come to this conclusion, Mitrich insured all his movable property against fire.
Now he could be calm and watched indifferently as his grandmother dragged a large
a cloudy bottle of kerosene, holding it in his arms like a child.

Citizen Gigienishvili was the first to learn about Mitrich’s cautious act and immediately
interpreted it in his own way. He approached Mitrich in the corridor and, grabbing his chest,
said threateningly:

Do you want to set the whole apartment on fire? Do you want to get insurance?

Do you think Gigienishvili is a fool? Gigienishvili understands everything.

And on the same day the passionate tenant insured himself for a large amount. Wherein
The news of horror gripped the entire Voronya Slobodka. Lucia Frantsevna Pferd ran into the kitchen with
with wide eyes.

They will burn us, these scoundrels. You do what you want, citizens, and I’m going now
insure. We will still burn, even if I get insurance. Because of them I can’t go around the world
Wish.

The next day, the entire apartment was insured, with the exception of Lokhankin and no one’s grandmother.
Lokhankin read “Motherland” and did not notice anything, and his grandmother did not believe in insurance, just as
believed in electricity. Nikita Pryakhin brought home an insurance policy with a lilac border and
I looked at the watermarks for a long time.

Does this mean that the state is cooperating? --

he said gloomily. - Does it provide assistance to residents? Oh, thanks!

Now, that means we will do as we wish.

And, hiding the policy under his shirt, Pryakhin retired to his room. His words inspired such
fear that no one slept in Voronya Slobodka that night. Dunya tied things into knots, and
the rest of the campers scattered to wander around with friends. During the day everyone watched each other and
property was taken out of the house in parts.

Everything was clear. The house was doomed. He couldn't help but burn. And indeed, at twelve
At about one o'clock in the morning it burst into flames, set on fire at six ends at once.

The last one to jump out of the house, which was already filled with samovar smoke streaked with fire, was
Lokhankin, covering himself with a white blanket. He shouted with all his might: “Fire! Fire! ", Although
I couldn’t surprise anyone with this news. All the residents of Voronya Slobodka were assembled.
Drunk Pryakhin was sitting on his chest with forged corners. He looked blankly at
flickering windows, saying:

“As we wish, we will do so.” Gigienishvili disgustedly sniffed his hands, which were giving
kerosene, and each time after that he wiped them on his pants. A fiery spring burst out of
windows and, dropping sparks, turned around under the wooden cornice. It burst with a ringing sound
The first glass fell out. Nobody's grandmother howled terribly.

The house stood for forty years,” Mitrich explained sedately, walking among the crowd, “in front of everyone.”
the authorities stood, it was a good house.

And during the Soviet era it burned down. Such a sad fact, citizens.

The female part of “Voronya Slobodka” rallied into one group and did not take their eyes off the fire.
Gun flames were already escaping from all the windows. Sometimes the fire disappeared, and then the darkened
the house seemed to bounce back like a cannon body after being fired. And again red and yellow
the cloud was carried out, ceremoniously illuminating Lemon Lane. It got hot. Near the house
It was no longer possible to stand, and the company migrated to the opposite sidewalk.

Only Nikita Pryakhin was dozing on a chest in the middle of the pavement. Suddenly he jumped up, barefoot and
scary.

Orthodox! - he shouted, tearing his shirt.

Citizens!

He ran sideways away from the fire, crashed into the crowd and, calling out incomprehensible words, began
pointing at a burning house. There was a commotion in the crowd.

“They forgot the child,” the woman in the straw hat said confidently.

Nikita was surrounded. He pushed away with his hands and rushed towards the house.

He's lying on the bed! - Pryakhin shouted frantically. --

Let me go, I say!

Fiery tears rolled down his face. He hit Gigienishvili on the head, who
blocked his way and rushed into the yard. A minute later he ran out of there, carrying
stairs.

Stop him! - shouted the woman in the straw hat. - It will burn!

Go away, I say! - Nikita Pryakhin yelled, placing the ladder against the wall and pushing
young people from the crowd who grabbed his legs. - I won’t let her disappear. The soul is burning.

He kicked his legs and climbed up to the smoking window of the second floor.

Back! - shouted from the crowd. - Why did you climb? You'll burn!

He's lying on the bed! - Nikita continued to call out. --

Whole goose, a quarter of bread wine. Well, should she disappear, Orthodox citizens?

With unexpected agility, Pryakhin grabbed the window drain and instantly disappeared, drawn in
inside with an air pump. His last words were: “We will do as we wish.” IN
There was silence in the alley, interrupted by the bell and trumpet signals of the fire convoy. In
Axemen in stiff canvas suits with wide blue belts came running into the yard.

A minute after Nikita Pryakhin committed the only thing in his entire life
heroic act, a burning log separated from the house and crashed to the ground. The roof is cracking,
broke apart and fell inside the house. A shining pillar rose to the sky, as if from a house
fired a cannonball onto the moon.

This is how apartment number three, better known as “Voronya Slobodka”, perished.

Suddenly the sound of hooves was heard in the alley. In the glare of the fire he rushed by in a cab
engineer Talmudovsky. On his lap lay a suitcase taped with tags. Jumping
on the seat, the engineer leaned towards the cabman and shouted:

I won’t set foot here with such a salary!

Let's go quickly!

And immediately his fat back, illuminated by lights and fire torches, disappeared behind
turning.

Every end mentioned in the mass,
Worth forgotten, simple epigrams.
The one that went to the innocent princess.
The one who was hiding did not send telegrams.

§ All men die, but few men ever live. William Wallace.

We all read this book... We all remember these immortal lines...
"Voronya Slobodka":

I wanted to write a “comment” like this... But it took a long time to write...
And - I decided to put it in a separate post.

Quote:
"“Yes, you understand,” Varvara fumed, holding a sheet of newspaper to the chamberlain’s nose. - Here's the article. Do you see? "Among the hummocks and icebergs."

- Icebergs! - Mitrich said mockingly. – We can understand this. There has been no life for ten years. All Icebergs, Weisbergs, Eisenbergs, all sorts of Rabinovichs. Pryakhin is right. Take it away and that’s it. Moreover, Lucia Frantsevna also confirms about the law.

- Throw things on the stairs, to hell! - in a chesty voice. exclaimed the former prince, and now a worker of the East, citizen Gigienishvili.

Varvara was quickly pecked, and she ran to complain to her husband.

“Or maybe it’s necessary,” the husband answered, raising his pharaonic beard, “maybe the great homespun truth is speaking through the mouth of a simple peasant Mitrich.” Just think about the role of the Russian intelligentsia, its significance.

....
And while he was being flogged, while Dunya was laughing embarrassedly, and her grandmother was shouting from the mezzanine: “So him, the sick one, so his dear one,” Vasisuali Andreevich was thinking intently about the significance of the Russian intelligentsia and about what Galileo also suffered for the truth.
" (With)

There’s also a lot of stuff written there... But it’s just a copy from “ukro-news”!!!...
And another thing I noticed is a copy of our “soyo”...

KMK...
Anyone who is offended that it is “on” or, conversely, “not on” - welcome - piss on me in the comments...)))

"- Icebergs! All Icebergs, Weisbergs, Eisenbergs, all sorts of Rabinovichs." - blagin_anton

“It will be, it will be,” said Nikita Pryakhin, approaching Lokhankin. “Everything will be for you. There will be coffee for you, shit. Lie down!” he suddenly shouted, blowing either vodka or turpentine on Vasisualiy... “Everyone has a mommy!” - Nikita said instructively, pressing Lokhankin with his knee. - pohuy

"Lucia Frantsevna Pferd stood here in silence
“The light had to be turned off,” answered Citizen Pferd sternly.” freken_magda

“He was wrapped up to his beard in a white Marseilles blanket, from under which his hairy legs were visible. He clutched to his chest the book “Man and Woman,” thick and gilded, like an icon” - pyka_npu3paka

“he speaks through the mouth of a simple man Mitrich” - robin_god

“Varvara Ptiburdukova was happy. Sitting at the round table, she looked around her household.” - Lisitz Ya

“I came to settle with you forever,” Lokhankin answered in a sepulchral iambic voice, “I hope I can find shelter with you!” - alanwitjas

Look, he's naked! - she screamed. - What happened, Vasisualiy? Come in, come in! - anelenis

“I’m surprised at you,” said the good engineer, “a person is in misfortune, and you only think about your well-being.” - maysuryan

He's lying on the bed! - A whole bottle of bread wine! Well, should she disappear, Orthodox citizens? - dear_dr

"The Voronya Settlement caught fire at twelve o'clock in the evening, at the same time when Ostap Bender was dancing tango in an empty office, and the foster brothers Balaganov and Panikovsky were leaving the city, bending under the weight of golden weights." - fau_dva

“And I think that maybe it’s necessary,” said Vasisualiy, finishing the host’s dinner, “maybe I’ll come out of the flame transformed?” - warlohz

“Just think about the role of the Russian intelligentsia, its significance” - ognersan

“Do you want to set fire to the whole apartment? Do you want to get insurance? Do you think Gigienishvili is a fool? Gigienishvili understands everything!” - sllan

“In the long chain of adventures that preceded the fire in apartment number three, the first link was no one’s grandmother. She is known to have burned kerosene on her mezzanine because she did not trust electricity.” -

Part 2. Two combinators

Chapter 21. The end of “Voronya Slobodka”

Varvara Ptiburdukova was happy. Sitting at the round table, she looked around her household. There was a lot of furniture in the Ptiburdukovs’ room, so there was almost no free space. But the area that remained was enough for happiness. Lamp threw the light outside the window, where, like a lady’s brooch, a small green twig. On the table lay cookies, sweets and pickled pike perch in a round iron box. The plug-in teapot gathered on its curved surface all the comfort of Ptiburdukov’s nest. In him reflected and a bed, and white curtains, and a nightstand. Ptiburdukov himself, sitting opposite his wife in blue pajamas with laces, was also reflected. He was happy too. Passing cigarette smoke through his mustache, he sawed out jigsaw a toy country outhouse made of plywood. The work was painstaking. It was necessary to cut out the walls, put on a slanting roof, arrange the internal equipment, glaze the window and attach it to doors microscopic hook. Ptiburduko worked with passion; he considered sawing wood to be the best recreation.

Having finished work, the engineer laughed joyfully, patted his wife on her thick, warm back and pulled the box of pike perch towards him. But at that moment there was a strong knock on the door, the lamp flickered, and the teapot moved from its wire stand.

Who would it be this late? - said Ptiburdukov, opening the door.

Vasisualiy Lokhankin stood on the stairs. He was wrapped up to his beard in a white Marseilles blanket, from under which his hairy legs were visible. He clutched to his chest the book “Man and Woman,” thick and gilded, like an icon. Vasisualia's eyes wandered.

You’re welcome,” the engineer said stunned, taking a step back. “Varvara, what is this?”

“I have come to settle with you forever,” Lokhankin answered in a sepulchral iambic voice, “I hope I can find shelter with you!”

- Like a shelter? - said Ptiburdukov, turning purple. - What do you want, Vasisualiy Andreevich?

Varvara ran out onto the platform.

Sashuk! Look, he's naked! - she screamed. - What happened, Vasisualiy? Come in, come in!

Lokhankin crossed the threshold with bare feet and, muttering and "misfortune", misfortune,” began to rush around the room. With the end of the blanket, he immediately swept Ptiburdukov’s fine carpentry work onto the floor. The engineer retreated to a corner, feeling that nothing good was in store.

What misfortune? - Varvara asked. - Why are you in one blanket?

“I have come to live with you forever!” Lokhankin repeated in a cow’s voice. His yellow drum heel beat out an alarming beat on the clean wax floor.

Why are you talking nonsense? - Varvara attacked her ex-husband. - Go home and get some sleep. Go! Go away from here! Go, go home.

“There’s no home,” said Vasisualiy, continuing to tremble. , - burned to the ground! Fire, fire drove me here. I only managed to save the blanket and my favorite book, at that. But since you're like this with me hard-hearted, I’ll go away and curse at the same time.

Vasisualiy, staggering sadly, went to the exit. But Varvara and her husband held him back. They asked forgiveness, they said that they didn’t immediately figure out what was going on, and in general they were fussing. Ptiburdukov’s new jacket suit, underwear and shoes were brought to light.

While Lokhankin was getting dressed, the couple conferred in the corridor.

Where should I arrange it? - Varvara whispered. - He can’t spend the night with us, we have one room!

“I’m surprised at you,” said the good engineer, “a person is in misfortune, and you only think about your well-being.”

When the couple returned to the room, the fire victim was sitting at the table and eating pickled fish straight from an iron box. In addition, two volumes were knocked off the shelf " resistance materials,” and their place was taken by the gilded “Man and Woman.”

Did the whole house burn down? - Ptiburdukov asked sympathetically. - This is terrible!

And I think that maybe be“That’s how it should be,” said Vasisualiy, finishing the master’s dinner, “ May be, I will emerge from the flames transformed ?

But he was not transformed.

When everything was discussed, the Ptiburdukovs began to settle in for the night. Vasisualiya was laid out with a mattress on the very remainder of the square, which an hour ago was enough for happiness. The window was closed, the light was turned off, and the room became warm and dark, like between the palms of your hands. For about twenty minutes everyone lay in silence, tossing and turning from time to time and sighing heavily. Then with gender came Lokhankin's drawling whisper:

Varvara! Varvara! Listen, Varvara!

What do you want? - the ex-wife asked indignantly.

Why did you leave me, Varvara? Without waiting for an answer to this fundamental question, Vasisualiy whined:

You are a female, Varvara! You are a wolf! You wolf, I despise you... The engineer lay motionless in bed, choking with anger and clenching his fists.

“Voronya Slobodka” caught fire at twelve o’clock in the evening, at the same time when Ostap Bender was dancing tango in an empty office, and foster brothers Balaganov and Panikovsky were leaving the city, bending under the weight of golden weights.

In the long chain of adventures that preceded the fire in apartment number three, first the link was no one's grandmother. She was known to burn kerosene on her mezzanine, as she did not trust electricity. After the flogging of Vasisuali Andreevich, no interesting events took place in the apartment for a long time, and the restless mind of Chamberlain Mitrich languished from forced idleness. After thinking carefully about his grandmother’s habits, he became alarmed.

“He’ll burn down the whole apartment, old lady,” he muttered. , - to her what about me one a piano costs maybe two thousand.

Having come to this conclusion, Mitrich insured all his movable property against fire. Now he could be calm and indifferently watched as his grandmother dragged a large, cloudy bottle of kerosene upstairs, holding it in her arms like a child. Citizen Gigienishvili was the first to learn about Mitrich’s cautious act and immediately interpreted it in his own way. He approached Mitrich in the corridor and, grabbing him by the chest, said threateningly:

Do you want to set the whole apartment on fire? Do you want to get insurance? Do you think Gigienishvili is a fool? Gigienishvili understands everything!

And on the same day the passionate tenant insured himself for a large amount. At this news, horror gripped “Voronya Slobodka.” Lucia Frantsevna Pferd ran into the kitchen with wide eyes.

They will burn us, these scoundrels! You do what you want, citizens, but I’m going to get insurance right now! We’ll burn anyway, even if I get insurance. Because of them, I don’t want to go around the world.

The next day, the entire apartment was insured, with the exception of Lokhankin and no one’s grandmother. Lokhankin read “Motherland” and did not notice anything, and my grandmother did not believe in insurance, just as she did not believe in electricity. Nikita Pryakhin brought home an insurance policy with a lilac border and spent a long time looking at the watermarks in the light.

Does this mean that the state is cooperating? - he said gloomily. - Does it provide assistance to residents? Well, thank you. Now, that means we’ll do as we wish!

And, hiding the policy under his shirt, Pryakhin retired to his room. His words instilled such fear that no one slept in the Voronya Slobodka that night. Dunya tied things into bundles, and the rest of the campers scattered to spend the night with friends. During the day, everyone watched each other and removed property from the house piece by piece.

Everything was clear. The house was doomed. He couldn't help but burn. And, indeed, at twelve o'clock at night it burst into flames, set on fire at six ends at once.

The last of home, which was already filled with samovar smoke streaked with fire, Lokhankin jumped out, covering himself with a white blanket. He's trying his best shouted " Fire! Fire!”, although this news could not surprise anyone. All the residents of Voronya Slobodka were assembled. Drunk Pryakhin sat on his chest with forged corners. He looked senselessly at the flickering windows, saying: “We will do as we wish! “Gigienishvili disgustedly sniffed his hands, which smelled like kerosene, and each time after that he wiped them on his pants. First fire the spring broke out of the window and, dropping sparks, unfurled under the wooden cornice. The first glass burst and fell out with a clang. Nobody's grandmother howled terribly.

The house stood for forty years,” Mitrich explained sedately, walking in the crowd, “it stood under all the authorities, it was a good house.” And during the Soviet era it burned down. Such a sad fact, citizens!

The female part of “Voronya Slobodka” rallied into one group and did not take their eyes off the fire. Gun flames were already escaping from all the windows. Sometimes the fire disappeared, and then the darkened house seemed to jump back, like a cannon body after being fired. And again the red-yellow cloud was carried away from the windows, ceremoniously illuminating Lemon Lane. It got hot. It was no longer possible to stand near the house, and the company migrated to the opposite sidewalk.

Only Nikita Pryakhin was dozing on a chest in the middle of the pavement. Suddenly he jumped up, barefoot and scary.

Orthodox! - he shouted, tearing his shirt. - Citizens! He ran sideways away from the fire, crashed into the crowd and, calling out incomprehensible

words, began to point with his hand at the burning house. There was a commotion in the crowd.

They forgot the child!” the woman in the straw hat said confidently. Nikita was surrounded. He pushed away with his hands and rushed towards the house.

He's lying on the bed! - Pryakhin shouted frantically. - Let me go, I say! Fiery tears rolled down his face. He hit Gigienishvili on the head, who was blocking his way, and rushed into the yard. A minute later he ran out of there, carrying a ladder.

Stop him! - shouted the woman in the straw hat. - It will burn!

Go away, I say! - Nikita Pryakhin yelled, placing the ladder against the wall and pushing away the young people from the crowd who were grabbing his legs. - I won’t let her perish! My soul is burning!

He kicked his legs and climbed up to the smoking window of the second floor.

Back! - shouted from the crowd. - Why did you climb? You'll burn!

He's lying on the bed! - Nikita continued to call out. - A whole bottle of bread wine! Well, should she disappear, Orthodox citizens?

With unexpected agility, Pryakhin grabbed the window drain and instantly disappeared, pulled inside by the air pump. His last words were: “We will do as we wish.” There was silence in the alley, interrupted by the bell and trumpet signals of the fire brigade. Axemen in stiff canvas suits with wide blue belts ran into the yard.

A minute after Nikita Pryakhin committed the only my life is a heroic act, a burning log separated from the house and crashed to the ground. The roof cracked and fell inside the house. A shining pillar rose to the sky, as if a cannonball had been fired from a house at the moon.

This is how apartment number three, better known as “Voronya Slobodka”, perished.

Suddenly in the alley I heard thunder hooves In the glare of the fire, engineer Talmudovsky rushed by in a cab. On his lap lay a suitcase taped with tags. Jumping up in his seat, the engineer leaned towards the cab driver and shouted:

- The station! I won't set foot here with this salary. salaries! Let's go quickly!

And immediately his fat back, illuminated by lights and fire torches, disappeared around the bend.

Chapter Twenty

"Under sultry sky Argentina,

Where is the sky tender so blue..."

The great schemer danced tango. His medal face was turned in profile. He got down on one knee, quickly rose, turned and, stepping lightly with his feet, slid forward again. Invisible tail coats flew apart at unexpected turns.And the melody was already picked up by a typewriter with a Turkish accent:

“...Where is the sky south so blue,

Where are the women, like in the picture...”

And the clumsy, battered cast-iron composter sighed dully about irrevocable time:

“...Where are the women, like in the picture,

Everyone dances tango."

Ostap danced the classic provincial tango, which was performed in miniature theaters twenty years ago, when the accountant Berlaga wore his first costume, Skumbrievich served in the office of the mayor, Polykhaev was taking the exam for the first civil rank, and the vice-chairman Pound was still a vigorous seventy-year-old man and, together with other pique vests, was sitting in the Florida cafe, discussing the terrible fact of the closure of the Dardanelles in connection with the Italo-Turkish war. And pique vests, still ruddy and smooth in those days, were among the political figures of that era. "Enver Bey is the head ! Yuan-Shi-Kai- this is the head ! Purishkevich is still a head too! " AND even then they argued that “Briand is the head, because and then he was a minister."Ostap danced. Palm trees crackled overhead and colorful birds flew past. Ocean-going steamers rubbed their sides against the pier of Rio de Janeiro. Smart Brazilian merchants were engaged in coffee dumping in front of everyone, and in open restaurants local young people were having fun with alcoholic drinks.- I will command the parade! - exclaimed the great schemer.After turning off the light, he left offices and took the shortest route to Malaya Tangent Street. The pale circular legs of the spotlights spread across the sky, descended, and suddenly cut off a piece of the house, revealing a balcony. with ficus or a glass Arnaut gallery with a couple dumbfounded by surprise. Two small tanks with round mushroom caps drove out from around the corner towards Ostap, swaying and clattering with their caterpillar tracks. The cavalryman, bending over from the saddle, asked a passerby how to get closer to old market. In one place Ostap's path was blocked by artillery. He slipped through street in the interval between two batteries. In another, policemen hastily nailed to the gate of a house a board with a black inscription: “Gas shelter.”Ostap was in a hurry. He was driven by Argentine tango. Not paying attention to his surroundings, he entered Koreiko's house and knocked on the familiar door.- Who's there? – the voice of the underground millionaire was heard.– Telegram , – answered the great schemer, winking into the darkness.The door opened and he walked in, his folder caught on the doorframe.At dawn, far outside the city, the commissioner and the courier were sitting in a ravine. They sawed weights. Their noses were stained with cast iron dust. A shirtfront lay on the grass next to Panikovsky. He took it off – she interfered with my work. Under the weights, the prudent violator of the convention spread newspaper sheets so that not a single speck of precious metal goes to waste. The foster brothers occasionally looked at each other importantly and began to saw with renewed vigor. In the morning silence heard Only the whistling of gophers and the grinding of heated hacksaws.- What's happened , - Balaganov said suddenly, stopping work , - three I've been drinking for an hour and it's still not golden ? Panikovsky did not answer. He already understood everything and for the last half hour he had been using a hacksaw just for show.- Well, let's drink some more! – the red-haired Shura said cheerfully.- Of course, we need to cut ! - Panikovsky noted, trying to delay the terrible hour of reckoning.He covered his face with his palm and looked through his outstretched fingers at Balaganov’s broad back, moving rhythmically.- I don’t understand anything! - said Shura, finishing the drink to the end and separating the weight into two apple halves. - This is not gold . “Saw, saw,” Panikovsky stammered.But Balaganov, holding a cast-iron hemisphere in each hand, began to slowly approach the violator of the convention.– Don’t come to me with this iron! – Panikovsky squealed, running to the side. - I despise you!But then Shura swung and, groaning from the effort, threw a piece of the weight at the intriguer. Hearing the whistle of a shell above his head, the schemer lay down on the ground. The fight between the commissioner and the courier was short-lived. The angry Balaganov first trampled with pleasure kicks shirtfront, and then proceeded to its owner. While delivering blows, Shura said:-Who invented these weights? Who wasted government money? Who scolded Bender?In addition, the lieutenant’s first-born remembered the violation of the Sukharev Convention, which cost Panikovsky several extra punches.- You will answer for my shirtfront! – Panikovsky shouted angrily, covering himself with his elbows. - Keep in mind, I will never forgive you for your shirtfront! These bibs are no longer available for sale. !.. In conclusion, Balaganov took from the enemy an old wallet with thirty-eight rubles.- This is for your kefir, viper! - he said at the same time.They returned to the city without joy.An angry Shura walked ahead, and behind him, falling on one leg and crying loudly, was Panikovsky.- I am a poor and unhappy old man! - he sobbed. - You will answer me for my shirtfront ! Give me my money ! - You will get it from me! - Shura said without looking back. - I’ll tell Bender everything ! Adventurer!

Chapter twenty one

Varvara Ptiburdukova was happy. Sitting at the round table, she looked around her household. There was a lot of furniture in the Ptiburdukovs’ room, so there was almost no free space. But the area that remained was enough for happiness. Lamp threw the light outside the window, where, like a lady’s brooch, a small green twig. On the table lay cookies, sweets and pickled pike perch in a round iron box. The plug-in teapot gathered on its curved surface all the comfort of Ptiburdukov’s nest. In him reflected and a bed, and white curtains, and a nightstand. Ptiburdukov himself, sitting opposite his wife in blue pajamas with laces, was also reflected. He was happy too. Passing cigarette smoke through his mustache, he sawed out jigsaw a toy country outhouse made of plywood. The work was painstaking. It was necessary to cut out the walls, put on a slanting roof, arrange the internal equipment, glaze the window and attach it to doors microscopic hook. Ptiburdukov worked with passion , he considered sawing wood the best recreation.Having finished work, the engineer laughed joyfully, patted his wife on the fat , warm back and pulled the box with pike perch towards him. But at that moment there was a strong knock on the door, the lamp flickered, and the teapot moved from its wire stand. – Who would it be so late? - said Ptiburdukov, opening the door.Vasisualiy Lokhankin stood on the stairs. He was wrapped up to his beard in a white Marseilles blanket, from under which his hairy legs were visible. He clutched to his chest the book “Man and Woman,” thick and gilded, like an icon. Vasisualia's eyes wandered.“You’re welcome,” said the engineer, stunned, taking a step back. . - Varvara, what is this?“I came to settle with you forever,” Lokhankin answered in a sepulchral iambic voice, “I hope I can find shelter with you.” ! – Like a shelter? - said Ptiburdukov, turning purple. - What do you want, Vasisualiy Andreevich?Varvara ran out onto the platform.- Sashuk! Look, he's naked! - she screamed. - What happened, Vasisualiy? Come in, come in ! Lokhankin crossed the threshold with bare feet and, muttering and "misfortune", misfortune,” began to rush around the room. With the end of the blanket, he immediately swept Ptiburdukov’s fine carpentry work onto the floor. The engineer retreated to a corner, feeling that nothing good was in store.- What misfortune? – Varvara asked. - Why are you in one blanket?- I came to you to settle forever ! - Lokhankin repeated in a cow’s voice.His yellow drum heel beat out an alarming beat on the clean wax floor.- Why are you talking nonsense? – Varvara attacked her ex-husband. - Go home and get some sleep. Go! Go away from here! Go, go home . “There’s no home,” said Vasisualiy, continuing to tremble. , – burned out to the ground ! Fire, fire drove me here. I only managed to save the blanket and my favorite book, at that. But since you're like this with me hard-hearted, I’ll go away and curse at the same time.Vasisualiy, staggering sadly, went to the exit. But Varvara and her husband held him back. They asked forgiveness, they said that they didn’t immediately figure out what was going on, and in general they were fussing. Ptiburdukov’s new jacket suit, underwear and shoes were brought to light.While Lokhankin was getting dressed, the couple conferred in the corridor.-Where should I place him? - Varvara whispered. - He can’t spend the night with us, we have one room. ! “I’m surprised at you,” said the good engineer, “a person has misfortune, and you think only about your well-being.”When the couple returned to the room, the fire victim was sitting at the table and eating pickled fish straight from an iron box. In addition, two volumes were knocked off the shelf " resistance materials,” and their place was taken by the gilded “Man and Woman.”- Was the whole house burned down? – Ptiburdukov asked sympathetically. - This is terrible!- And I think that maybe be“That’s how it should be,” said Vasisualiy, finishing the host’s dinner, “ May be, I will emerge from the flames transformed ? But he was not transformed.When everything was discussed, the Ptiburdukovs began to settle in for the night. Vasisualiya was laid out with a mattress on the very remainder of the square, which an hour ago was enough for happiness. The window was closed, the light was turned off, and the room became warm and dark, like between the palms of your hands . For about twenty minutes everyone lay in silence, tossing and turning from time to time and sighing heavily. Then with gender came Lokhankin's drawling whisper:- Varvara! Varvara! Listen, Varvara!- What do you want? – the ex-wife asked indignantly.– Why did you leave me, Varvara?Without waiting for an answer to this fundamental question, Vasisualiy whined:– You are a female, Varvara! You are a wolf! You wolf, I despise you...The engineer lay motionless in bed, choking with anger and clenching his fists.“Voronya Slobodka” caught fire at twelve o’clock in the evening, at the same time when Ostap Bender was dancing tango in an empty office, and foster brothers Balaganov and Panikovsky were leaving the city, bending under the weight of golden weights.In the long chain of adventures that preceded the fire in apartment number three, first the link was no one's grandmother. She was known to burn kerosene on her mezzanine, as she did not trust electricity. After the flogging of Vasisuali Andreevich, no interesting events took place in the apartment for a long time, and the restless mind of Chamberlain Mitrich languished from forced idleness. After thinking carefully about his grandmother’s habits, he became alarmed.- She’ll burn down the whole apartment, old lady. , - he muttered , - to her what about me one a piano costs maybe two thousand.Having come to this conclusion, Mitrich insured all his movable property against fire. Now he could be calm and watched indifferently as his grandmother dragged a large , a cloudy bottle of kerosene, holding it in his arms like a child. Citizen Gigienishvili was the first to learn about Mitrich’s cautious act and immediately interpreted it in his own way. He approached Mitrich in the corridor and, grabbing him by the chest, said threateningly:- Do you want to set the whole apartment on fire? Do you want to get insurance? Do you think Gigienishvili is a fool? Gigienishvili understands everything ! And on the same day the passionate tenant insured himself for a large amount. At this news, horror gripped “Voronya Slobodka.” Lucia Frantsevna Pferd ran into the kitchen with wide eyes.- They will burn us, these scoundrels. ! You do what you want, citizens, and I’m going to get insurance now ! We will still burn, even if I get insurance. Because of them, I don’t want to go around the world.The next day, the entire apartment was insured, with the exception of Lokhankin and no one’s grandmother. Lokhankin read “Motherland” and did not notice anything, and my grandmother did not believe in insurance, just as she did not believe in electricity. Nikita Pryakhin brought home an insurance policy with a lilac border and spent a long time looking at the watermarks in the light.– This means that the state is meeting halfway? - he said gloomily. – Does it provide assistance to residents? Oh, thanks . Now, that means we will do as we wish. ! And, hiding the policy under his shirt, Pryakhin retired to his room. His words instilled such fear that no one slept in the Voronya Slobodka that night. Dunya tied things into bundles, and the rest of the campers scattered to spend the night with friends. During the day, everyone watched each other and removed property from the house piece by piece.Everything was clear. The house was doomed. He couldn't help but burn. AND , indeed, at twelve o'clock at night it burst into flames, set on fire at six ends at once.The last of home, which was already filled with samovar smoke streaked with fire, Lokhankin jumped out, covering himself with a white blanket. He's trying his best shouted " Fire! Fire!”, although this news could not surprise anyone. All the residents of Voronya Slobodka were assembled. Drunk Pryakhin sat on his chest with forged corners. He looked senselessly at the flickering windows, saying: “As we wish, we will do so.” ! “Gigienishvili disgustedly sniffed his hands, which smelled like kerosene, and each time after that he wiped them on his pants. First fire the spring broke out of the window and, dropping sparks, unfurled under the wooden cornice. The first glass burst and fell out with a clang. Nobody's grandmother howled terribly.“The house stood for forty years,” Mitrich explained sedately, walking in the crowd, “it stood under all the authorities, it was a good house.” And during the Soviet era it burned down. Such a sad fact, citizens ! The female part of “Voronya Slobodka” rallied into one group and did not take their eyes off the fire. Gun flames were already escaping from all the windows. Sometimes the fire disappeared, and then the darkened house seemed to jump back, like a cannon body after being fired. And again the red-yellow cloud was carried away from the windows, ceremoniously illuminating Lemon Lane. It got hot. It was no longer possible to stand near the house, and the company migrated to the opposite sidewalk.Only Nikita Pryakhin was dozing on a chest in the middle of the pavement. Suddenly he jumped up, barefoot and scary.- Orthodox! - he shouted, tearing his shirt. - Citizens!He ran sideways away from the fire, crashed into the crowd and, calling out incomprehensible words, began pointing at the burning house. There was a commotion in the crowd.- They forgot the child ! – the woman in the straw hat said confidently.Nikita was surrounded. He pushed away with his hands and rushed towards the house.- He’s lying on the bed! – Pryakhin shouted frantically. - Let me go, I say!Fiery tears rolled down his face. He hit Gigienishvili on the head, who was blocking his way, and rushed into the yard. A minute later he ran out of there, carrying a ladder.- Stop him! - shouted the woman in the straw hat. - It will burn!- Go away, I say! - Nikita Pryakhin yelled, placing the ladder against the wall and pushing away young people from the crowd who were grabbing his legs. - I won’t let her disappear ! The soul is burning ! He kicked his legs and climbed up to the smoking window of the second floor.- Back! - shouted from the crowd. - Why did you climb? You'll burn!- He’s lying on the bed! – Nikita continued to call out. – A whole bottle of bread wine! Well, should she disappear, Orthodox citizens?With unexpected agility, Pryakhin grabbed the window drain and instantly disappeared, pulled inside by the air pump. His last words were: “We will do as we wish.” There was silence in the alley, interrupted by the bell and trumpet signals of the fire brigade. Axemen in stiff canvas suits with wide blue belts ran into the yard.A minute after Nikita Pryakhin committed the only my life is a heroic act, a burning log separated from the house and crashed to the ground. The roof cracked and fell inside the house. A shining pillar rose to the sky, as if a cannonball had been fired from a house at the moon.This is how apartment number three, better known as “Voronya Slobodka”, perished.Suddenly in the alley I heard thunder hooves In the glare of the fire, engineer Talmudovsky rushed by in a cab. On his lap lay a suitcase taped with tags. Jumping up in his seat, the engineer leaned towards the cab driver and shouted:– The station! I won't set foot here with this salary. salaries! Let's go quickly!And immediately his fat back, illuminated by lights and fire torches, disappeared around the bend.

Varvara Ptiburdukova was happy. Sitting at the round table, she looked around her household. There was a lot of furniture in the Ptiburdukovs’ room, so there was almost no free space. But the area that remained was enough for happiness. The lamp sent light outside the window, where a small green branch trembled like a lady’s brooch. On the table were cookies, sweets and pickled pike perch in a round iron box. The plug-in teapot gathered on its curved surface all the comfort of Ptiburdukov’s nest. It reflected the bed, the white curtains, and the nightstand. Ptiburdukov himself, sitting opposite his wife in blue pajamas with laces, was also reflected. He was happy too. Blowing cigarette smoke through his mustache, he used a jigsaw to cut out a toy country outhouse from plywood. The work was painstaking. It was necessary to cut out the walls, put on a slanted lid, arrange the internal equipment, glaze the window and attach a microscopic hook to the doors. Ptiburdukov worked with passion; he considered sawing wood the best recreation.

Having finished his work, the engineer laughed joyfully, patted his wife on her thick, warm back and pulled the box of pike perch towards him. But at that moment there was a strong knock on the door, the lamp flickered, and the teapot moved from its wire stand.

Who would it be this late? - said Ptiburdukov, opening the door.

Vasisualiy Lokhankin stood on the stairs - He was wrapped up to his beard in a white Marseilles blanket, from under which his hairy legs were visible. He clutched to his chest the book “Man and Woman,” thick and gilded, like an icon. Vasisualia's eyes wandered.

“You’re welcome,” the engineer said stunned, taking a step back. - Varvara, what is this?

“I have come to settle with you forever,” Lokhankin answered in a sepulchral iambic voice, “I hope I will find shelter with you.”

How - a shelter? - said Ptiburdukov, turning purple. - What do you want, Vasisualiy Andreevich?

Varvara ran out onto the platform,

Sashuk! Look, he's naked! - she screamed, “What happened, Vasisualiy?” Come in, come in.

Lokhankin crossed the threshold with bare feet and, muttering: “Misfortune, misfortune,” began to rush around the room. With the end of the blanket, he immediately swept Ptiburdukov’s fine carpentry work onto the floor. The engineer retreated to a corner, feeling that nothing good was in store.

What misfortune? - Varvara asked. - Why are you in one blanket?

“I have come to settle with you forever,” Lokhankin repeated in a cow’s voice.

His yellow drum heel beat out an alarming beat on the clean wax floor.

Why are you talking nonsense? - Varvara attacked her ex-husband. - Go home and get some sleep. Get out of here! Go, go home!

“There’s no home,” Vasisualiy said, continuing to tremble. - Burnt to the ground. Fire, fire drove me here. I only managed to save the blanket and my favorite book, at that. But since you are so cruel to me, I will go away and curse you.

Vasisualiy, staggering sadly, went to the exit. But Varvara and her husband held him back. They asked for forgiveness, said that they didn’t figure out what was going on right away, and generally made a fuss. Ptiburdukov’s new jacket suit, underwear and shoes were brought to light.

While Lokhankin was getting dressed, the couple conferred in the corridor.

Where should I arrange it? - Varvara whispered. - He can’t spend the night with us, we have one room.

“I’m surprised at you,” said the good engineer, “a person is in misfortune, and you only think about your well-being.”

When the couple returned to the room, the fire victim was sitting at the table and eating pickled fish straight from an iron box. In addition, two volumes of "Strength of Materials" were knocked off the shelf, and their place was taken by the gilded "Man and Woman."

Did the whole house burn down? - Ptiburdukov asked sympathetically. - This is terrible!

“And I think that maybe it’s necessary,” said Vasisualiy, finishing the host’s dinner, “maybe I’ll come out of the flame transformed, huh?” But he was not transformed.

When everything was discussed, the Ptiburdukovs began to settle in for the night. Vasisualya was laid out with a mattress on the very remainder of the square, which an hour ago was enough for happiness. The window was closed, the light was turned off, and night entered the room. For about twenty minutes everyone lay in silence, tossing and turning from time to time and sighing heavily. Then Lokhankin’s drawling whisper came from the floor:

Varvara! Varvara! Listen, Varvara?

What do you want? - the ex-wife asked indignantly.

Why did you leave me, Varvara? Without waiting for an answer to this fundamental question, Vasisualiy whined:

You are a female, Varvara! You are a wolf! You wolf, I despise you...

The engineer lay motionless in bed, choking with anger and clenching his fists.

“Voronya Slobodka” caught fire at twelve o’clock in the evening, at the same time when Ostap Bender was dancing tango in an empty office, and foster brothers Balaganov and Panikovsky were leaving the city, bending under the weight of golden weights.

In the long chain of adventures that preceded the fire in apartment number three, the starting link was no one’s grandmother. She was known to burn kerosene on her mezzanine, as she did not trust electricity. After the flogging of Vasisuali Andreevich, no interesting events took place in the apartment for a long time, and the restless mind of Chamberlain Mitrich languished from forced idleness. After thinking carefully about his grandmother’s habits, he became alarmed.

The old woman will burn down the whole apartment! - he muttered. - What does she need? And I have one piano, maybe it costs two thousand.