Golden calf
Chapter VI. "Gnu Antelope"
The green box with the four crooks raced along the smoky road.
The machine was subjected to the pressure of the same forces of the elements, which are experienced by a swimmer swimming in stormy weather. She was suddenly knocked down by a bump, pulled into the pits, thrown from side to side and doused with red sunset dust.
Listen, student, Ostap turned to the new passenger, who had already recovered from the recent shock and was sitting carelessly next to the commander, how dare you violate the Sukharev Convention, this venerable pact approved by the League of Nations tribunal?
Panikovsky pretended not to hear, and even turned away.
And in general, Ostap continued, you have an unclean grip. We just witnessed a disgusting scene. The Arbatovites were chasing you, from whom you stole a goose.
Pathetic, worthless people! Panikovsky muttered angrily.
That's how! said Ostap. Do you obviously consider yourself a public doctor? Gentleman? Then here's the thing: if you, like a true gentleman, get into the idea of making notes on your cuffs, you will have to write with chalk.
Why? the new passenger asked irritably.
Because yours are completely black. Isn't it from dirt?
You are pitiful, insignificant person! quickly declared Panikovsky.
And you are talking to me, your savior? Ostap asked meekly, Adam Kazimirovich, stop your car for a minute. Thank you. Shura, my dear, please restore the status quo.
Balaganov did not understand what "status quo" meant. But he was guided by the intonation with which these words were uttered. Smiling nastily, he took Panikovsky under his arms, carried him out of the car and put him on the road.
Student, go back to Arbatov, Ostap said dryly, there the owners of the goose are looking forward to waiting for you. We don't need rude people. We ourselves are rude. Let's go.
I won't do it again! Panikovsky pleaded. I'm nervous!
Get on your knees, said Ostap. Panikovsky sank down on his knees so hastily, as if his legs had been cut off.
Good! said Ostap. Your posture satisfies me. You are accepted conditionally, until the first violation of discipline, with the imposition on you of the duties of a servant for everything.
The Wildebeest took the resigned brute and drove on, swaying like a funeral chariot.
Half an hour later, the car turned onto the large Novozaitsevsky tract and, without slowing down, drove into the village. People gathered near the log house, on the roof of which grew a gnarled and crooked radio mast. A man without a beard stepped forward decisively from the crowd. The beardless man held a piece of paper in his hand.
Comrades, he shouted angrily, I think ceremonial meeting open! Allow me, comrades, to count this applause... He apparently prepared a speech and was already looking at the paper, but, noticing that the car was not stopping, he did not begin to expand.
All in Avtodor! he said hurriedly, looking at Ostap, who had caught up with him. We will set up serial production of Soviet cars. iron Horse goes to replace the peasant horse.
And already in pursuit of the departing car, covering the congratulatory rumble of the crowd, he laid out the last slogan:
A car is not a luxury, but a means of transportation.
With the exception of Ostap, all the Antelopovites were somewhat uneasy about the solemn welcome. Understanding nothing, they twirled in the car like sparrows in a nest. Panikovsky, who did not like large crowds at all honest people in one place, cautiously squatted down, so that only the dirty straw roof of his hat appeared to the eyes of the villagers. But Ostap was not at all embarrassed. He took off his cap with a white top and answered the greetings with a proud inclination of his head first to the right, then to the left.
Improve roads! he shouted goodbye. Merci for the welcome!
And the car again found itself on a white road that cut through a large quiet field.
They won't chase us? asked Panikovsky anxiously. Why the crowd? What's happened?
It's just that people have never seen a car, Balaganov said.
The exchange of impressions continues, Bender noted. The word for the driver of the car. What is your opinion, Adam Kazimirovich?
The driver thought, frightened the dog that had foolishly ran out into the road with the sounds of the match, and suggested that the crowd had gathered on the occasion of the Temple holiday.
Holidays of this kind, the driver of the Antelope explained, are often among the villagers.
Yes, said Ostap. Now I clearly see that I got into a society of uncultured people, that is, tramps without higher education. Ah, children, dear children of Lieutenant Schmidt, why don't you read the papers? They need to be read. They quite often sow what is reasonable, good, eternal.
Ostap took Izvestia out of his pocket and in a loud voice read to the crew of the Antelope a note about the Moscow-Kharkov-Moscow rally.
Now, he said smugly, we are on the rally line, about one and a half kilometers ahead of the lead car. I guess you already guessed what I'm talking about?
The lower ranks of the Antelope were silent. Panikovsky unbuttoned his jacket and scratched bare chest under a dirty silk tie.
So you don't understand? As you can see, in some cases even reading newspapers does not help. Well, I will speak in more detail, although this is not in my rules. First, the peasants mistook the Antelope for the lead car of the rally. Secondly, we do not renounce this title; moreover, we will appeal to all institutions and individuals with a request to provide us with appropriate assistance, emphasizing precisely that we are the head machine. Third ... However, two points are enough for you. It is quite clear that for some time we will stay ahead of the rally, skimming foam, cream and similar sour cream from this highly cultured undertaking.
The speech of the great strategist made a huge impression. Kozlevich cast devoted glances at the commander. Balaganov rubbed his red curls with his palms and burst into laughter. Panikovsky, in anticipation of a safe profit, shouted "Hurrah."
Well, enough emotions, said Ostap, In view of the onset of darkness, I declare the evening open. Stop!
The car stopped, and the tired Antelopians got off to the ground. Grasshoppers forged their little happiness in ripening bread. The passengers had already sat in a circle near the road, and the old Antelope was still boiling: sometimes the body itself crackled, sometimes there was a short rattle in the engine.
The inexperienced Panikovsky made such a big fire that it seemed as if the whole village was on fire. Fire, puffing, rushed in all directions. While the travelers were struggling with the pillar of fire, Panikovsky, crouching, ran into the field and returned, holding a warm crooked cucumber in his hand. Ostap quickly pulled it out of Panikovsky's hands, saying:
Do not make food a cult.
After that, he ate the cucumber himself. We dined on sausage, taken from the house by the housekeeper Kozlevich, and fell asleep under the stars.
Well, Ostap Kozlevich said at dawn, get ready properly. Your mechanical trough has never seen such a day as today and will never see it.
Balaganov grabbed a cylindrical bucket with the inscription "Arbatovsky maternity hospital" and ran to the river for water.
Adam Kazimirovich raised the hood of the car, whistling, put his hands into the engine and began to delve into its copper intestines.
Panikovsky leaned his back on the car wheel and, sullen, looked unblinkingly at the cranberry sunny segment that appeared over the horizon. Panikovsky turned out to have a wrinkled face with many senile trifles: pouches, pulsating veins and strawberry blushes. Such a face happens to a person who has lived a long, decent life, has adult children, drinks healthy Zheludin coffee in the morning and pees in the institutional wall newspaper under the pseudonym Antichrist.
Tell you, Panikovsky, how will you die? Ostap said unexpectedly. The old man chuckled 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 the provincial town where your profession will take you), you will feel bad. Your leg will be taken away. Hungry and unshaven, you will lie on a wooden trestle bed, and no one will come to you. Panikovsky, no one will pity you. You did not give birth to children out of economy, but you abandoned your wives. You will suffer for a whole week. Your agony will be terrible. You will die for a long time, and everyone will get tired of it. You are not quite dead yet, and the bureaucrat who runs the hotel will already write a letter to the public utilities department about issuing a free coffin ... What is your name and patronymic?
Mikhail Samuelevich, answered Panikovsky, amazed.
... on the issuance of a free coffin for citizen M. S. Panikovsky. However, there is no need for tears, you will still last two years. Now to business. We need to take care of the cultural and propaganda side of our campaign.
Ostap took his obstetrical bag out of the car and laid it on the grass.
My right hand, said grand schemer, patting the bag on the plump side of the sausage. Here is everything that an elegant citizen of my age and my scope could possibly need.
Bender crouched over the suitcase, like a wandering Chinese conjurer over his magic bag, and one by one began to take out various things. First, he took out a red armband on which was embroidered in gold the word Steward. Then a police cap with the coat of arms of the city of Kyiv lay down on the grass, four decks of cards with the same back, and a bundle of documents with round lilac seals.
The entire crew of the Antelope Wildebeest looked at the bag with respect. And from there, new items appeared.
You doves, said Ostap, of course, you will never understand that an honest Soviet pilgrim pilgrim like me cannot do without a doctor's coat.
In addition to the dressing gown, there was also a stethoscope in the bag.
I'm not a surgeon, Ostap noticed. I am a neurologist, I am a psychiatrist. I study the souls of my patients. And for some reason I always come across very stupid souls.
Then the following were brought into the light: an alphabet for the deaf and dumb, charity cards, enamel badges and a poster with a portrait of Bender himself in shalwars and a turban. The poster read:
The Priest has arrived
(Famous Bombay brahmin yogi) son of Krepysh
Favorite of Rabindranath Tagore Iokanaan Marusidze
(Honored Artist of the Union Republics) Numbers based on the experience of Sherlock Holmes. Indian fakir. The chicken is invisible. Candles from Atlantis. Hell tent. Prophet Samuel answers questions from the audience. Materialization of spirits and distribution of elephants. Entry tickets from 50 k. to 2 p.
A dirty, hand-caught turban appeared after the poster.
I use this fun very rarely, said Ostap. Imagine that the priest is most caught by such advanced people, as heads of railway clubs. The work is easy but opposite. I personally hate to be the favorite of Rabindranath Tagore. And the prophet Samuel is asked the same questions: “Why is there no animal oil for sale?” or "Are you a Jew?"
In the end, Ostap found what he was looking for: a tin lacquer box with honey paints in porcelain baths and two brushes.
The car at the head of the run should be decorated with at least one slogan, Ostap said.
And on a long strip of yellowish calico, taken from the same bag, he drew block letters brown lettering:
ROAD RIDE OFF-ROAD AND sloppiness!
The poster was fixed above the car on two twigs. As soon as the car started, the poster arched under the pressure of the wind and took on such a dashing look that there could be no more doubts about the need to bang the car race on impassability, sloppiness, and at the same time, maybe even bureaucracy. The passengers of the Antelope perked up. Balaganov put a cap on his red head, which he constantly carried in his pocket. Panikovsky turned the cuffs on the left side and released them from under the sleeves by two centimeters. Kozlevich cared more about the car than about himself. Before leaving, he washed it with water, and the sun began to play on the uneven sides of the Antelope. The commander himself squinted merrily and bullied his companions.
Left aboard the village! shouted Balaganov, putting his palm to his forehead. Shall we stop?
Behind us, said Ostap, there are five first-class cars. A date with them is not included in our plans. We need to quickly skim the cream. Therefore, I appoint a stop in the city of Udoev. There, by the way, a barrel of fuel should be waiting for us. Go, Kazimirovich.
Respond to greetings? Balaganov asked anxiously.
Respond with bows and smiles. Please don't open your mouth. You don't know what the hell you're talking about.
The village greeted the lead car cordially. But the usual hospitality here was rather strange. Apparently, the village community was informed that someone would pass, but they did not know who would pass and for what purpose. Therefore, just in case, all the sayings and mottos made over the past few years were extracted. Schoolchildren stood along the street with various old-fashioned posters: “Hello to the League of Time and its founder, dear comrade Kerzhentsev”, “We are not afraid of the bourgeois ringing, we will answer Curzon’s ultimatum”, “So that our children do not fade away, please organize a nursery”. In addition, there were many posters, executed mainly in Church Slavonic font, with the same greeting: “Welcome!”.
All this quickly swept past the travelers. This time they waved their hats confidently. Panikovsky could not resist and, despite the prohibition, jumped up and shouted out an indistinct, politically illiterate greeting. But behind the noise of the engine and the screams of the crowd, no one made out anything.
Hip, hip, hooray! shouted Ostap. Kozlevich opened the muffler, and the car emitted a plume of blue smoke, which caused the dogs running behind the car to sneeze.
How about gasoline? asked Ostap. Will it be enough for Udoev? We only have thirty kilometers to do. And there we will take away everything.
Should be enough, Kozlevich answered doubtfully.
Keep in mind, said Ostap, looking sternly at his army, I will not allow looting. No breaking the law. I will lead the parade. Panikovsky and Balaganov were embarrassed.
All that we need, Udoevites will give themselves. You will see it now. Prepare a place for bread and salt. Thirty kilometers "Antelope" ran for an hour and a half. The last kilometer Kozlevich was very fussy, gave in to the gas and ruefully turned his head. But all the efforts, as well as Balaganov's cries and urgings, came to nothing. The brilliant finish, conceived by Adam Kazimirovich, failed due to a lack of gasoline. The car shamefully stopped in the middle of the street, not having reached a hundred meters to the pulpit, killed with coniferous garlands in honor of brave motorists.
Those gathered with loud cries rushed to meet the “Loren Dietrich” who arrived from the mists of time. The thorns of glory immediately dug into the noble foreheads of the travelers. They were rudely dragged out of the car and rocked with such ferocity, as if they were drowned men and had to be brought back to life at all costs.
Kozlevich remained at the car, while everyone else was taken to the pulpit, where, according to the plan, a flying three-hour meeting was planned. A young man of the chauffeur type pushed his way to Ostap and asked:
How are the other cars?
We fell behind, Ostap answered indifferently. Punctures, breakdowns, enthusiasm of the population. All this delays.
Are you in the commander's car? The amateur driver did not lag behind. Kleptunov with you?
I removed Kleptunov from the run, said Ostap displeasedly.
And Professor Pesochnikov? On the Packard?
On a Packard.
And the writer Vera Kruts? inquired half-chauffeur.
I wish I could see her! On her and on Comrade Nezhinsky. Is he with you too?
You know, said Ostap, I am tired of the run.
Are you at Studebaker?
Excuse me, he exclaimed with youthful importunity, but there are no Lauren Dietrichs in the race! I read in the newspaper that there were two Packards, two Fiats and one Studebaker.
Go to hell with your Studebaker! yelled Ostap. Who is Studebaker? Is this your cousin Studebaker? Is your dad a Studebaker? What do you stick to a person? In Russian, they tell him that the "Studebaker" in last moment replaced by "Lauren Dietrich", and he fools his head! "Studebaker!"
The young man had long been pushed aside by the stewards, while Ostap waved his arms for a long time and muttered:
Connoisseurs! You need to kill such connoisseurs! Give him a Studebaker!
In his welcoming speech, the chairman of the commission for the meeting of the rally extended such a long chain of subordinate clauses that he could not get out of them for half an hour. All this time the commander of the run spent in great anxiety. From the height of the pulpit, he followed the suspicious actions of Balaganov and Panikovsky, who darted too animatedly in the crowd. Bender did scary eyes and in the end, with his signaling, he nailed the children of Lieutenant Schmidt to one place.
I am glad, comrades, Ostap said in his response speech, to break the patriarchal silence of the city of Udoev with a car siren. A car, comrades, is not a luxury, but a means of transportation. The iron horse is replacing the peasant horse. We will establish mass production of Soviet cars. Let's hit the rally on off-road and slovenliness. I'm done, comrades. After having a snack, we will continue our long journey.
While the crowd, immovably located around the pulpit, listened to the words of the commander, Kozlevich developed an extensive activity. He filled the tank with gasoline, which, as Ostap had said, turned out to be of the highest purity, shamelessly grabbed three large cans of fuel in reserve, changed the tubes and protectors on all four wheels, grabbed the pump and even the jack. With this, he completely devastated both the base and operational warehouses of the Udoevsky branch of Avtodor.
The road to Chernomorsk was provided with materials. There was, however, no money. But this did not bother the commander. The travelers had a wonderful lunch in Udoev.
You don't have to think about pocket money, said Ostap, they are lying on the road, and we will pick them up as needed.
Between ancient Udoev, founded in 794, and Chernomorsk, founded in 1794, lay a thousand years and a thousand kilometers of unpaved and highway roads.
During this thousand years, various figures appeared on the Udoev-Black Sea highway.
Traveling clerks moved along it with the goods of Byzantine trading firms. To meet them out of the buzzing forest came the Nightingale the Robber, a rude man in an astrakhan hat. He selected the goods, and brought the clerks to the expense. The conquerors with their retinues wandered along this road, peasants passed by, wanderers trudged along with songs.
The life of the country has changed with every century. Clothes changed, weapons improved, potato riots were pacified. People have learned to shave their beards. Flew first balloon. The iron twin steamboat and steam locomotive were invented. Cars blew up.
And the road remained the same as it was under the Nightingale the Robber.
Humpbacked, covered with volcanic mud or covered with dust, poisonous, like powder from bugs, the national road stretched past villages, towns, factories and collective farms, stretched a thousand-mile trap. On its sides, in the yellowing, defiled grasses, the skeletons of carts and tortured, dying cars lie.
Perhaps the emigrant, maddened by the sale of newspapers among the asphalt fields of Paris, remembers the Russian country road in charming detail. native landscape: a month sits in a puddle, crickets pray loudly and an empty bucket tied to a peasant cart tinkles.
But the moonlight has already been assigned another purpose. The moon will be able to shine perfectly on the tarmac. Car sirens and horns will replace the symphonic ringing of a peasant's pail. And crickets can be heard in special reserves; stands will be built there, and citizens trained introductory remarks some gray-haired cricket expert, they will be able to enjoy the singing of their favorite insects to the fullest.
Mikhail Samuelevich Panikovsky was a petty crook who worked as a pickpocket before the revolution (pretending to be blind, he asked people to take him across the road and robbed them). According to Panikovsky himself, a policeman named Nebaba helped him work (Panikovsky paid him 5 rubles a month).
After the revolution, Panikovsky decided to become the children of Lieutenant Schmidt, but, due to his grumpy and quarrelsome nature, he could not agree with other "children" and began to hunt on the site of Shura Balaganov. Due to inconsistency in actions (on that day he became the third son of Schmidt to turn to the chairman), he was beaten and thrown out.
Then he got burned stealing a goose and was picked up by Ostap Bender. There was not much sense from Panikovsky, but Bender, apparently, liked to command the old man and make fun of him. For his bad temper and drunkenness (drank away the money given to him for the case), Bender appointed him to the shameful position of a courier.
Panikovsky, thanks to the pettiness and earthiness of his thinking, could not realize the full depth of the plans of the great strategist and all the time scolded him (behind his eyes) and strove to deceive his comrades. He is well characterized by two scenes: the theft of weights, when he incited Balaganov to get the treasure himself and "throw" Bender, as well as the sharing of money taken from Koreiko, in which Panikovsky decided to deprive Kozlevich. good scene, embellishing the image of Panikovsky, turned out when he convinced Balaganov to let him dress as a blind man and pull money out of Koreiko's pocket.
Despite his shortcomings, Panikovsky was not quite bad person. A very strong scene in the film, when Bender took Koreiko's money for himself (in order to return it to an underground millionaire) and Panikovsky sobbed, begging to give him his share, makes the old man feel sorry. And the moment when the crooks failed and came with a plea for help to Kozlevich shows that Panikovsky is not alien to bright feelings.
"... Panikovsky wept, covering his face with his fists and whispering: What a heart! An honest, noble word! What a heart! .."
Panikovsky died shortly after the death of the Antelope. He stole a goose, ruining another Bender scam (he was going to give a performance in the village), and got a log on the ridge from his mistress. After a while, unable to bear hard way He fell and didn't get up again.
On his grave, Bender wrote an epitaph: "Here liesMikhail Samuelevich Panikovsky, a man without a passport.
Here is Bender's eulogy:
"I have often been unfair to the deceased. But was the deceased a moral person? No, he was not a moral person. It was a former blind man, an impostor and a goose thief. He put all his strength into living at the expense of society. But society did not want him to live at his expense. And Mikhail Samuelevich could not endure this contradiction in his views, because he had a quick temper. And so he died. All."
Quotes
Panikovsky, who generally did not like large concentrations of honest people in one place, cautiously squatted down on his haunches, so that only the dirty straw roof of his hat appeared to the eyes of the villagers.
Panikovsky unbuttoned his jacket and scratched his bare chest under his dirty silk tie.
Give me my money," he lisped, "I'm quite poor. I haven't been in a bath for a year. I am old. Girls don't like me.
You are a miserable, worthless person!
Do you know, Bender, how I catch a goose? I kill him like a bullfighter - with one blow! It's opera when I go goose! "Carmen"!
I will outlive you all. You don't know Panikovsky. Panikovsky will sell you all, buy you and sell you again, but at a higher price.
Ostap Ibrahimovic, when will we share our money?
Who is Kozlevich?! I don't know any Kozlevich!
You know, Shura, - Panikovsky whispered, - I respect Bender very much, but I must tell you: Bender is an ass! By God, you pathetic, insignificant person!
Pay for the kefir, Shura, then we'll settle.
Saw, Shura, saw, they are golden.
Shura, I'll put in my gold teeth and get married, by God I'll get married, honest, noble word!
Go to Kyiv, Shura, and that's it!
You can immediately see a person from an early time! There aren't any now and there won't be any soon!
Well, not the whole hill, - the greedy Panikovsky insisted, - at least half! I finally family man I have two families!
I won't do it again! Panikovsky pleaded. - I'm nervous!
Panikovsky is being beaten! shouted Balaganov, appearing picturesquely at the door.
- Already? Bender asked matter-of-factly. - Something very fast.
P.S. The character of Panikovsky gained great popularity largely due to the acting talent of Zinovy Gerdt.
Chapter Four
Wildebeest
The green box with the four crooks raced along the smoky road. The machine was subjected to the pressure of the same forces of the elements, which are experienced by a swimmer swimming in stormy weather. She was suddenly knocked down by a swooping bump, pulled into the pits, thrown from side to side and covered with red sunset dust.
Between the ancient Arbatov, founded in 798, and Odessa, founded in 1798, lay - a thousand years and fifteen hundred kilometers of a dirt road. During this thousand years, various figures appeared on the country highway Arbatov-Black Sea. At first, traveling clerks with goods from Byzantine trading firms moved along it. To meet them out of the buzzing forest came the Nightingale the Robber, a rude man in a bear's hat. He took away the goods, and sold the clerks to the barbarians. The conquerors with their retinues walked along this road, peasants passed by, wanderers wandered with songs.
The life of the country has changed with every century. Clothes changed, weapons improved. People learned how to build stone houses, began to print books, shave their beards. The first balloon took off. Iron twins were invented - a steamboat and a steam locomotive, motor vehicles blared.
And the road remained the same as it was under the Nightingale the Robber.
Humpbacked, covered with volcanic mud or covered with dust, poisonous, like powder from bugs, the domestic road stretched past villages, cities, factories, farms and collective farms, stretched a thousand-mile trap. On either side of it, skeletons of carts and tortured resting cars come across in yellowing defiled grasses.
Perhaps an emigrant, maddened by the sale of newspapers among the asphalt fields of Berlin, recalls the Russian country road with a charming detail of his native landscape: a moon sits in a dark puddle, crickets pray loudly and an empty bucket tied to a peasant cart tinkles.
But all this is lunar nonsense, lyrical tatters, a storm in a glass of boiled water. The moon will be able to shine perfectly on the tarmac. Car sirens and horns will replace the symphonic ringing of a peasant's pail. And crickets can be heard in special reserves; stands will be built there, and the citizens, prepared by the opening speech of some gray-haired cricket expert, will be able to enjoy the singing of their favorite insects to their fullest.
“Listen, graduate student,” Ostap turned to the new passenger, who had already recovered from the recent shock and was sitting carelessly next to the commander, “the entourage told me that your last name was Panikovsky. Is it so?
“Let’s say,” Panikovsky replied.
- In addition, I myself watched how the Arbatovites were chasing you, from whom you took the goose.
"Pitiful, worthless people," Panikovsky muttered angrily.
“They, in your opinion, are pitiful and worthless,” said Ostap, “but you obviously consider yourself a gentleman?” So. If you, like a true gentleman, take it into your head to make notes on your cuffs, you will have to write with chalk.
- Why? Panikovsky asked irritably.
Because they are completely black. Apparently from dirt.
“You pitiful, worthless man! – quickly said Panikovsky.
It was a rash assessment of the situation. Ostap, without raising his voice, demanded that they stop the car and allowed Balaganov to throw the violator of the convention out of it. Shurka Balaganov fulfilled the order with visible pleasure.
“Go back to Arbatov,” Ostap said dryly, “there the owners of the goose are impatiently waiting for you. We don't need rude people. We ourselves are rude. Let's go!
- I won't do it again! Panikovsky pleaded. - I'm nervous!
“Get on your knees,” said Ostap.
Panikovsky sank down on his knees so hastily, as if his legs had been cut off. While the dust agitated by him was slowly falling on the thief of the goose, Ostap arranged a short meeting. They decided to take Panikovsky on probation, until the first violation of discipline, and transfer the duties of servants to him for everything.
The wildebeest accepted the resigned brute and rolled on, swaying like a funeral chariot.
Half an hour later, the car turned onto the large Novozaitsevsky tract and, without slowing down, drove into a village that had suddenly risen from behind a hillock. Near the log house, on the roof of which grew a gnarled and crooked radio mast, people were crowding. Seeing the car, people cheered and waved their hats. A man without a beard stepped out of the crowd. In his hand he held a piece of paper.
Passing through the crowd, Antelope slowed down.
- Comrades! shouted the beardless man. - The iron horse is replacing the peasant horse. Let me welcome...
He apparently prepared a speech, but, noticing that the car did not stop, did not begin to spread.
- Everyone to Avtodor! he said hurriedly, looking affectionately at Ostap, who had caught up with him. - We will establish mass production of Soviet cars.
And already in pursuit of the departing car, covering the welcoming rumble of the crowd, he laid out the last slogan:
- A car is not a luxury, but a means of transportation.
The crooks were somewhat uneasy about the red carpet. Understanding nothing, they twirled in the car like sparrows in a nest. Panikovsky, who generally did not like large concentrations of honest people in one place, cautiously squatted down on his haunches, so that only the dirty straw roof of his hat appeared to the eyes of the villagers. But Ostap was not at all embarrassed. He took off his cap with a white top and answered the greetings with a proud inclination of his head first to the right, then to the left.
- Improve roads! he shouted goodbye. - Mercy for the welcome!
And the car again found itself among the quiet twilight fields.
“They won’t follow us?” Panikovsky asked anxiously.
- How! Did you manage to grab something from them? Ostap asked.
“Jokes aside,” said Panikovsky, “what happened?” Why crowd?
Why the crowd? Balaganov mimicked. People have never seen a car. Sure thing!
“The exchange of impressions continues,” Bender noted, “the word is up to the driver of the car. What is your opinion, Adam Kazimirovich?
The driver thought, frightened the dog that had run out into the road with the sounds of a matchish, and suggested that the crowd had gathered on the occasion of a temple festival. Holidays of this kind, - explained the driver of Antelope, - are often among the villagers.
“Yes,” said Ostap. “Now I clearly see that I have fallen into a society of uncultured people. I'm starting to think none of you have a college degree. In any case, you don't read newspapers. Meanwhile, newspapers need to be read. Except general development, newspapers often give citizens ideas!
Ostap took Izvestia out of his pocket.
- Listen to what the official organ writes!
And Bender read to the crew of the Antelope a note about the Moscow-Samara-Moscow automobile mileage.
“Now,” Ostap said smugly, “we are on the rally line, about a hundred and fifty kilometers ahead of the lead car. I guess you already guessed what I'm talking about?
The lower ranks of Antelope were silent. Panikovsky unbuttoned his jacket and scratched his chest under the lizard-colored tie.
"So you don't understand?" As you can see, in some cases even reading newspapers does not help. Well, well, although it is not in my rules, I will speak in more detail. First, the peasants mistook Antelope for the lead car of the rally. Secondly, we do not refuse this title. Thirdly, moreover, we will appeal to all institutions and individuals with a request to provide us with appropriate assistance, hinting precisely at the fact that we are the head machine. Fourth ... However, three points is enough for you. It is quite clear that for some time we will stay ahead of the rally, skimming foam, cream and similar sour cream from this highly cultured undertaking.
Bender's message made a huge impression. The Tsarevich cast devoted glances at the commander. Balaganov rubbed his red curls with his palms and burst into laughter. Panikovsky, in anticipation of a safe profit, shouted cheers.
- Well, enough emotions! Ostap said. - In view of the onset of darkness, I declare the evening open. I declare a halt!
The inexperienced Panikovsky built such a large fire that it seemed as if the whole village was on fire. Fire, puffing, rushed in all directions. While the travelers were struggling with the pillar of fire, Panikovsky, crouching, ran into the field and returned, holding a thick crooked cucumber in his hand. Ostap quickly pulled it out of Panikovsky's hands, saying:
- Do not make a cult out of food!
After that, he ate the cucumber himself. They dined with sausage, seized from the house by the prudent Tsarevich. They looked at the stars and talked sleepily about tomorrow.
A dark pink dawn brought the Antelope's crew to their feet.
“A day like today,” Ostap said to the Tsesarevich, “your mechanical trough has never seen and will never see. We must prepare properly.
Balaganov grabbed a cylindrical bucket with the inscription "Arbatovsky maternity hospital" and ran to the river for water. Adam Kazimirovich lifted the hood of the car and, whistling, put his hands into the engine. Panikovsky leaned his back on the car wheel and, sullen, looked unblinkingly at the cranberry sunny segment that appeared over the horizon. Panikovsky turned out to have a wrinkled face with many senile trifles: pouches, pulsating veins, strawberry blushes. Such a face is acceptable in a person who has lived a long decent life, has adult children and drinks acorn coffee in the morning.
- Tell you, Panikovsky, how will you die? Ostap said unexpectedly.
The old man chuckled 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 the provincial town where your profession will take you), you will feel bad. Your leg will be taken away. Hungry and unshaven, you will lie on the boards of the bed. And no one will come to you, Panikovsky, no one will pity you. You probably did not give birth to children from the economy. And the wives were abandoned. Because you seem to be nervous. You will suffer for a whole week. Your agony will be terrible. You will die for a long time, and everyone will get tired of it. You are not quite dead yet, and the bureaucrat - the head of the hotel - will already write a letter to the public utilities department about issuing a free coffin ... What is your name and patronymic?
“Mikhail Moiseevich,” Panikovsky, dumbfounded, answered.
- ... a free coffin for gr. M.M. Panikovsky. Moreover, you will still stretch for two years. Now - to business. We need to take care of the cultural side of our campaign.
Ostap took his obstetrical bag out of the car and laid it on the grass.
- My right hand, - said Ostap, patting him on the plump side of the sausage. “This is everything a smart man of my age and my stature could possibly need.
Bender crouched over the suitcase, like a wandering Chinese conjurer over his magic bag, and one by one began to take out various things. First, he took out a red armband, on which was embroidered in gold the word "steward." Then an engineer's cap with hammers lay down on the grass, four decks of cards with the same blue back, and a stack of documents with round lilac seals.
The entire crew of the Wildebeest looked at the bag with respect. And from there, new items appeared.
“You pigeons,” Ostap said, “of course, you will never understand that an honest Soviet pilgrim pilgrim like me cannot do without a doctor's coat.
In addition to the dressing gown, there was also a stethoscope in the bag.
“I'm not a surgeon,” Ostap remarked, “I'm a neuropathologist, I'm a psychiatrist. I study the souls of my patients. And for some reason I always come across very stupid patients.
Then, the alphabet for the deaf and dumb, charity cards, enamel badges and a poster with a portrait of Bender himself in shalvars and a turban were brought to light. The poster read:
THE PRIEST HAS ARRIVED!!!
famous Bombay brahmin (yogi)
- son of Parva -
Iokanaan Marusidze
(Honored Artist of the Union Republics)
Rooms based on the experience of Sherlock Holmes.
Indian fakir. - Invisible chicken. -
Candles from Atlantis. - Hell tent. -
Prophet Samuel answers questions from the audience. -
Materialization of spirits and distribution of elephants
Entrance tickets from 50 k. to 2 p.
A dirty, hand-caught turban appeared after the poster.
“I use this entertainment very rarely,” said Ostap. “Imagine that such advanced people as the heads of railway clubs are most caught on the priest. The work is easy, but annoying. I personally hate to be the favorite of Rabindranath Tagore. And the prophet Samuel is asked the same questions: “Why is there no animal oil 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 baths and two brushes borrowed from some railway club. Ostap said:
- The car that goes in the head of the run must be decorated with at least one slogan.
And on a long strip of yellowish calico, taken from the same bag, Ostap wrote in block letters a brown inscription:
Off-road rally and slovenliness!
The poster was fixed above the car on two twigs. As soon as the car started, the poster arched under the pressure of the wind and took on such a dashing look that there could be no more doubts about the need to bang the car race on impassability, sloppiness, and at the same time, maybe even bureaucracy. The Antelope's passengers perked up. Balaganov pulled a cap over his red head, which he constantly carried in his pocket. Panikovsky turned the cuffs on the left side and released them from under the sleeves by two centimeters. The Tsarevich cared more about the car than about himself. Before leaving, he washed it with water, and the sun began to play on the uneven sides of the Antelope. The commander himself squinted merrily and bullied his companions.
- To the left on the nose - the village! shouted Balaganov, putting his palm to his forehead. - Shall we stop?
“Behind us,” said Ostap, “there are five first-class cars. A date with them is not included in our plans. We need to quickly skim the cream. Therefore, I appoint a stop in the city of Udoev. There, by the way, a barrel of fuel should be waiting for us. Go, Kazimirovich!
- Answer greetings? Balaganov asked anxiously.
- Respond with bows and smiles. I ask you not to open your mouth. You don't know what the hell you're talking about.
The village greeted the lead car cordially. But the usual hospitality was rather strange. Apparently, the village community received the news that someone would pass, but they did not know who would pass and for what purpose. Therefore, just in case, all the sayings and mottos made over the past few years were extracted. Schoolchildren stood along the street with various old-fashioned posters: "Hello to the League of Time and its founder, dear comrade Kerzhentsev", "We are not afraid of the bourgeois ringing, we will answer Curzon's ultimatum", "Let's expose the Genoese peacekeepers", "Washcloths and soap are dear to the peasant." In addition, there were many posters executed mainly in Church Slavonic font with the same greeting: “Welcome!”.
All this quickly swept past the travelers. This time they waved their hats confidently. Panikovsky could not resist and, despite the prohibition, jumped up and shouted out an indistinct politically illiterate greeting. But behind the noise of the engine and the screams of the crowd, no one made out anything.
– Forward and higher! - ordered Ostap.
The Tsesarevich opened the muffler, and the car released a plume of blue smoke, from which the dogs running behind the car sneezed.
- How about gasoline? Ostap asked. - Enough for Udoev? We only have thirty kilometers to do. And then we'll take everything.
“That should be enough,” the Tsarevich answered doubtfully.
“Keep in mind,” said Ostap, looking sternly at his army, “I will not allow looting. No breaking the law!
Panikovsky and Balaganov were embarrassed.
“Everything we need, the Udoevites will give us themselves. You will see it now.
Antelope ran thirty kilometers in an hour and a half. The last kilometer, the Tsesarevich was very fussy, stepped on the gas and ruefully turned his head. But all these efforts, as well as Balaganov's shouting and prodding, came to nothing. The brilliant finish, conceived by Adam Kazimirovich, failed due to a lack of gasoline. The car shamefully stopped in the middle of the street, less than a hundred meters from the spruce pulpit, entwined with coniferous garlands in honor of the winners of space.
Nevertheless, the audience thundered cheers and rushed to meet the Loren-Dietrich, who had arrived from the mists of time. They were rudely pulled out of the car and rocked with such ferocity, as if they were drowned men and they had to be brought back to life at all costs.
The Tsarevich remained at the car, and everyone else was taken to the pulpit, where, according to the plan, a flying three-hour rally was planned. A man with the appearance of a driver squeezed his way to Ostap and asked:
How are the other cars?
“We fell behind,” Ostap replied indifferently. - Punctures, breakdowns, the enthusiasm of the population. All this delays.
- Are you in the commander's car? - the amateur driver did not lag behind. - Is Kleptunov with you?
“I removed Kleptunov from the run,” said Ostap displeasedly.
“And Professor Twoptych?” On the Packard?
- On the Packard.
– And the writer Vera Kruts? the half-driver inquired. - I'd like to see her. On her and on Khvorobiev. Is he with you too?
"You know," said Ostap, "I'm tired of the run...
- Are you at the Studebaker?
But the amateur driver was not satisfied.
“Excuse me,” he exclaimed with youthful importunity, “but there are no Lauren-Dietrichs in the run.” I read in the paper that there were two Packards, two Fiats and one Studebaker.
“Go to hell with your Studebaker!” shouted Ostap. Who is Studebaker? Is this your relative, Studebaker? Is your dad a Studebaker? Why are you clinging to a person?! They tell him in Russian that Studebaker was replaced by Lauren-Dietrich at the last moment, and he fools around. Studebaker! Studebaker!
The young man had long been pushed aside by the stewards, while Ostap waved his arms for a long time and muttered:
- Connoisseurs! You need to kill such connoisseurs! Give him a Studebaker!
He did this in order to get rid of dangerous questions once and for all.
The chairman of the commission for the meeting of the motor rally held out such a long chain in his welcoming speech subordinate clauses that he could not get out of them for half an hour. All this time the commander of the run spent in great anxiety. From the height of the pulpit, he followed the suspicious actions of Balaganov and Panikovsky, who darted too animatedly in the crowd. Bender made scary eyes and eventually nailed them to one place with his alarm.
“I am glad, comrades,” Ostap declared in his response speech, “to break the patriarchal silence of the city of Udoev with a car siren. A car, comrades, is not a luxury, but a means of transportation. The iron horse is replacing the peasant cart. We will establish mass production of Soviet cars. Let's hit the rally on off-road and slovenliness. I'm done, comrades. After having a snack, we will continue our long journey!
While the crowd, immovably located around the pulpit, listened to the words of the commander, the Tsesarevich developed an extensive activity. He filled the tank with gasoline, which, as Ostap had said, turned out to be of the highest purity, shamelessly grabbed three large cans of fuel in reserve, changed the tubes and protectors on all four wheels, grabbed the pump and even the jack. With this, he completely devastated both the base and operational warehouses of the Udoevsky branch of Avtodor.
The road to Odessa was provided with materials. There was, however, no money. But this did not bother the commander. In Udoev, the travelers had a wonderful lunch, and, in fact, the money was not yet needed.
“There is no need to think about pocket money,” said Ostap, “they are lying on the road, and we will pick them up as needed.
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