Одноэтажная Америка / Little Golden America

From the windows of the Adams apartment could be seen the denuded trees of Central Park and from the Zoological Garden came the hoarse cries of parrots in imitation of automobile horns.

“Then leave her with your friends,” we continued.

Husband and wife became thoughtful. At this point everything was spoiled by the baby herself entering the room in a night-suit with a Mickey Mouse embroidered on the chest. She came to say good-night before going to bed. With groans the parents ran to their little daughter.

They embraced her, kissed her, and each time turned to us. Now you could read the same thing in the glances of both of them:

“What? To exchange this beautiful little daughter of ours for these two foreigners? Never!”

The appearance of the baby threw us back to where we had started. We had to begin all over again. So we launched new attacks.

“What a fine baby! How old is she? Is she really only two years old? Why, she looks as if she were eight! What an amazingly independent child! You should really give her more freedom! Don’t you think that the constant care of parents retards the development of a child?”

“Yes, yes, gentlemen!” said the happy father, pressing the child to his stomach.

“You are only joking!”

When the child was put to bed we talked for about five minutes of [his and that, for the sake of appearances, and then we again began to press our suit.

We proposed a number of things about the baby, but not one of them was suitable.

In utter despair we suddenly said, as if remarking, idly:

“Don’t you know some respectable lady who could live with the baby during our absence?”

There was, it seemed, such a lady. We began to develop the idea, when Mr. Adams rose suddenly. The lenses of his spectacles began to gleam. He grew serious.

“Gentlemen, we need two days to decide this question.”

For two days we wandered around New York, annoying each other with questions as to what might happen in case the Adamses refused to go on the journey with us.

Where will we then find our ideal creature? And we spent a long time in front of stores that sold things for the road. Scotch cloth bags with zippers, rucksacks of sailcloth, soft leather suitcases, plaids, and thermos bottles – everything reminded one of a journey and lured one to start on it.

Exactly at the appointed hour, Mr. Adams appeared in our hotel room. He was unrecognizable. He was solemn and deliberate.