Одноэтажная Америка / Little Golden America

What else can one ask in an automobile? Free cakes? – as Mayakovsky used to say. There are no such wonders in the world! We bought it at once.

We fell in love with our new car, and when all the arrangements were over, when we received the documents entitling us to the possession of the machine, when it already had its yellow number 30-99-74, and the inscription “New York,” and was insured against the possibility of our running into anyone, and also against the possibility of someone running into us, when for the first time we drove with our own machine through New York and Mrs.

Adams sat at the wheel, while Mr. Adams himself sat beside her – we were very proud and did not understand why the great city did not say anything about it. To make us feel good, old man Adams said that in all his life he had never, never seen a better, more comfortable, and easier riding, and more economical, automobile than ours.

“Yes, it is remarkably comfortable, and it is easy to drive. You were very fortunate that you bought this and no other automobile,” Mrs.

Adams confirmed.

We, too, were puffed up with satisfaction at having managed to pick out the very best automobile out of the twenty-five million automobiles in America.

We spent the last night with the Adamses.

We decided to rise as early as possible and drive off while poor Baby was still asleep. But we failed in that. The little girl discovered us in the act of moving suitcases. It was pitiful to look at the Adamses. With lying voices they assured Baby that they would return in an hour.

The Negress wept. We felt that we were utter scoundrels.

The machine glided over the damp asphalt of Central Park West. The speedometer began to register miles. We started on our long trek.

Part II. Through the eastern states

10.В On the Automobile Highway

THE PROUD towers of New York were behind us. Framed in stainless steel, the facets of the Empire State Building shone in the morning murkiness hovering over the gigantic city.

A thin mist enveloped the summits of Radio City, Chrysler, Woolworth, and other skyscrapers, named and unnamed. Now we were driving through a lively and unpretentious suburb.

Muddy water ran over the pavement, which was lined with parallel strips. The green iron trestle of the elevated railway slit the street lengthwise at the height of the fifth story. The high-strung people of New York raced in their automobiles on their sundry errands.