The Twelve Chairs / Двенадцать стульев. Книга для чтения на английском языке

В«Who did you sell the chair to?В» asked Ostap in a ringing whisper.

Pasha Emilevich, who had supernatural understanding, realized at this point he was about to be beaten, if not kicked.

В«To a second-hand dealerВ».

В«What's his address?В»

В«I'd never seen him beforeВ».

В«Never?В»

В«No, honestlyВ».

В«I ought to bust you in the mouthВ», said Ostap dreamily, В«only Zarathustra wouldn't allow it. Get to hell out of here!В»

Pasha Emilevich grinned fawningly and began walking away.

В«Come back, you abortionВ», cried Ostap haughtily.

В«What was the dealer like?В»

Pasha Emilevich described him in detail, while Ostap listened carefully. The interview was concluded by Ostap with the words: В«This clearly has nothing to do with fire precautionsВ».

In the corridor the bashful Alchen went up to Ostap and gave him a gold piece.

В«That comes under Article 114 of the Criminal CodeВ», said Ostap. В«Bribing officials in the course of their dutyВ».

Nevertheless he took the money and, without saying goodbye, went towards the door.

The door, which was fitted with a powerful contraption, opened with an effort and gave Ostap a one-and-a-half-ton shove in the backside.

В«Good shot!В» said Ostap, rubbing the affected part. В«The hearing is continuedВ».

Chapter Nine. Where Are Your Curls?

While Ostap was inspecting the pensioners' home, Ippolit Matveyevich had left the caretaker's room and was wandering along the streets of his home town, feeling the chill on his shaven head.

Along the road trickled clear spring water. There was a constant splashing and plopping as diamond drops dripped from the rooftops. Sparrows hunted for manure, and the sun rested on the roofs. Golden carthorses drummed their hoofs against the bare road and, turning their ears downward, listened with pleasure to their own sound. On the damp telegraph poles the wet advertisements, В«I teach the guitar by the number systemВ» and В«Social-science lessons for those preparing for the People's ConservatoryВ», were all wrinkled up, and the letters had run.

A platoon of Red Army soldiers in winter helmets crossed a puddle that began at the Stargorod cooperative shop and stretched as far as the province planning administration, the pediment of which was crowned with plaster tigers, figures of victory and cobras.

Ippolit Matveyevich walked along, looking with interest at the people passing him in both directions.