JК
Diaboliad :: Булгаков Михаил Афанасьевич
Страница: 10 из 30Hurry up and catch him.» Korotkov galloped across the hall of columns in the direction in which the small white hand with shiny red nails was pointing. On the other side he found himself on a narrow, darkish landing by the open jaws of a lift with the light on. Korotkov's heart sank into his shoes. He'd caught him up. The square blanketed back and shiny black briefcase were passing into the gaping jaws. «Comrade Longjohn!» Korotkov shouted and stiffened with horror. Green circles started hopping about on the landing. Bars slid over the glass door, the lift moved, and the square back turned round, changing into a powerful chest. Korotkov recognised everything: the grey jacket, the cap, the briefcase and the currant eyes. It was Longjohn alright, but Longjohn with a long Assyrian-goffered beard down to his chest. The thought immediately flashed through Korotkov's mind: «He must have grown a beard while he was riding the motor-cycle and running up the stairs — but that's impossible!» This was followed by a second thought: «It's a false beard — but that's ridiculous!»
Meanwhile Longjohn began to descend into the caged abyss. First his legs disappeared, then his stomach and beard, and last of all his eyes and mouth shouting some words in a pleasant tenor:
«Too late, Comrade, next Friday.»
«The voice is false too.» The thought shot through Korotkov's skull. For a second or two his head burned painfully, but then, remembering that no black magic should deter him and that to stop would mean disaster, Korotkov advanced towards the lift. Through the bars he saw a roof rising on a cable. A languid beauty with glittering stones in her hair came out from behind a pipe, touched Korotkov's arm gently and asked him:
«Have you got heart trouble, Comrade?»
«Oh, no, Comrade,» gasped the stupefied Korotkov and strode towards the cage. «Don't detain me.»
«Then go to Ivan Finogenovich, Comrade,» the beauty said sadly, blocking his way to the lift.
«I don't want to!» exclaimed Korotkov tearfully. «Comrade, I'm in a hurry. Please don't.»
But the woman remained sadly adamant.
«I can't do anything, you know that,» she said, holding Korotkov's arm. The lift stopped, spat out a man with a briefcase, pulled the bars over its face and went down again.
«Let me go!» yelped Korotkov, wrenching his hand away with a curse and dashing down the stairs.
Meanwhile Longjohn began to descend into the caged abyss. First his legs disappeared, then his stomach and beard, and last of all his eyes and mouth shouting some words in a pleasant tenor:
«Too late, Comrade, next Friday.»
«The voice is false too.» The thought shot through Korotkov's skull. For a second or two his head burned painfully, but then, remembering that no black magic should deter him and that to stop would mean disaster, Korotkov advanced towards the lift. Through the bars he saw a roof rising on a cable. A languid beauty with glittering stones in her hair came out from behind a pipe, touched Korotkov's arm gently and asked him:
«Have you got heart trouble, Comrade?»
«Oh, no, Comrade,» gasped the stupefied Korotkov and strode towards the cage. «Don't detain me.»
«Then go to Ivan Finogenovich, Comrade,» the beauty said sadly, blocking his way to the lift.
«I don't want to!» exclaimed Korotkov tearfully. «Comrade, I'm in a hurry. Please don't.»
But the woman remained sadly adamant.
«I can't do anything, you know that,» she said, holding Korotkov's arm. The lift stopped, spat out a man with a briefcase, pulled the bars over its face and went down again.
«Let me go!» yelped Korotkov, wrenching his hand away with a curse and dashing down the stairs.