Diaboliad   ::   Булгаков Михаил Афанасьевич

«Oh,my goodness, what now?» thought Korotkov miserably. He obeyed, with a deep sigh. The six remaining ones whispered excitedly behind their backs.

Leading Korotkov into the semi-darkness of the empty corridor, the brunette said:

«You are awful. I didn't sleep all night because of you and I've made up my mind. You can have your way. Take me, body and soul!»

Korotkov took one look at the huge eyes in the swarthy face that smelt of lilies-of-the-valley, uttered a guttural cry and said nothing. The brunette threw back her head, bared her teeth with a martyr-like air, seized Korotkov's arm and pulled him to her, whispering:

«Why don't you say something, my seducer? You have conquered me with your courage, my serpent. Kiss me quick, while there's no one from the control commission around.»

Another strange sound emerged from Korotkov's mouth. He reeled, felt something sweet and soft on his lips and saw two large pupils right next to his eyes.

«Take me, body and soul.» The words were whispered right by Korotkov's mouth.

«I can't,» he replied hoarsely. «My documents have been stolen.»

«Now then,» came from behind.

Korotkov looked round and saw the glossy old man. «Ah!» cried the brunette, covering her face with her hands, and ran off through the door.

«Нее,» said the old man. «Hello there. You keep turning up everywhere, Comrade Kolobkov. Real ladies' man, you are. You can kiss as much as you like, but it won't get you an expenses-paid business trip. This old man has been given one though, and I'm off. So there.» So saying he cocked a snook at Korotkov. «But I'll tell on you alright,» he went on spitefully. «That I will. You've had three of 'em down in the main section, and now you've started on the sub-sections. You don't give a damn if those little angels are crying their eyes out, do you? They're sorry now, poor lasses, but it's too late. You can't bring back a maiden's honour. That you can't. You can't.»

The old man pulled out a large handkerchief with orange flowers, started to cry and blew his nose.

«So you want to deprive an old man of his tiny travelling allowance, eh, Mr. Kolobkov? Alright then.» The old man started shaking and sobbing and dropped his briefcase.

«Take it. Let a non-Party, fellow-travelling old man starve to death. Go on. That's all he's good for, the old cur. Only remember this, Mr. Kolobkov.» The old man's voice grew prophetically ominous and rang out like a bell. «They will do you no good, those satanic shekels. They'll stick in your throat.