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Diaboliad :: Булгаков Михаил Афанасьевич
Страница: 23 из 30» And the old man burstinto heavy sobs.
Korotkov was gripped by hysteria. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly for himself, he began stamping his feet.
«To hell with you!» he shouted shrilly and his sick voice echoed round the vaults. «I'm not Kolobkov. Leave me alone! I'm not Kolobkov. And I'm not going anywhere!»
He tore at his collar.
The old man dried up at once and began quaking with fear.
«Next one!» someone barked behind the door. Korotkov paused and rushed inside. He turned left, past some typewriters, and found himself in front of a well-built elegant blond-haired man in a blue suit. Blondy nodded to Korotkov and said:
«Make it snappy, Comrade. No beating about the bush. What's it to be? Poltava or Irkutsk?
«My documents have been stolen,» the confused Korotkov replied, looking round wildly. «Then a cat turned up. It's not fair. I've never been in a fight in my life. It was the matches. I shouldn't be victimised. I don't care if he's Longjohn. My documents have…»
«That's rubbish,» replied Blondy. «We'll provide the uniform, shirts and sheets. Even a second-hand sheepskin jacket, if it's Irkutsk. Make it snappy.»
He turned a key musically in a lock, pulled out a drawer, looked inside it and said:
«Alright, Sergei Nikolayevich.»
Out of the ash-wood drawer peeped a well-combed flaxen-haired head with darting blue eyes. After it curved a snake-like neck in a crackling starched collar, then a jacket, arms and trousers, and a second later a whole secretary crawled onto the red baize squeaking «Good morning.» Shaking himself like a dog after a swim, he jumped down, turned back his cuffs, pulled a fountain pen out of his pocket and began scribbling.
Korotkov recoiled, stretched out a hand and said plaintively to Blondy:
«Look, look, he climbed out of the desk. What's going on?»
«Of course, he did,» Blondy replied. «He can't stay in there all day, can he? It's time. Tempus. Time-keeping.»
«But how? How?» rang Korotkov.
«For heaven's sake,» Blondy snapped. «Don't waste my time, Comrade.»
The brunette's head looked round the door and shouted excitedly and joyfully:
«I've already sent his documents to Poltava. And I'm going with him. I've got an aunt in Poltava at 43 degrees latitude and five longitude.»
«That's splendid,» Blondy replied. «I'm sick of all this shilly-shallying.»
«I refuse!» shouted Korotkov, with a wandering expression. «I'll have to take her, body and soul, and I couldn't stand that.
Korotkov was gripped by hysteria. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly for himself, he began stamping his feet.
«To hell with you!» he shouted shrilly and his sick voice echoed round the vaults. «I'm not Kolobkov. Leave me alone! I'm not Kolobkov. And I'm not going anywhere!»
He tore at his collar.
The old man dried up at once and began quaking with fear.
«Next one!» someone barked behind the door. Korotkov paused and rushed inside. He turned left, past some typewriters, and found himself in front of a well-built elegant blond-haired man in a blue suit. Blondy nodded to Korotkov and said:
«Make it snappy, Comrade. No beating about the bush. What's it to be? Poltava or Irkutsk?
«My documents have been stolen,» the confused Korotkov replied, looking round wildly. «Then a cat turned up. It's not fair. I've never been in a fight in my life. It was the matches. I shouldn't be victimised. I don't care if he's Longjohn. My documents have…»
«That's rubbish,» replied Blondy. «We'll provide the uniform, shirts and sheets. Even a second-hand sheepskin jacket, if it's Irkutsk. Make it snappy.»
He turned a key musically in a lock, pulled out a drawer, looked inside it and said:
«Alright, Sergei Nikolayevich.»
Out of the ash-wood drawer peeped a well-combed flaxen-haired head with darting blue eyes. After it curved a snake-like neck in a crackling starched collar, then a jacket, arms and trousers, and a second later a whole secretary crawled onto the red baize squeaking «Good morning.» Shaking himself like a dog after a swim, he jumped down, turned back his cuffs, pulled a fountain pen out of his pocket and began scribbling.
Korotkov recoiled, stretched out a hand and said plaintively to Blondy:
«Look, look, he climbed out of the desk. What's going on?»
«Of course, he did,» Blondy replied. «He can't stay in there all day, can he? It's time. Tempus. Time-keeping.»
«But how? How?» rang Korotkov.
«For heaven's sake,» Blondy snapped. «Don't waste my time, Comrade.»
The brunette's head looked round the door and shouted excitedly and joyfully:
«I've already sent his documents to Poltava. And I'm going with him. I've got an aunt in Poltava at 43 degrees latitude and five longitude.»
«That's splendid,» Blondy replied. «I'm sick of all this shilly-shallying.»
«I refuse!» shouted Korotkov, with a wandering expression. «I'll have to take her, body and soul, and I couldn't stand that.