en he and I have never made it up. I lived alone and granted admittance only to those who came to me for advice. But there were many of these and it turned out that I knew peace neither by day nor by night. Sometimes I would get so tired that I would lie down on the floor and rest. I would lie on the floor until I got cold; then I would jump up and start running round the room, to warm up. Then I would again sit down on the bench and give advice to all in need of it. They would come in to me one after the other, sometimes not even opening the doors. I used to enjoy looking at their excruciating faces. I would talk to them, hardly able to stop myself laughing. Once I couldn't contain myself and burst out laughing. They rushed in horror to escape -- some through the door, some through the window, and some straight through the walls. Left on my own, I drew myself up to my full majestic height, opened my mouth and said: -- Prin tim pram. But at this point something in me cracked and, since then, you might consider that I am no more. 1936-38 -------- Comprehensive Research YERMOLAYEV I have been at Blinov's and he gave me a demonstration of his strength. I've never seen anything like it. The strength of a wild animal! It was awful to behold. Blinov lifted up a writing table, swung it about and tossed it all of four metres away from him. DOCTOR It would be interesting to research this phenomenon. Such facts are known to science, but the reasons for it are not understood. Where such muscular strength comes from, scientists are not yet able to say. Introduce me to Blinov. I'll give him a research pill. YERMOLAYEV What sort of a pill is it that you are intending to give Blinov? DOCTOR Pill? I don't intend to give him a pill. YERMOLAYEV But you only just said yourself that you were intending to give him a pill. DOCTOR No, no. you are mistaken. I didn't mention a pill. YERMOLAYEV Well, excuse me, but I heard you mention a pill. DOCTOR No. YERMOLAYEV What do you mean -- no? DOCTOR I didn't say that. YERMOLAYEV Who didn't say it? DOCTOR You didn't say it. YERMOLAYEV What didn't I say? DOCTOR You, it seems to me, didn't finish saying something. YERMOLAYEV I don't understand. What didn't I finish saying? DOCTOR Your speech pattern is very typical. You swallow your words, you don't complete the utterance of your initial thought, you hurry and then you stutter. YERMOLAYEV When did I stutter? I speak quite fluently. DOCTOR Ah, but that's where you're wrong. Do you see? You're even starting to come out in red blotches from the tension. Your hands haven't gone cold yet? YERMOLAYEV No, but so what? DOCTOR Yes, that was my supposition. I think you're already having trouble breathing. You'd better sit down, before you fall down. That's right. Now have a rest. YERMOLAYEV But what for? DOCTOR Shh! Don't strain your vocal chords. Now I'm going to alleviate your fate. YERMOLAYEV Doctor! You frighten me. DOCTOR My dear friend! I want to help you. Here, take this. Swallow it! YERMOLAYEV Oh. Ooh! What a vile, disgustingly sweet taste! What is it you've given me? DOCTOR Nothing, it's all right. Calm down. It's a sure remedy. YERMOLAYEV I'm hot and everything seems to be turning green. DOCTOR Yes, that's right, my dear friend. In a minute, you'll die. YERMOLAYEV What are you saying? Doctor! Oh! I can't! Doctor! What have you given me? Oh, Doctor! DOCTOR You have swallowed the research pill. YERMOLAYEV Save me. Oh. Save me. Oh. Let me breathe. Oh. Save... oh. Breathe... DOCTOR He's gone quiet. And he's not breathing. That means he's dead already. He has died, not finding on earth the answers to his questions. Yes, we physicians must comprehensively research the phenomenon of death. 1937 -------- The Connection Philosopher! 1. I am writing to you in reply to your letter, which you are intending to write to me in reply to my letter which I wrote to you. 2. A certain violinist bought himself a magnet and was taking it home. On the way some hooligans attacked the violinist and knocked his cap off. The wind caught his cap and carried it along the street. 3. The violinist put his magnet down and ran off after his cap. The cap landed in a puddle of nitric acid, where it decomposed. 4. And the hooligans had, by that time, grabbed the magnet and made off. 5. The violinist returned home without his coat and without his cap, because the cap had decomposed in the nitric acid and the violinist, distressed by the loss of his cap, had forgotten his coat on the tram. 6. The conductor of the tram in question took the coat to a second-hand shop and there he exchanged it for some sour cream, groats and tomatoes. 7. The conductor's father-in-law stuffed himself on the tomatoes and died. The conductor's father-in-law's body was placed in the morgue, but then things got mixed up and, instead of the conductor's father-in-law, they buried some old woman. 8. On the old woman's grave they placed a white post with the inscription: 'Anton Sergeyevich Kondrat'ev'. 9. Eleven years later, this post fell down, eaten through by worms. And the cemetery watchman sawed the post into four pieces and burned it in his stove. And the cemetery watchman's wife cooked cauliflower soup over this fire. 10. But, when the soup was just ready, the clock fell off the wall right into the saucepan full of soup. They got the clock out of the soup, but these had been bedbugs in the clock and now they were in the soup. They gave the soup to Timofey the beggar. 11. Timofey the beggar ate the soup, bugs and all, and told Nikolay the beggar of the cemetery watchman's generosity. 12. The next day Nikolay the beggar went to the cemetery watchman and started asking him for alms. But the cemetery watchman didn't give Nikolay the beggar anything and chased him away. 13. Nikolay the beggar took this very badly and burned down the house of the cemetery watchman. 14. The fire went from the house to the church and the church burned down. 15. A lengthy investigation took place, but the cause of the fire could not be established. 16. On the spot where the church had stood they built a club and on the club's opening day a concert was arranged at which performed the violinist who, fourteen years before, had lost his coat. 17. And amid the audience there sat the son of one of those hooligans who, fourteen years before, had knocked the cap off this violinist. 18. After the concert they travelled home in the same tram. But, in the tram which was following theirs, the tram-driver was that very conductor who had once sold the violinist's coat at the second-hand shop. 19. And so there they are, travelling across the city in the late evening: in front are the violinist and the hooligan's son, and behind them the tram-driver and former conductor. 20. They travel on and are not aware of what the connection is between them and this they will never learn until their dying day. 1937 * This letter was addressed to Yakov Semyonovich Druskin. -------- A Nasty Character Sen'ka bashed Fed'ka across the chops and hid under the chest of drawers. Fed'ka got Sen'ka out from under the chest of drawers with a poker and tore off his right ear. Sen'ka slipped through Fed'ka's hands and, holding his torn-off ear, ran off to the neighbours. But Fed'ka caught up with Sen'ka and coshed him over the head with the sugar-basin. Sen'ka collapsed and, seemingly, died. Then Fed'ka packed his things in a suitcase and went away to Vladivostok. In Vladivostok Fed'ka became a tailor; strictly speaking, he was not exactly a tailor, because he made only ladies' underwear, principally drawers and brassieres. The ladies had no inhibitions with Fed'ka; right in front of him they would hitch up their skirts and Fed'ka would take their measurements. Fed'ka, as one might say, didn't half see some sights. Fed'ka was a nasty character. Fed'ka was the murderer of Sen'ka. Fed'ka was a lecherous devil. Fed'ka was a glutton, because every evening he ate a dozen cutlets. Fed'ka grow such a belly on him, that he made himself a corset and took to wearing it. Fed'ka was an unscrupulous man: he took money from children he met in the street, he tripped up old men and he terrorised old women by raising his hand to them and, when a frightened old woman shied to one side, Fed'ka would pretend that he had only raised his hand to scratch his head. It ended when Nikolay went up to Fed'ka, bashed him across the chops and hid under a cupboard. Fed'ka got Nikolay out with a poker from under the cupboard and ripped open his mouth. Nikolay ran off with his ripped mouth to the neighbours, but Fed'ka caught up with him and clubbed him with a beer mug. Nikolay collapsed and died. Fed'ka gathered his things and went away from Vladivostok. Written in two devices, by 21 November 1937 -------- A New Talented Writer Andrey Andreyevich thought up a story like this one. In an old castle there lived a prince, who was a terrible boozer. But the wife of this prince, on the contrary, didn't even drink tea, she only drank water and milk. While her husband drank vodka and wine, but didn't drink milk. Though, in fact, his wife, to tell the truth, also drank vodka but kept it quiet. But her husband was quite shameless and didn't keep it quiet. -- I don't drink milk, I drink vodka! -- he always said. While his wife on the quiet, from under her apron, pulled out a jar and -- glug! -- she was drinking away. Her husband, the prince, says: -- You could have given me some. But his wife, the princess, says: -- No, there's little enough for me. Shoo! -- As for you, -- says the prince -- call yourself a lady! -- And with these words, wallop, and his wife's on the floor! The wife, her whole kisser smashed in, lies on the floor crying. And the prince wrapped himself in his cloak and went to his quarters in the tower, where his cages stood. He bred fowls there, you see. And so the prince arrived in the tower and there the chickens were squawking, wanting food. one chicken even began to neigh. -- As for you -- said the prince -- you chauntecleer! Shut up, before you get your teeth bashed in! -- The chicken doesn't understand a word and just carries on neighing. So, in the end then, we've got a chicken making a racket in the tower, and tile prince, then, offing and blinding and his wife, then, downstairs lying on the floor -- in a word, a complete Sodom. That's the sort of story Andrey Andreyevich would think up. Even just from this story you can tell that Andrey Andreyevich is a major talent. Andrey Andreyevich is a very clever man. Very clever and very fine! 1938 -------- <They Call Me the Capuchin> They call me the Capuchin. For that I'll tear the ears off whomsoever it may be necessary, but meanwhile I get no peace from the fame of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Why did he have to know everything? How to swaddle infants and how to give young girls in marriage I would also like to know everything. In fact I do know everything, except that I am not so sure of my theories. About infants, I certainly know that they should not be swaddled at all -- they should be obliterated. For this I would establish a central pit in the city and would throw the infants into it. And so that the stench of decomposition should not come from the pit, it could be flooded every week with quicklime. Into the same pit I would also stick all Alsatian dogs. Now, about giving young girls in marriage. That, in my view, is even simpler: I would establish a public hall where, say, once a month all the youth would assemble. All of them between seventeen and thirty-five would have to strip naked and parade up and down the hall. If anyone fancied someone, then that pail would go off into a corner and there examine each other in detail. I forgot to say that they would all have to have a card hanging from the neck with their name, surname and address. Then, a letter could be sent to whomever was to someone's taste, to set up a more intimate acquaintance. Should any old man or woman intervene in these matters, I would propose killing them with an axe and dragging them off to the same place as the infants -- to the central pit. I would have written more of the knowledge within me, but unfortunately I have to go to the shop for tobacco. When walking on the street, I always take with me a thick knotty stick. I take it with me in order to batter any infants who may get under my feet. That must be why they called me the Capuchin. But just you wait, you swine, I'll skin your ears yet! 1938 -------- The Artist and the Clock Serov, an artist, went to the Obvodny Canal. Why did he go there? To buy some india rubber. What did he want india rubber for? To make himself a rubber band. And what did he want a rubber band for? In order to stretch it. That's what for. And what else? This is what else: the artist Serov had broken his clock. The clock had been going well, but he picked it up and broke it. What else? Nothing else. Nothing, this is it, in a nutshell! Keep your filthy snout out when it's not needed! And may the lord have mercy on us! Once there lived an old woman. She lived and lived, until she got burnt up in her stove. Served her right, too! The artist Serov, at least, was of that opinion... Huh! I would write some more, but the ink-pot has suddenly gone and disappeared. 1938 -------- <I Had Raised Dust> I had raised dust. Children were running after me, tearing their clothing. Old men and old women fell from roofs. I whistled, I roared, my teeth chattered and I clattered like an iron bar. Lacerated children raced after me and, falling behind, broke their thin legs in their awful haste. Old men and old women were skipping around me. I rushed on! Filthy, rachitic children, looking like toadstools, got tangled under my feet. Running was hard going. I kept remembering things and once I even almost fell into the soft mush of old men and women floundering on the ground. I jumped, snapped a few heads off toadstools and trod on the belly of a thin old woman, who at this emitted a loud crunch and softly muttered: -- They've worn me out. -- Not looking back, I ran on further. Now under my feet was a clean and smooth pavement. Occasional streetlamps lit my way. I ran up to the bath-house. The welcoming bath-house flickered in front of me and the cosy but stifling bathhouse steam was already in my nostrils, ears and mouth. Without undressing, I ran straight through the changing-room, then past the taps, the tubs and the planks, to the shelf. A hot white cloud surrounds me, I hear a weak but insistent sound. I seem to be lying down. And at this point, a mighty relaxation stopped my heart. 1939 -------- <A Shortish Gent...> A shortish gent with a pebble in his eye went up to the door of a tobacconist's shop and stopped. His black polished shoes gleamed on the stone step leading up to the tobacconist's. The toe-caps of his shoes were directed at the inside of the shop. Two more steps and the gentleman would have disappeared through the door. But for some reason he dilly-dallied, as though purposely to position his head under the brick which was falling from the roof. The gentleman had even taken off his hat, baring his bald skull, and thus the brick struck the gentleman right on his bare head, broke the cranium and embedded itself in his brain. The gentleman didn't fall. No, he merely staggered a bit from the terrible blow, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, used it to wipe his face, which was all gooey from blood and brains, and, turning towards the crowd, which had instantly gathered around the gentleman, he said: -- Don't worry, ladies and gents: I've already had the vaccination. You can see -- I've got a protruding pebble in my right eye. That was also once quite an incident. I've already got used to that. Now everything's just fine and dandy! And with these words the gentleman replaced his hat and went off somewhere into the margins, leaving the troubled crowd in complete bewilderment. 1939-40 -------- Knights There was a house, full of old women. The old women lounged around the house all day and swatted flies with paper bags. There were in all thirty-six old women in this house. The most vigourous old woman, by surname Yufleva, ordered the other old women about. She would nib any disobedient old woman on the back of the shoulders or trip her up, and she would fall and smash her face. One old woman called Zvyakina, punished by Yufleva, fell so disastrously that she broke both her jaws. The doctor had to be sent for. He arrived, put on his white coat and, having examined Zvyakina, said that she was too old for there being any possibility of counting on her jaws mending. Then the doctor asked to be given a hammer, a chisel, pincers and rope. The old women drifted round the house for ages and, not knowing what pincers and a chisel look like, they brought the doctor everything that seemed to them anything like tools. The doctor cursed for a long time but finally, having received all the objects he had demanded, asked everyone to withdraw. The old women, burning with curiosity, withdrew with great displeasure. When the old women, amid swearing and grumbling, had hocked out of the room, the doctor locked the door behind them and went up to Zvyakina. -- Now then -- said the doctor and, having grabbed Zvyakina, tied her tightly with the rope. Then the doctor, paying no attention to the loud cries and wailing of Zvyakina, placed the chisel to her jaw-bone and struck the chisel hard with the hammer. Zvyakina began howling in a hoarse bass. Having shattered Zvyakina's jaw with the chisel, the doctor grabbed the pincers and, having engaged Zvyakina's jaws, tore them out. Zvyakina howled, shouted and wheezed, covered in blood. And the doctor dropped the pincers and Zvyakina's torn jaw-bones, took off his white coat, wiped his hands off it and, going over to the door, opened it. The old women tumbled into the room with a scream and stared goggle-eyed, some at Zvyakina, some at the blood-stained bits lying about on the floor. The doctor pushed his way between the old women and went out. The old women rushed over to Zvyakina. Zvyakina faded in volume and, obviously, was in the process of dying. Yufleva stood right there, looking at Zvyakina and nibbling at sunflower seeds. The old woman Byashechina said: -- So, Yufleva, even you and I will snuff it some day. Yufleva kicked at Byashechina, but the latter jumped aside in time. -- Come on girls! -- said Byashechina. -- Why hang around here? Let's leave Yufleva and Zvyakina to romp around, and we'll go and swat flies. And the old women moved off out of the room. Yufleva, continuing to bite into her sunflower seeds, stood in the middle of the room and looked at Zvyakina. Zvyakina had faded away and lay there motionless. Perhaps she had died. However, with this the author is finishing his narrative, since he cannot find his ink-pot. 1940 -------- The Lecture Pushkov said: -- Woman is the workbench of love. And he immediately received a clout across the gob. -- What's that for? -- asked Pushkov. But, not getting any answer to his question, he continued: -- This is what I think: a woman should be tackled from below. Women really like this and only pretend that they don't like it. At this point Pushkov was again struck across the gob. -- But what on earth is this, comrades! If that's the way it is, I won't carry on speaking -- said Pushkov. But, after waiting about a quarter of a minute, he continued: -- A woman is so built that she is all soft and damp. At this point Pushkov was again struck across the gob. Pushkov tried to pretend that he hadn't noticed this and went on: -- If you just sniff a woman... But at this point Pushkov was so slammed across the gob that he caught hold of his cheek and said: -- Comrades, under these conditions it is absolutely impossible to deliver a lecture. If this happens again, I shall discontinue. Pushkov waited for a quarter of a minute and then continued: -- Now, where were we? Ah, yes. That was it. A woman loves to look at herself. She sits down in front of the mirror completely naked... At this word, Pushkov again received a clout across the gob. -- Naked -- repeated Pushkov. Smack! -- he was weighed into right across the gob. -- Naked! -- yelled Pushkov. Smack! -- he received a clout across the gob. -- Naked! A naked woman! A nude tart! -- Pushkov kept yelling. Smack! Smack! Smack! -- Pushkov took it across the gob. -- A nude tart with a ladle in her hands! -- yelled Pushkov. Smack! Smack! -- the blows rained down on Pushkov. -- A tart's bum-hole! -- yelled Pushkov, dodging the blows. -- A nude nun! But at this point Pushkov was struck with such force that he lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor as though pole-axed. 1940 -------- Myshin's Triumph They said to Myshin: -- Hey, Myshin, get up! Myshin said: -- I won't get up -- and continued lying on the floor. Then Kalugin came up to Myshin and said: -- If you don't get up, Myshin, I will make you get up. -- No -- said Myshin, continuing to lie on the floor. Selizneva went up to Myshin and said: -- Myshin, you are for ever sprawling about the floor in the corridor and you interfere with us walking backwards and forwards. -- I have been interfering and I shall keep on interfering -- said Myshin. -- Well, you know -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said: -- What's the point of carrying on long conversations about it! Call the militia! They called for the militia and called out a militiaman. The militiaman arrived after half an hour with the caretaker. -- What's going on here? -- asked the militiaman. -- How do you like this! -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said: -- This is the situation. This citizen lies here on the floor all the time and interferes with us walking along the corridor. We've tried telling him this and that... But at this point Kalugin was interrupted by Selizneva, who said: -- We've asked him to go away, but he doesn't go away. -- Yes -- said Korshunov. The militiaman went up to Myshin. -- You, citizen, why are you lying here? -- asked the militiaman. -- I'm resting -- said Myshin. -- Resting here is not good enough, citizen -- said the militiaman. -- Where do you live, citizen? -- Here -- said Myshin. -- Where's your room? -- asked the militiaman. -- He's registered in our flat, but he doesn't have a room -- said Kalugin. -- Wait a minute, citizen -- said the militiaman -- I'll have a word with him now. Citizen, where do you sleep? -- Here -- said Myshin. -- Allow me to -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said: -- He doesn't even have a bed and he sprawls right on the bare floor. -- They've been complaining about him for a long time -- said the caretaker. -- It's absolutely impossible to walk along the corridor -- said Selizneva -- I can't keep stepping over a man for ever. And he sticks out his legs on purpose, and he sticks out his hands, and he lies on his back and looks up. I come back tired from work, I need a rest. -- And I can add -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said: -- He lies here at night, as well. Everyone trips over him in the dark. I tore my blanket because of him. Selizneva said: -- He's always got tin-tacks and things falling out of his pocket. It's impossible to walk barefooted down the corridor, or before you know where you are -- you put your foot on something. -- They wanted to set him alight with kerosene the other day -- said the caretaker. -- We did pour kerosene over him -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said: -- We only poured kerosene over him to scare him, but we weren't going to set light to him. -- Oh no, I wouldn't have a man burned alive in my presence -- said Selizneva. -- But why is this citizen lying in the corridor? -- the militiaman suddenly asked. -- That's a fine how do you do! -- said Korshunov, but Kalugin interrupted him and said: -- Well, because he hasn't got any other living space: here's where I live, in this room, and she's in that one, and that one's his, and so Myshin lives here, in the corridor. -- That's not good enough -- said the militiaman. -- Everyone should be lying in their own living space. -- But he hasn't got any other living space, except in the corridor -- said Kalugin. -- That's just it -- said Korshunov. -- And so he goes on lying here -- said Selizneva. -- That's not good enough -- said the militiaman and went away, together with the caretaker. Korshunov leaped over to Myshin. -- What about it? -- he yelled. -- How did you like that, then? -- Wait -- said Kalugin. And, going up to Myshin, he said: -- Did you hear what the militiaman said? Get up from the floor! -- I won't get up -- said Myshin, continuing to lie there on the floor. -- Now he will deliberately and furthermore and for ever keep on lying there -- said Selizneva. -- Definitely -- said Kalugin with some irritation. And Korshunov said: -- I don't doubt it. Parfaitement! 1940 -------- The Falling Two men fell from a roof. They both fell from the roof of a five-storey newly erected building. Seemingly a school. They had moved down the roof in a sitting position to the very edge and at that point started to fall. Their fall was noticed first of all by Ida Markovna. She was standing at her window in the building opposite and was blowing her nose into a tumbler. And suddenly she caught sight of someone starting to fall from the roof of the building opposite. Peering out, Ida Markovna saw what was an entire twosome starting to fall at once. Completely losing her head, Ida Markovna tore off her shift and hurriedly began to rub the misted-over windowpane, the better to make out who was falling from the roof out there. However, twigging that, perhaps, those falling might, from their vantage point, be able to glimpse her naked -- and goodness only knew what they might think of her -- Ida Markovna jumped back from the window and hid behind the wicker tripod on which there had at one time stood a pot plant. At this juncture, those falling from the roof were sighted by another personage who lived in the same building as Ida Markovna, only two floors below. This personage was also called Ida Markovna. She happened at the time to be sitting with her feet up on the window-sill and was sewing a button on her slipper. Looking out of the window, she had caught sight of those falling from the roof. Ida Markovna yelped and, leaping up from the window-sill, hastily began opening the window, so as to get a better view when those falling from the roof should strike the ground. But the window would not open. Ida Markovna remembered that she had nailed the window from beneath and rushed to the stove, in which she kept her tools: four hammers, a chisel and pincers. Grabbing the pincers, Ida Markovna again ran up to the window and pulled out the nail. Now the window was easily flung open. Ida Markovna leaned out of the window and saw those who had fallen from the roof whistling towards the ground. On the street a smallish crowd had already gathered. Whistles were already blowing and a diminutive militiaman was unhurriedly approaching the location of the anticipated event. A big-nosed caretaker bustled about, shoving people and explaining that those falling from the roof could smite the heads of those gathered below. By this time, both Ida Markovnas -- the one in a dress and the other naked -- having leaned out of their windows, were squealing and kicking their legs about. And so, finally, arms spread and eyes agape, those who had fallen from the roof struck the ground. Just as on occasion we, falling from heights we have attained, may strike the dreary cage of our future. Written over four days. Finished 17 October 1940 -------- <Perechin> Perechin sat on a drawing pin and, from this moment, his life changed abruptly. From a contemplative, quiet man Perechin turned into a downright scoundrel. He grew himself a moustache and henceforth trimmed it extremely untidily, in such a way that the one side of his moustache was always longer than the other. And so his moustache came to grow somehow askew. It became impossible to look at Perechin. What is more, he would give a repulsive wink of the eye and twitch his cheek. For a certain time Perechin confined himself to petty and reprehensible tricks: he told tales, denounced people, and cheated tram conductors by paying them his fare in the very smallest copper coin and each time two or three kopecks short. 1940 -------- The Obstacle Pronin said: -- You have very beautiful stockings. Irina Mazer said: -- Do you like my stockings? Pronin said: -- Oh yes. Very much. -- And he made a grab at them with his hand. Irina said: -- But why do you like my stockings? Pronin said: -- They are very smooth. Irina lifted her skirt and said: -- And do you see how high they go? Pronin said: -- Oh yes, I do. Irina said: -- But here they come to an end. Up here it's bare leg. -- Oh, and what leg! -- said Pronin. -- I've got very thick legs -- said Irina. -- And I'm very wide in the hips. -- Show me -- said Pronin. -- I can't -- said Irina. -- I've no knickers on. Pronin got down on his knees in front or her. Irina said: -- What are you kneeling for? Pronin kissed her on the leg, a little above the stocking top, and said: -- That's what for. Irina said: -- Why are you lifting my skirt even higher? I've already told you I've no knickers on. But Pronin lifted her skirt all the same and said: -- Never mind, never mind. -- What do you mean, never mind? -- said Irina. But at this juncture someone was knocking at the door. Irina briskly pulled down her skirt and Pronin got up from the floor and went over to the window. -- Who's there? -- asked Irina through the door. -- Open the door -- said a sharp voice. Irina opened the door and into the room came a man in a black coat and high boots. Behind him came a pair of soldiers of the lowest rank, rifles at the ready, and behind them came the caretaker. The lower ranks stood by the door, while the man in the black coat went up to Irina Mazer and said: -- Your name? -- Mazer -- said Irina. -- Your name? -- asked the man in the black coat, turning to Pronin . Pronin said: -- My name is Pronin. -- Do you have a weapon? -- asked the man in the black coat. -- No -- said Pronin. -- Sit down here -- said the man in the black coat, indicating a chair to Pronin. Pronin sat down. -- And you -- said the man in the black coat, turning to Irina, -- put your coat on. You'll have to come for a ride with us. -- What for? -- asked Irina. The man in the black coat did not reply. -- I'll need to change -- said Irina. -- No -- said the man in the black coat. -- But there's something else I need to put on -- said Irina. -- No -- said the man in the black coat. Irina put on her fur coat in silence. -- Good-bye, then -- she said to Pronin. -- Conversations are not allowed -- said the man in the black coat. -- Do I come with you as well? -- asked Pronin. -- Yes -- said the man in the black coat. -- Get your coat on. Pronin stood up, took his coat and hat down from the peg, put them on and said: -- Well, I'm ready. -- Let's go -- said the man in the black coat. The lower ranks and the caretaker stamped their feet. They all went out into the corridor. The man in the black coat locked the door of Irina's room and sealed it with two brown seals. -- Outside -- he said. And they all went out of the flat, loudly slamming the outside door. 1940 -------- A Fairy-Tale from the North An old man set out to go into the woods, although he didn't know what for. Then he came back and said: -- Hey, old woman, you! The old woman fell straight down. Since then, the hares are white in winter. -------- Symphony No. 2 Anton Mikhailovich spat, said 'ugh', spat again, again said 'ugh', again spat, again said 'ugh' and walked away. And to hell with him. I'd do better to talk about Il'ya Pavlovich. Il'ya Pavlovich was born in 1893 in Constantinople. When he was still a small boy, he was taken to Petersburg and hero he went to the German school on Kirochnaya Street. Then he worked in some shop or other, then he did something else and at the beginning of the revolution he emigrated abroad. Well and to hell with him. I'd do better to talk about Anna Ignat'evna. But to talk about Anna Ignat'evna is not so very simple. In the first place I don't know anything about her and in the second place I have now fallen off my chair and forgotten what I had intended to say. I'd do better to talk about myself. I am on the tall side, quite intelligent, I'm a flashy dresser with a bit of taste, I don't drink, I don't go to the races, but I do chase the ladies. And the ladies don't avoid me. They even like it when I muck around with them. Serafima Izmailovna has often invited me round and Zinaida Yakovlevna also used to say that she was always pleased to see me. But there did occur between me and Marina Pavlovna an amusing incident which I want to tell you about. It was a completely ordinary incident, but all the same an amusing one for, thanks to me, Marina Pavlovna went absolutely bald, like the palm of your hand. It happened like this: once I arrived at Marina Pavlovna's and bang! -- she went bald. And that's all there is to it. 1941 -------- Acquittal Without boasting, I can tell you that, when Volodya struck me across the ear and spat in my face, I really got him, so that he won't forget it. It was only after that that I hit him with his primus and it was evening when I hit him with the iron. So he didn't die straight away by any means. This doesn't prove that I cut his leg off as early as the afternoon. He was still alive then. Whereas Andryusha I killed simply from inertia, and I can't hold myself responsible for that. Why did Andryusha and Yelizaveta Antonovna fall into my hands anyway? They had no business springing out from behind the door. I am being accused of bloodthirstiness; they say I drank blood, but that is not true: I licked up the pools of blood and stains -- it is a man's natural urge to wipe out the traces of even the most trivial of crimes. And also I did not rape Yelizaveta Antonovna. In the first place, she was no longer a virgin; and secondly I was having dealings with a corpse, so she has no cause for complaint. What about the fact that she just happened to have to give birth? Well, I did pull out the infant. The fact that he was not long for this world anyway, well that's really not my fault. I didn't tear his head off; it was his thin neck that did that. He was simply not created for this life. It's true that I stomped their dog to a pulp around the floor, but it's really cynical to accuse me of murdering the dog when in the immediate vicinity, it might be said, three human lives had been obliterated. The infant I don't count. Well, all right then, in all this (I can agree with you) it is possible to discern a degree of severity on my part. But to consider it a crime that I squatted down and defecated on my victims -- that is really, if you'll excuse me, absurd. Defecation is an urge of nature and consequently can in no sense be criminal. All things considered, I do understand the misgivings of my defence counsel, but all the same I am hoping for a complete acquittal. 1940 -------- <How I Was Born> Now I will describe how I was born, how I grew up and how the first signs of genius were discovered in me. I was born twice. This is how it happened. My Dad got married to my Mum in 1902, but my parents brought me into the world only at the end of 1905, because Dad was adamant that his child should be born at New Year. Dad calculated that conception had to take place on the first of April and only on that day did he get round my Mum with the proposition of conceiving a child. My Dad got round my Mum on the first of April 1903. Mum had long been awaiting this moment and was terribly thrilled. But Dad, as it seems, was in a very playful mood and could not restrain himself, saying to Mum: 'April Fool!'. Mum was absolutely furious and didn't allow Dad anywhere near her that day. There was nothing for it but to wait until the following year. On the first of April 1904, Dad again started getting round Mum with the same proposition. But Mum, remembering what had happened the year before, said that she had no further desire to be left in that stupid position and again would not allow Dad near her. It didn't matter how much noise Dad created, it got him nowhere. And only a year later did my Dad manage to have his way with my Mum and beget me. And so my conception took place on the first of April 1905. However, all Dad's calculations broke down because I turned out to be premature and was born four months before my time. Dad created such a fuss that the midwife who had delivered me lost her head and started to shove me back in, from where I had only just emerged. An acquaintance of ours who was in attendance, a student from the military medical academy, declared that shoving me back in would not work. However, the student's words notwithstanding, they still shoved me and shoved me back, for all they were worth. At this point a fearful commotion broke out. The progenetrix yells: -- Give me my baby! And the response comes: -- Your baby -- they tell her -- is inside you. -- What! -- yells the progenetrix. -- How can my baby be inside me when I have just given birth to him! -- But -- they say to the progenetrix -- mightn't you be mistaken? -- What! -- yells the progenetrix -- mistaken? How can I be mistaken! I saw the baby myself, he was lying here on a sheet only just now! -- That is true -- they tell the progenetrix -- but perhaps he's crawled off somewhere. -- In a word, they themselves don't know what to tell the progenetrix. And the progenetrix is still making a noise and demanding her baby. There was nothing for it, but to call an experienced doctor. The experienced doctor examined the progenetrix and threw up his hands; however, he thought it all out and gave the progenetrix a good dose of English salts, and by this means I saw the light of day for the second time. At this juncture, Dad again started creating a fuss, saying that, surely, this couldn't be called a birth, that this, surely, coul