Kozlevich and his faithful Lorraine-Dietrich invariably participate in all of the town’s weddings, sightseeing trips, and other special occasions.
Summers are particularly busy.
On Sundays, whole families go to the country in Adam’s car.
Children laugh foolishly, scarves and ribbons flutter in the wind, women chatter merrily, fathers look at the driver’s leather-clad back with respect and ask him about automotive developments in the United States of North America. For example, is it true that Ford buys himself a new car every day?
That’s how Kozlevich pictured his blissful new life in Arbatov.
The reality, however, quickly destroyed Adam’s castle in the air, with all its turrets, drawbridges, weathervanes, and standards.
The first blow was inflicted by the train schedule.
Fast trains passed through Arbatov without making a stop, picking up single line tokens and dropping express mail on the move.
Slow trains arrived only twice a week.
For the most part, they only brought insignificant people: peasants and shoemakers with knapsacks, boot trees, and petitions to the local authorities.
As a rule, these people did not use taxis.
There were no sightseeing trips or special occasions, and nobody hired Kozlevich for weddings.
People in Arbatov were accustomed to using horse-drawn carriages for weddings. On such occasions, the coachmen would braid paper roses and chrysanthemums into the horses’ manes. The older men, who were in charge of the festivities, loved it.
On the other hand, there were plenty of outings, but those were very different from the ones Adam had pictured.
No children, no fluttering scarves, no merry chatter.
On the very first evening, when the dim kerosene street lamps were already lit, Adam was approached by four men. He had spent the whole day pointlessly waiting on Holy Cooperative Square.
The men stared at the car for a long time without saying a word.
Then one of them, a hunchback, asked uncertainly:
“Can anybody take a ride?”
“Yes, anybody,” replied Kozlevich, surprised by the timidity of the citizens of Arbatov. “Five rubles an hour.”
The men whispered among themselves.
The chauffeur heard some strange sighs and a few words:
“Why don’t we do it after the meeting, Comrades . . .?
Would that be appropriate . . .?
One twenty-five per person is not too much . . .
Why would it be inappropriate . . .?”
And so for the first time, the spacious car took a few locals into its upholstered lap.
For a few minutes, the passengers were silent, overwhelmed by the speed, the smell of gasoline, and the whistling wind.
Then, as if having a vague premonition, they started quietly singing:
“The time of our lives, it’s fast as waves . . .”
Kozlevich shifted into third gear.
The sombre silhouette of a boarded-up roadside stand flew by, and the car tore out into the fields on the moonlit highway.
“Every day brings the grave ever closer to us,” crooned the passengers plaintively.
They felt sorry for themselves, sorry that they had never gone to university and had never sung student songs.
They belted out the chorus rather loudly:
“Let’s have a glass, a little one, tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la.”
“Stop!” shouted the hunchback suddenly.
“Turn around!
I can’t take it any more!”
Back in town, the riders picked up a large number of bottles that were filled with clear liquid, as well as a broad-shouldered woman from somewhere.
Out in the fields, they set up a picnic, ate dinner with vodka, and danced the polka without music.
Exhausted from the night’s adventures, Kozlevich spent the next day dozing off behind the wheel at his stand.
Towards evening, the same gang showed up, already tipsy. They climbed into the car and drove like mad through the fields surrounding the city all night long.
The third night saw a repeat of the whole thing.
The nighttime feasts of the fun-loving gang, headed by the hunchback, went on for two weeks in a row.
The joys of automotive recreation affected Adam’s clients in a most peculiar way: in the dark, their pale and swollen faces resembled pillows.
The hunchback, with a piece of sausage hanging from his mouth, looked like a vampire.
They grew anxious and, at the height of the fun, occasionally wept.
One night, the adventurous hunchback arrived at the taxi stand in a horse-drawn carriage with a big sack of rice.
At sunrise, they took the rice to a village, swapped it for moonshine, and didn’t bother going back to the city.