“What do you know!” exclaimed the grand strategist, covering his face with his hands.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said the museum director, smiling shyly. “Let’s go eat at the new dining facility.”
They climbed into a cart, under a canvas canopy that was festooned in dark blue, and took off.
On the way, the affable guide kept making the millionaires stick their heads out from under the canopy while he pointed out the buildings that had already been constructed, the buildings that were in the process of being constructed, and the sites where they were going to be constructed.
Koreiko kept glancing angrily at Ostap.
Bender turned away and said:
“What a lovely native bazaar!
Just like Baghdad!”
“The demolition starts on the seventeenth,” said the young man. “There will be a hospital here, and a co-op center.”
“And no regrets about losing this exotic place?
It’s Baghdad!”
“It is beautiful!” sighed Koreiko.
The young man grew angry:
“It may look beautiful to you, you’re just visiting, but we have to live here.”
In the spacious hall of the new dining facility, surrounded by tiled walls, under sticky ribbons of flypaper hanging from the ceiling, the travelers dined on barley soup and small brown meatballs.
Ostap inquired about wine but the young man responded enthusiastically that a natural spring had recently been discovered nearby. In terms of taste, its mineral water was superior to the famed variety from the Caucasus.
As proof, he ordered a bottle of the new water, and they drank it in grave silence.
“And how are the numbers on prostitution?” asked Alexander bin Ivanovich hopefully.
“Way down,” replied the implacable young man.
“Well, what do you know!” said Ostap, laughing insincerely.
But he really didn’t know what was going on.
When they got up from the table, it turned out that the young man had already paid for all three of them.
He flatly refused to take any money from the millionaires, assuring them that he was getting paid in two days anyway, and that, until then, he’d make it somehow.
“And what about entertainment?
What do you do for entertainment here?” asked Ostap without much enthusiasm. “Timbrels, cymbals?”
“Don’t you know?” asked the director, surprised. “Our new concert hall opened just last week.
The Bebel and Paganini Grand Symphony Quartet.
Let’s go right now.
How could I have forgotten!”
Since he had paid for the dinner, it would have been impossible, for ethical reasons, to decline an invitation to the concert hall.
After it was over, Alexander bin Ivanovich said mockingly:
“The concert hole!”
The grand strategist blushed.
On the way to the hotel, the young man suddenly told the coachman to stop. He made the millionaires get out, took their hands, and, overcome with excitement, rose to his tiptoes and led them to a small stone with a fence around it.
“The obelisk will be erected here!” he announced solemnly. “The Column of Marxism!”
As they said their goodbyes, the young man asked them to come visit more often.
The good-natured Ostap promised that he’d definitely come back, because he’d never had such a blissful day in his life.
“I’m off to the station,” said Koreiko when he and Bender were finally alone.
“Shall we go have a good time in some other town?” asked Ostap. “One can easily spend a few fun-filled days in Tashkent.”
“I’ve had enough,” replied Alexander Ivanovich, “I’m going to the station to put my suitcase into storage, then I’ll find myself an office job here.
I’ll wait for capitalism.
That’s when I’ll have a good time.”
“Wait all you want,” said Ostap rather rudely, “but I’m going.
Today was just an unfortunate misunderstanding, overzealous locals.
The little golden calf still wields some power in this country!”
On the square in front of the station, they saw a crowd of journalists from the special train, who were touring Central Asia after the joining.
They all gathered around Ukhudshansky.
The proprietor of the Celebratory Kit turned back and forth smugly, demonstrating his new purchases.
He was decked out in a velvet hat trimmed with a jackal’s tail and a cloak that had been fashioned from a quilted blanket.
The plush-nosed prophet’s predictions continued to come true.