He tried very hard, eating several dinners a day, drinking the best wines, and giving exorbitant tips. He bought a diamond ring, a Japanese vase, and a coat that was lined with fitch fur.
But he ended up giving the coat and the vase to a room attendant—he didn’t want to deal with all that bulk on the road.
Besides, if need be, he could buy himself many more coats and vases.
Nevertheless, he only managed to spend six thousand in a whole month.
No, the parade decidedly wasn’t going well, even though everything was in place.
The forward guards were dispatched on time, the troops arrived when they were supposed to, the band was playing.
But the regiments didn’t look at him, they didn’t shout “Hooray” to him, and the bandmaster didn’t wave his baton for him.
Nevertheless, Ostap wasn’t about to give up.
He had high hopes for Moscow.
“So what about Rio de Janeiro?” asked Balaganov excitedly. “Are we going?”
“To hell with it!” said Ostap, suddenly angry. “It’s all a fantasy: there is no Rio de Janeiro, no America, no Europe, nothing.
Actually, there isn’t anything past Shepetovka, where the waves of the Atlantic break against the shore.”
“No kidding!” sighed Balaganov.
“A doctor I met explained everything to me,” continued Ostap, “other countries—that’s just a myth of the afterlife.
Those who make it there never return.”
“What do you know!” exclaimed Shura, who didn’t understand a thing. “Ooh, just watch me have a good life now!
Poor Panikovsky!
He broke the pact, of course, but what the heck!
The old man would have been thrilled!”
“I propose a moment of silence to honor the memory of the deceased,” said Bender.
The half-brothers got up and stood silently for a minute, looking down at the crushed pastries and the unfinished sandwich.
Balaganov finally broke the onerous silence.
“Did you hear about Kozlevich?” he said.
“What do you know!
He put the Antelope back together, and now he’s working in Chernomorsk.
I got a letter from him.
Here . . .”
The rally mechanic pulled a letter out of his cap.
“Hello, Shura,” wrote the driver of the Antelope, “how are you doing?
Are you still the son of L.
Sch.?
I’m fine, I just don’t have any money, and the car’s been acting up since the overhaul. It only runs for an hour a day.
I keep working on it, I’m so sick of it.
The passengers aren’t happy.
Dear Shura, maybe you can send me an oil hose, even a used one.
I can’t find one at the market here no matter what.
Look at the Smolensk Market, the section where they sell old locks and keys.
And if you’re not doing well, come down here, we’ll make it somehow.
I’m parked at the corner of Mehring Street, at the taxi stand.
Where is O.B. these days?
Yours respectfully, Adam Kozlevich.
I forgot to tell you, the priests Kuszakowski and Moroszek came to see me at the stand.
It was an ugly scene.
A.K.”
“I gotta go look for an oil hose now,” said Balaganov anxiously.
“Don’t,” said Ostap, “I’ll buy him a new car.
Let’s go to the Grand Hotel, I cabled ahead and reserved a room for a symphony conductor.
You need a wash, a new outfit—a complete overhaul.
The door to boundless opportunities is now open for you, Shura.”
They stepped out onto Kalanchevka Square.