This girl from Moscow had an uncle in Warsaw, who died and left her a million, and she had no idea.
But somebody abroad had gotten wind of it, and within a month, a rather presentable foreigner showed up in Moscow.
The wise guy had decided to marry the girl before she found out about the inheritance.
But she had a fiance in Moscow, a rather good-looking young man himself, from the Chamber of Weights and Measures.
She was in love with him and naturally had no interest in marrying anyone else.
So the foreigner goes crazy, keeps sending her flowers, chocolates, and silk stockings.
Well, turns out this wise guy wasn’t acting on his own initiative, he was sent by a partnership that had been formed with the express purpose of exploiting the uncle’s fortune.
They even had start-up capital of eighteen thousand zlotys.
This agent of theirs had to marry the girl, no matter what, and take her out of the country.
A very romantic story!
Can you imagine how this agent felt?
Such a huge responsibility!
He received an advance, after all, and he had nothing to show for it, thanks to this Soviet fiance!
And in Warsaw, all hell breaks loose!
The shareholders keep waiting and worrying, the shares plummet.
In the end, the whole thing fell through.
The girl married her guy, the Soviet.
She never even found out.”
“Stupid woman!” said the second passenger.
“If only they gave that million to me!”
In his excitement, he even grabbed a cracker from his neighbor’s hand and ate it nervously.
The occupant of the upper bunk started coughing demonstratively.
Apparently, he couldn’t sleep because of all the talking.
They lowered their voices, huddled together, head to head, and whispered breathlessly:
“The International Red Cross put a note in the papers recently that they were searching for the heirs of Harry Kowalchuk, an American soldier who was killed in action in 1918.
The inheritance: a million!
Actually, it used to be less than a million, but the interest had added up . . .
And so in this God-forsaken village in the Volhynia . . .”
On the upper bunk, the maroon blanket jerked frantically.
Bender felt terrible.
He was sick of trains, of upper and lower bunks, of the entire ever-shaking world of travel.
He would easily have given half a million just to be able to go to sleep, but the whispering continued:
“See, this old woman comes to a rental office and says:
‘I found this pot in my basement, you know, I have no idea what’s in it, so kindly go ahead and take a look at it yourselves.’
So the management looks into the pot and finds Indian gold rupees, a million rupees . . .”
“Stupid woman!
Why did she have to tell them?
If only they gave that million to me, I would . . .”
“Frankly, between you and me, money is everything.”
“And in this cave near Mozhaysk . . .”
The loud, powerful groan of an individual in grave distress came from the upper bunk.
The storytellers paused for a moment, but the spell of unexpected riches pouring from the pockets of Japanese princes, Warsaw relatives, and American soldiers was so irresistible that they soon resumed grabbing each other’s knees and muttering:
“. . . And so when they opened the holy relics, they found, between you and me, a million worth of . . .”
In the morning, while still in sleep’s embrace, Ostap heard the sound of the blind being opened and a voice:
“A million!
Can you believe it, an entire million . . .”
This was too much.
The grand strategist glanced down furiously, but the passengers from the previous night were gone.
They had gotten off in Kharkov at the crack of dawn, leaving behind them crumpled sheets, a greasy piece of graph paper, and bread and meat crumbs, as well as a piece of string.
A new passenger, who was standing by the window, glanced at Ostap impassively and continued talking to his two companions: