Some of them ticked annoyingly, giving Bender the sensation that insects were crawling over his back.
Some of the watches were gifts, as evidenced by the engravings on their lids: TO OUR BELOVED SON SERGE CASTRAKI IN RECOGNITION OF HIS PERFORMANCE AT SCHOOL.
Above the word “performance,” someone had scratched the word “sexual” with a pin.
This must have been the work of young Castraki’s buddies, all losers like himself.
Ostap had long resisted buying this indecent watch, but he did in the end, because he had decided to invest his entire million in jewelry.
All in all, the winter was very busy.
The grand strategist was able to acquire only four hundred thousand rubles worth of diamonds, and only fifty thousand in foreign currency, including some questionable notes from Poland and the Balkans.
He had to spend the rest on heavy stuff.
It was particularly hard to move with a golden platter on his stomach.
The platter was large and oval-shaped, like the shield of an African tribal chief. It weighed twenty pounds.
The captain’s powerful neck was weighed down by a bishop’s pectoral cross that was inscribed, IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY SPIRIT, which he had purchased from the former deacon of the Orthodox cathedral, Citizen Overarchangelsky.
Above the cross, a little ram cast in gold dangled on a magnificent ribbon—the Order of the Golden Fleece.
Ostap bargained hard for this Order with a peculiar old man who may even have been a Grand Duke, or else a Grand Duke’s valet.
The old man was asking an exorbitant price, pointing out that very few people in the world had this particular decoration, most of them royals.
“The Golden Fleece,” muttered the old man, “is awarded for the utmost valor!”
“Then I qualify,” replied Ostap, “and besides, I’m only buying this ram for scrap.”
The captain wasn’t telling the truth, however.
He fancied the medal from the start and had decided to keep it for himself, as the Order of the Golden Calf.
Driven by fear and expecting the crack of a rifle shot at any moment, Bender raced to the middle of the river and then stopped.
All that gold was heavy: the platter, the cross, the bracelets.
His back was itching under the dangling watches.
The bottom of the cloak had gotten soaked and weighed a ton.
With a groan, Ostap tore off the cloak, dumped it on the ice, and continued running.
This revealed his fur coat—a stupendous, almost unbelievable fur coat, easily the single most valuable object Ostap had on his person.
He had built it over the course of four months, like a house, preparing blueprints and gathering materials.
The coat had two layers: genuine sealskin lined with unique silver fox.
The collar was made of sable.
That coat was amazing!
A supercoat with chinchilla pockets, which were stuffed with civilian medals for bravery, little neck crosses, and golden bridges—the latest in dental technology.
The grand strategist’s head was crowned with a towering cap.
Not just a cap—a beaver skin tiara.
All this magnificent freight was supposed to provide the captain with an easy, care-free life by the warm ocean, in the city of his childhood dreams, among the palms and ficus on the balconies of Rio de Janeiro.
At three o’clock in the morning, the restive descendant of the janissaries stepped onto the other, foreign shore.
Here, it was also quiet and dark, it was also springtime, and drops of water were falling from the trees.
The grand strategist burst out laughing.
“Now, a few formalities with the kindhearted Romanian counts—and the path is clear.
I think a couple of medals for bravery would brighten up their dull frontier existence.”
He turned toward the Soviet side, stretched his chubby, sealskin-clad arm into the melting haze, and announced:
“Everything must be done according to the proper form.
Form No. 5: saying farewell to one’s country.
Well, adieu, great land.
I don’t care to be a model pupil and receive grades for my attention, diligence, and behavior.
I’m a private citizen, and I have no obligation to show interest in silage pits, trenches, and towers.
I don’t have much interest in the socialist transformation of men into angels and holders of passbooks at the state savings bank.
On the contrary.
My interest lies in the pressing issue of kindness to lone millionaires . . .”
At that point, saying farewell to one’s country according to form No. 5 was interrupted by the appearance of several armed men, whom Bender identified as Romanian border guards.
The grand strategist gave a dignified bow and clearly enunciated the phrase he had learned by heart for this very occasion:
“Traiasca Romania mare!”
He gave a friendly look to the border guards, whose faces he could barely make out in the murky light.