Children beat drums in their honor.
Adults fed them lunches and dinners, provided them with the automobile parts they had prepared in advance. In one tiny town they were even given bread and salt on a carved oak platter with a cross-stitched towel.
The bread and salt sat on the floor between Panikovsky’s feet.
He kept picking at the round loaf until finally he made a mouse hole in it.
The squeamish Ostap threw the bread and salt out on the road.
The Antelopeans spent the night in a village, in the caring arms of the local activists.
They left with a big jug of baked milk and sweet memories of the fragrant scent of the hay in which they slept.
“Milk and hay, what could possibly be better?” said Ostap as the Antelope was leaving the village at sunrise.
“One always thinks,
‘I’ll do this some other time.
There will still be plenty of milk and hay in my life.’
But in fact, there won’t be anything like this ever again.
Make note of it, my poor friends: this was the best night of our lives.
And you didn’t even notice.”
Bender’s companions looked at him with respect.
They absolutely loved the easy life that was suddenly theirs.
“Life is beautiful!” said Balaganov.
“Here we are, driving along, our stomachs full.
Maybe happiness awaits us . . .”
“Are you sure?” asked Ostap.
“Happiness awaits us on the road?
Maybe it even flaps its wings in anticipation?
‘Where, it wonders, is Admiral Balaganov?
Why is he taking so long?’ You’re crazy, Balaganov!
Happiness isn’t waiting for anybody.
It wanders around the country in long white robes, singing children’s songs:
‘Ah, America, there’s the land, people there drink straight from the bottle.’
But this naive babe must be caught, you have to make her like you, you have to court her.
Sadly, Balaganov, she won’t take up with you.
You’re a bum.
Just look at yourself!
A man dressed like you will never achieve happiness.
Come to think of it, the entire crew of the Antelope is dressed atrociously.
I’m surprised people still believe we’re part of the rally!”
Ostap looked his companions over with disappointment and continued:
“Panikovsky’s hat really bothers me.
He’s dressed far too ostentatiously.
The gold tooth, the underwear straps, the hairy chest poking out from under the tie . . .
You should dress more modestly, Panikovsky!
You’re a respectable old man.
You need a long black jacket and a felt hat.
Balaganov would look good in a checkered cowboy shirt and leather leggings.
He could easily pass as a student-athlete, but now he looks like a merchant sailor fired for drunkenness. Not to mention our esteemed driver.
Hard luck has prevented him from dressing in a way that befits his position.
Can’t you see how well leather overalls and a black calfskin cap would go with his inspired, oil-smudged face?
Whatever you say, boys, you have to update your wardrobe.”
“There’s no money,” said Kozlevich, turning around.
“The driver is correct,” replied Ostap courteously. “Indeed, there is no money.
None of those little metal discs that I love so dearly.”
The Gnu Antelope glided down a small hill.