Or, to put it briefly, life imposes its tough rules on us.
Why did you barge into the office?
Didn’t you see the chairman wasn’t alone?”
“I thought . . .”
“Ah, you thought?
So you do think on occasion?
You are a thinker, aren’t you?
What is your name, Mr. Thinker?
Spinoza?
Jean-Jacques Rousseau?
Marcus Aurelius?”
The redhead kept quiet, feeling guilty as charged.
“All right, I forgive you.
You may live.
And now let’s introduce ourselves.
We are brothers, after all, and family ties carry certain obligations.
My name is Ostap Bender.
May I ask your original name?”
“Balaganov,” said the redhead. “Shura Balaganov.”
“I’m not asking what you do for a living,” said Bender politely, “but I do have some inkling.
Probably something intellectual?
How many convictions this year?”
“Two,” replied Balaganov freely.
“Now that’s no good.
Why are you selling your immortal soul?
A man should not let himself get convicted.
It’s amateurish.
Theft, that is.
Beside the fact that stealing is a sin—and I’m sure your mother introduced you to that notion—it is also a pointless waste of time and energy.”
Ostap could have gone on and on about his philosophy of life, but Balaganov interrupted him.
“Look,” he said, pointing into the green depths of the Boulevard of Prodigies. “See that man in the straw hat?”
“I see him,” said Ostap dismissively.
“So what?
Is that the governor of the island of Borneo?”
“That’s Panikovsky,” said Shura.
“The son of Lieutenant Schmidt.”
An aging man, leaning slightly to one side, was making his way through the alley in the shade of regal lindens.
A hard straw hat with a ribbed brim sat askew on his head.
His pants were so short that the white straps of his long underwear were showing.
A golden tooth was glowing beneath his mustache, like the tip of a burning cigarette.
“What, yet another son?” said Ostap. “This is getting funny.”
Panikovsky approached the city hall, pensively traced a figure eight in front of the building, grabbed his hat with both hands and set it straight on his head, tidied up his jacket, sighed deeply, and went inside.
“The Lieutenant had three sons,” remarked Bender, “two smart ones, one a fool.
We have to warn him.”
“No, don’t,” said Balaganov, “next time he’ll know better than to break the pact.”
“What pact? What are you talking about?”
“Wait, I’ll tell you later.
Look, he’s in, he’s in!”
“I am a jealous man,” confessed Bender, “but there’s nothing to be jealous of here.
Have you ever seen a bullfight?