So tell me, is that your ad: “FR: exl. rm. all am. s.v. r.bac.?”
Is it really “exl.” with “all am.?”
“Absolutely,” said Lokhankin, brightening up. “An excellent room, all amenities.
And I’m not asking much.
Fifty rubles a month.”
“I’m not going to haggle,” said Ostap politely, “but the neighbors . . . what about them?”
“Wonderful people,” replied Basilius, “not to mention all amenities.
And it’s inexpensive.”
“But it looks like they resort to corporal punishment here?”
“Oh,” said Lokhankin with affectation, “after all, who knows?
Maybe that’s how it should be.
Maybe that’s what the Great Russian Homespun Truth is all about.”
“Homespun?” repeated Ostap pensively.
“Also known as homegrown, homebred, and home-brewed?
I see.
So tell me, which grade of the gymnasium did you flunk out of?
Sixth?”
“Fifth,” replied Lokhankin.
“Ah, that golden grade.
So you never made it as far as physics?
And you’ve been leading a strictly intellectual life ever since, haven’t you?
Then again, what do I care.
It’s your life.
I’m moving in tomorrow.”
“What about the deposit?” asked the ex-student.
“You’re not in church, nobody’s going to fleece you,” said the grand strategist weightily. “You’ll get your deposit.
In due course.”
CHAPTER 14 THE FIRST DATE
Returning to the Carlsbad Hotel, Ostap walked past countless reflections of himself in the mirrors that lined the entryway, stairwell, and hallway (that are so popular in establishments of this sort), and went to his room. He was surprised to find everything upside down.
The plush red chair was lying on its back, exposing its short legs and unattractive jute underbelly.
The braided velvet tablecloth had slid off the table.
Even The Appearance of Christ to the People was tilted to one side and lost most of the didacticism intended by the artist.
Fresh sea breezes blew from the balcony, rustling the bills that were scattered across the bed.
Amid the bills lay the metal Caucasus cigarette box.
Panikovsky and Balaganov, were silently grappling on the carpet, kicking the air with their legs.
Disgusted, the grand strategist stepped over the combatants and went out to the balcony.
On the boulevard below, people chatted, gravel crunched under their feet, and the harmonious breath of a symphony orchestra soared above the black maples.
In the dark depths of the port, a refrigerator ship that was under construction flaunted its lights and banged its steel parts.
Beyond the breakwater, an invisible steamer bellowed insistently, probably asking to be let into the harbor.
Stepping back into the room, Ostap found the half-brothers already sitting on the floor face to face, pushing each other wearily with their hands, and mumbling:
“And who are you?”
“Couldn’t you share?” asked Bender, closing the curtain.
Panikovsky and Balaganov quickly jumped to their feet and launched into their story.
Each claimed the success of the entire mission for himself and denigrated the role of the other.
Each skipped the facts that were not particularly flattering to himself, invoking instead the many details that shed a positive light on his own mettle and skill.
“That’s enough!” said Ostap. “Don’t bang your skull on the hardwood.
I get the picture.
So you’re saying he had a girl with him?
That’s good.
Well, let’s see: a lowly clerk happens to have in his pocket . . . looks like you’ve already counted?