Panikovsky and Balaganov fit in very well at the Rookery, and their self-assured voices soon joined the apartment’s chorus.
Panikovsky was even accused of stealing kerosene from other people’s Primus stoves at night. Mitrich, never one to miss an opportunity, made some nitpicking remark to Ostap. In response, the grand strategist silently shoved him in the chest.
The Bureau for the Collection of Horns and Hoofs had been established for numerous reasons.
“Investigating Koreiko’s case might take a long time,” said Ostap.
“God only knows how long.
And since there is no God, nobody knows.
We are in a terrible bind.
It might be a month, it might be a year.
Either way, we need some legal standing.
We need to blend in with the cheery masses of office workers.
That’s what the bureau is all about.
I have long been interested in administration.
I am a bureaucrat and a mis-manager at heart.
We will be collecting something very funny, for example, teaspoons, dog tags, or bells and whistles.
Or horns and hoofs.
That’s perfect!
Horns and hoofs to supply the manufacturers of combs and cigarette holders.
How about that?
Besides, I already have some excellent blank forms that are suitable for any occasion and a round rubber stamp in my bag.”
The money that Koreiko had declined, and that the scrupulous Ostap decided could be put to use, was deposited in the bank account of the new organization.
Panikovsky rebelled again, demanding his share. As a punishment, he was assigned the low-paying position of messenger, which offended his freedom-loving nature.
Balaganov was appointed to the important post of Vice President for Hoofs, which paid ninety-two rubles a month.
An old Adler typewriter was purchased at the flea market.
It was missing the letter “s,” so “z” had to be used instead.
As a result, the very first official missive that Ostap sent to a stationery store read like this:
Pleaze izzue the bearer, mezzenger Comr.
Panikovzky, office zuppliez in the amount of 150 (one hundred and fifty) rublez for the Chernomorzk branch, to be charged to the Head Office in the zity of Arbatov.
Enclozure: None
“God sent me an idiot for a Vice President for Hoofs!” grumbled Ostap.
“I can’t rely on him for anything.
He bought a typewriter with a German accent!
So I’m the Branch Prezident?
You’re a zwine, Shura, plain and simple.”
But even the typewriter and its curious accent could not dampen the grand strategist’s enthusiasm.
He loved this new field of endeavor.
He’d return to the office with a new toy almost every hour.
He bought such complex office machines and equipment that the messenger and the Vice President couldn’t believe their eyes.
There were hole punches, duplicating machines, a swivel stool, and an expensive bronze inkwell set that was shaped like several little log cabins—each contained a different color of ink.
This concoction was called
“Face the Country” and cost 150 rubles.
The crowning achievement was a cast-iron railway ticket punch that Ostap obtained from the train station.
Finally, Bender brought in a large rack of deer antlers.
Groaning and complaining about his pay, Panikovsky hung it above the boss’s desk.
Everything went well, splendidly even.
The only thing that hampered the smooth functioning of the bureau was the inexplicable absence of the automobile and its glorious driver, Adam Kozlevich.
The first visitor appeared on the third day of the bureau’s existence.
To everyone’s surprise, it was the postman.
He delivered eight envelopes, had a chat with Panikovsky about this and that, and left.
The envelopes contained three official letters that urgently summoned a representative of the bureau to attend various meetings and conferences. All three emphasized that attendance was mandatory.
The other correspondence contained requests from unfamiliar, but apparently industrious, organizations that demanded all kinds of information, reports, and records in multiple copies—all of this was urgent and mandatory as well.